I didn’t plan to turn to words or a camera—they found me when the life I built crumbled beneath me. Writing became a way to grapple with truths I wanted to bury, forcing me to stare into the wreckage and sift through what remained. Photography offered something quieter, less confrontational—a way to freeze fleeting moments of clarity amid the chaos. Together, they became the tools I needed to navigate a world that suddenly felt unrecognizable, a fight to make sense of the shards left behind.

This space exists where those tools meet the discipline of boxing. The ring taught me how to endure, how to find meaning in the act of struggling, even when the odds are stacked against you. Losing the gym was more than a financial blow, leaving a hole I still can’t quite fill. Sharing these fragments—stories, images, reflections—is my way of clawing back a sense of connection from the void.

I’m not here for redemption or some polished narrative of triumph. I’m here to document the mess—the raw, uncomfortable process of moving forward when there’s no clear direction. If you’re drawn to stories that don’t shy away from failure, or moments that find beauty in imperfection, you’ll find something familiar here. The fight isn’t over. It never really is. Let’s face it together.