Who am I?

From Silence to Sound: My Journey to Healing

There was a time in my life when I was drowning—not in water, but in the weight of unspoken grief and years of quiet suffering. I lost my father when I was just thirteen. At that age, I didn’t have the tools to understand how deeply that kind of loss could burrow into the heart. I just knew something in me went quiet that day, like a song that suddenly stopped mid-note.

As the years passed, I learned to survive the silence the only way I knew how—by numbing it. Alcohol became a companion, a crutch, and eventually, a cage. From the outside, I may have looked like I was managing. But inside, I was lost. My emotions had no outlet, my spirit had no anchor, and my heart had forgotten its own rhythm.

And yet, even during the darkest nights, there was one thing that always reached me: music. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but certain tones and melodies could cut through the numbness like sunlight through fog. Music didn’t demand anything from me—it simply met me where I was, whispering that I wasn’t alone.

Then came the moment that changed everything.

I was walking a trail near my home, just trying to clear my mind. The trees swayed gently above me, the breeze carried the scent of earth and leaves, and everything felt... quiet. But not the same kind of quiet I had known after my father passed. This was different. This was alive. I could hear the pulse of the Earth, the subtle hum of life around me, and somehow, in that stillness, I received the call.

It wasn’t a voice. It was more like a deep knowing that washed over me:
“This is it. This is what you’re here to do. Heal through sound.”

In that moment, I remembered how sound had always held me—how it comforted me as a boy, and how it had been my lifeline when I was lost. I realized I wasn’t meant to escape the pain—I was meant to transform it, and to help others do the same.

That’s when my healing began.

I traded the bottle for bowls. I sat in stillness with gongs and chimes, letting the vibrations dissolve years of stored-up sorrow. I studied, practiced, and surrendered to the journey. Sound showed me that healing isn’t linear—it pulses, it flows, it vibrates through the body like a wave. And I followed that wave until I found myself again.

Today, I’m a sound healer. I hold space for others to feel what they’ve buried, to return to their own rhythm, and to remember that healing is possible—even after loss, even after addiction. I haven’t looked back since that day on the trail.

I don’t just play bowls—I share the frequencies that saved my life.

Because if sound could help me find my way out of the dark, I believe it can help others too.

A man with glasses, earrings, and a cap taking a selfie outdoors on a sunny day, with trees and greenery in the background.

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