With the entire production embedded in my memory, I breezed through the editing process in putting together the “Alcohol” music video. I watched back obsessively, absolutely sure that this would launch me to superstardom. The record, while not the most professional quality, was a reflection of my do-it-yourself attitude, as I remained insistent on engineering my own sessions. I tried my best to not inconvenience Storm throughout this process, and wanted to remain as self-sufficient as possible. After saving the final edit, I would upload privately to YouTube, wanting to host a few private screenings with family and loved ones before the video would make it’s grand debut. Back in Brooklyn, I would take a day to visit my mom to show her what her son was doing with his life. I wasn’t sure if it was the music video itself, or the amount of alcohol she watched me drink on camera, but she bursted into tears the minute the song ended, screaming “my son is an artist” in Spanish. I opted to take her tears as positive reinforcement, took pride in the fact that my mother was finally able to see me for who I was. As I made my rounds, showcasing the hard work I was putting into my craft, I started to notice a change in people’s attitude toward me. I didn’t seem as delusional anymore, and my dreams of the big stage that I made a point to tell everyone about seemed to be more within my reach than ever before. I returned to Storm’s house back to New Jersey, sitting alone in the studio downstairs, and raised my hands in triumph. I wanted the spotlight more than anything, and I could feel it shining down on me.

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