I’m 36 years old. My girlfriend is 30, and she’s one of the few lights in my life that have kept me going. I didn’t have an easy upbringing. I come from a broken family, full of instability and emotional chaos. I was out on the streets from a young age, working to survive, learning early what it means to fight for your life. At some point, I got caught up with drugs. It wasn’t because I wanted to ruin myself. It was the only escape I had from a world that didn’t seem to have a place for me.

But I was never a bad person. Not even at my worst. Deep down, I always carried a spark of something real, a part of me that refused to give up. I lost both of my parents at a young age. But when I lost my mother, everything shifted. That was the moment I knew it was up to me to take control of my life.

Photography became my way of breathing. Along with my girlfriend and traveling, it’s what gives me purpose. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD and borderline personality disorder. For most of my life, I didn’t understand why everything felt so intense, so overwhelming. Why just existing felt like a daily battle. Why I felt so deeply misunderstood.

I’ve fought hard. I’m still fighting.

When I travel, I feel free. I feel like myself. Like I unlock something pure and powerful inside me. The city suffocates me. No matter how much I try, there’s always something holding me back.

I want to travel. I want to see the things I missed during the years I was lost in addiction. I want to photograph what others ignore, the raw and honest side of a city. I want to tell the stories hidden in working-class neighborhoods, in forgotten corners, in places that tourists never go. Because that’s where the real culture lives. That’s where the soul of a country can be found.

Through ruins, shadows, and silence, I want to find light. Not just for the world, but for myself.