My passion for music and technology started out of curiosity. I began playing drums when I was nine, but it wasn’t until high school that I became serious about my craft. Programs like Marching Band, Jazz Band, and Honors Band pushed me to improve, and I also joined choir because I loved singing. My piano teacher would play the notes that each vocal section—sopranos, tenors, baritones—had to sing, and I was fascinated by how he could create tension and emotion just by changing chords or inversions. That was the first time I realized that music wasn’t just about sound—it was about understanding why things sound the way they do. I wanted to learn theory, to learn piano, and to create songs that made people feel something, no matter the genre. But the moment I truly realized this was the path I wanted to take was when I saw Phineas—Billie Eilish’s brother and producer—working from his bedroom. He wasn’t in a million-dollar studio; he was creating Grammy-winning songs from home with a laptop, a microphone, and a few instruments. That changed everything for me. I saw someone close to my age, someone relatable, doing exactly what I wanted to do—making beautiful, meaningful music with limited tools. He said once that you can make a lot with the little that you have, and that’s become one of my guiding beliefs ever since. That realization opened a door for me. Suddenly, I saw music production and songwriting not as impossible dreams, but as something I could really do. I started to study more—music theory, recording, and singing technique. I learned about tone, harmony, and even how different vowel shapes can affect the sound of a performance. I became obsessed with learning how sound works and how I could shape it. Over time, I began to believe that maybe one day I could create songs that move people the same way my favorite artists move me. Of course, the journey hasn’t been easy. When I first applied to my university’s music program, I didn’t get in. That was hard. I wasn’t inexperienced, but I didn’t have the same background as some of the other students. Instead, I was placed in another program where I could only take one or two music-related classes. But quitting was never an option for me. I practiced guitar every day, learned new songs on my own, and studied recording techniques late into the night. I just kept going, because I knew what I wanted. Eventually, I was accepted into the music program—and it was one of the proudest moments of my life. Today, as a junior studying Recording Arts and Production, I use Logic Pro and Pro Tools to bring ideas to life. I record, mix, and arrange songs, constantly finding new ways to make something sound better than before. Music and technology have completely shaped my journey—they’ve given me a voice, a purpose, and a vision of what I want to leave behind. I don’t just want to make music—I want to make something that lasts, something people remember. And with every note I write and every session I record, I know I’m building toward that legacy.

Growing up in a single-parent Hispanic household shaped not only who I am but how I see the world. My mom was the first example I ever had of perseverance. When I was just a baby, she was attending NYU, chasing her dreams while raising me on her own. By the time I was four years old, I watched her graduate, and even then, I could tell that it meant something big. Ever since, I can’t think of a moment when she hasn’t been working hard for us. She’s always been amazing like that—never giving up, no matter how tired she was. When I was nine, I moved in with my dad for a while. He was also a hard worker, but he didn’t take the educational route that my mom did. I saw firsthand how that affected his opportunities and, at times, his happiness. Still, he taught me something important—what it means to work for what you want, even when things don’t come easy. I remember he once told me, “If I had the mind I have now when I was younger, I’d be a millionaire.” That stuck with me. It reminded me how much mindset matters, and it pushed me to take my own education seriously, to go after the life I wanted before it was too late. Being raised in a Hispanic household also means being surrounded by warmth, culture, and food that speaks louder than words. I still remember coming home from school to the smell of rice, beans, chicken, and plantains filling the air. On weekends, we’d have “Los Tres Golpes”—mashed plantains, salami, fried cheese, and eggs. That food wasn’t just about flavor—it was about family, comfort, and love. Even though things weren’t always easy, those moments made our home feel full. My parents got divorced when I was about two, so for most of my life, it was just me and my mom. We don’t have many pictures from those early days, but the ones we do have—of her and me smiling, going places, living life—mean a lot to me. My dad was always busy, so we didn’t share many photos together, but I know he was doing his best in his own way. Both of them showed me different kinds of strength—my mom through her education and perseverance, and my dad through his work ethic and honesty about his regrets. All of those experiences shaped how I approach my goals today. I’ve chosen to go to college for music, something I’ve always felt deeply connected to. And I’m grateful to be living in a time when creativity and technology are so accessible. With a computer and the right mindset, I can record full sessions, compose for orchestras, or produce songs that reach people around the world. That’s something that wasn’t possible twenty or thirty years ago. I don’t take that for granted. Everything I’ve learned from my family—their sacrifices, their values, their love—drives me forward. I carry their lessons with me every time I sit down to make music, every time I push through a challenge, and every time I remind myself that this life is mine to take.

The current music landscape is constantly evolving. It’s a world of collaboration, experimentation, and connection—one where technology and creativity merge to create new opportunities for artists, producers, and songwriters to make something that lasts. I see myself working in this world not just as a participant, but as someone who helps shape it. I want to make music that speaks to people, that gives them something to feel and remember. I want to be part of the next generation of artists and producers who create a legacy that lives long after the song ends. When I picture my place in this landscape, I see myself surrounded by incredible people—writers, singers, producers, and performers—who are just as passionate as I am. I see myself in the studio with them, working through lyrics, recording sessions, stacking harmonies, programming drums, mixing songs, and bringing ideas to life. That’s where I feel most alive: in that creative space where energy, collaboration, and trust come together to make something greater than ourselves. For me, being impactful in music isn’t only about talent—it’s about leadership and connection. I learned that lesson during one of my first recording sessions at Montclair State University. I had no idea what to do. Cables were being plugged in everywhere, people were testing microphones, and I felt completely lost. Then a girl in the session said something that stuck with me: “There are no dumb questions.” That one sentence changed everything for me. It gave me permission to ask questions, to be curious, and to learn. Because of her, I wasn’t afraid to ask the people who knew what they were doing why they were doing it. That’s how I started to really understand recording—not by watching silently, but by engaging and learning from others. That moment shaped the kind of professional I want to be. I want to be the kind of person who makes others feel comfortable learning, the way she made me feel. Music is an endless field—there’s always more to learn, more to create, and more to share. And as I keep growing, I don’t just want to improve my own skills; I want to help others grow, too. Sometimes I have to remind myself that not everyone sees things the same way I do, and that’s okay. When I slow down and take time to share what I know, I find that it not only helps others—it also makes me a better musician and collaborator. Making a difference in music means being part of something bigger than yourself. It means believing in people, even when they don’t fully believe in themselves yet. It means using your skills to build bridges between ideas, between people, and between emotions. I want to make music that connects, that reminds others they’re not alone, and that leaves something meaningful behind. That’s how I see myself contributing to the music world—not just as a producer, songwriter, or performer, but as a leader and collaborator who helps others shine. I want to make true art—music that resonates the way my mentors’ work resonates with me. They may not know me personally, but their work speaks to my soul. If I can do that for someone else, then I’ve made the kind of impact I’ve always dreamed of.