The storm inside

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We all carry storms inside – they arrive, they pass, they shape us.

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I was raised in a multicultural and musical family. My father loved jazz and Latin music – he had several bands that played at events and sometimes appeared on television. My mother was a music teacher. Outside her work, she cared for children with learning disabilities almost as a personal calling – welcoming them after school, sometimes inviting them into our home and letting them run around freely – it left me quietly confused, in a good way. My brother is a kind of virtuoso – in his own open, unconventional way.

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My uncle, who lived openly as a transvestite at a time when it was not easy to do so, loved singing French chansons and would sometimes give recitals.

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The small town I grew up in had a student exchange with Michigan. Our home welcomed American students from there. Different energies and stories filled our house. Diversity was never something I had to learn – it was simply natural.

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When I meet someone, I don’t see gender or identity. I just see the person.

When storms come, I return to those roots. They remind me that storms always pass. What remains is the music, the people we care about, and the things we believe in.

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At my core, it’s music, compassion, and resilience. I turn storms into connection, and difference into something that resonates. In those moments of clarity, I feel connected to something larger – a god-like universe where everything is interwoven through sound, story, and spirit. Then I move forward with a clearer sense of who I am and what I stand for.

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Out of every storm, something new emerges. For me, it is the determination to create, to share, and to keep creating connections through sound, story, and the art of living.

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This is where I always come back to.