Chapter 3

3

I moved into a tiny studio in a rough part of the city. The rent was only three hundred a month. The walls were peeling, and there was nothing but a metal bed frame and an old wooden desk.

For the first week, I only ate one meal a day. I took every temp job I could find―washing dishes, stocking shelves, helping at street stalls.

At night, I'd open a two-hundred-dollar used laptop and sit on my bed. I had a degree in design, but no one knew. I never had a single night to myself before this.

All my nights had belonged to the debts I owed. My color palettes and sketches had been locked away in a folder labeled "Wait until the debt is paid."

That night, I moved that folder to my desktop. I renamed it: "Start Now."

To pay for my internet, I took the early shift at a car wash. While I sprayed down cars in the freezing morning air, I visualized compositions and color schemes.

The manager asked why I was so slow and meticulous with the scrubbing. I told him, "I've been waiting years to get these lines straight. A few more minutes won't hurt."

Weeks later, I finished a character series called "The Stitched Tiger." It was a rugged little fabric tiger with mismatched eyes and messy stitches.

Those stitches were inspired by the ones on my old high school jacket. I posted a short video of the creation process with the caption: "His stitches aren't straight because my mother never taught me how to sew."

I was so exhausted that I fell asleep before the views even started climbing. I had no idea a storm was brewing on my profile.