My mom is one of the biggest influences in my life. Not because she’s loud about it—because she isn’t. She’s humble in a way that feels rare now. She lets things slide off her back, stays considerate of other people, and somehow keeps her heart soft without being weak. She’s stronger than most people realize.
And it’s funny too—she’s like five-foot-one, but her presence is bigger than the room. She doesn’t need to prove anything. She just keeps showing up, keeps doing what needs to be done, keeps loving people even when they don’t deserve it. That kind of strength changes you.
My dad is another influence, even when it’s complicated. He taught me about work, survival, and the pressure of responsibility. He also showed me what happens when pain hardens into patterns. Even the hard parts taught me something: what I want to avoid, what I want to heal, and what I want to do differently.
Then there are the figures I’ve carried with me—Kobe, Rocky, that whole “keep fighting” spirit. Not the hype version. The real version: discipline, repetition, getting up again, earning progress brick by brick. That mindset has helped me when motivation wasn’t there.
Faith has also been an influence for me. Not as a performance, but as an anchor. It reminds me to be grateful, to be accountable, and to keep aiming at something higher than my mood. Sometimes the world feels chaotic, but faith keeps my compass from spinning.
And lastly, my art—stories, films, the need to create—has been shaping me the whole time. It’s not just a hobby. It’s how I process life, how I make meaning, how I survive without going numb. The influences in my life aren’t perfect, but together they’ve been carving me into someone who’s trying to live with structure, truth, and heart.
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