From Custody to Creativity — My Journey from Crime to Crafting Stories

There was a time in my early life when shadows stretched long and the thrill of rebellion clouded my better judgment. My journey began in a world most would shy away from—a life of crime that was as dangerous as it was short-lived. It wasn’t about the thrill, not really. It was about survival. But survival often demands a cost, and sooner or later, that bill arrives.

Eventually, the path shifted. I found myself transitioning into a life less chaotic—behind a desk in the back office. It was a drastic shift, moving from the edge of society to the structured corridors of public service. My days were no longer filled with risk and adrenaline but with files, policies, and memos. I entered the world of security and custodial policy, a place where precision and order defined each day.

Most of my time was dedicated to safeguarding systems, building frameworks to protect those who now walked the tightrope I once danced upon. There was a strange satisfaction in this—guiding others toward safety, helping them avoid the mistakes I had once made.

But despite the new surroundings, some old habits persisted. My hands, once skilled in secrecy, were now busy on the keyboard. Key bashing continued—not for illicit plans but for writing reports, briefings, and correspondence. I became a bridge between ministers and institutions, offering advice on how to maintain custodial integrity. I was still part of a world that involved control, caution, and containment—but now, it was constructive.

The rhythm of public service played on for years, until another transition called to me. As I approached the final act of my formal career, I pivoted one last time—reverting to private practice, yet again shifting identity. I wasn’t leaving security behind, but rather adapting it. This time, I offered protection not to inmates or policyholders but to entertainers, filmmakers, event organizers, and stars of the stage and screen. From VIP parties to film shoots, my expertise ensured safety where art met audience.

The shift was unexpected, yet oddly fitting. Life had brought me full circle. From chaos to control, and now—into creativity.

They say you don’t truly leave behind who you are—you evolve. And that’s exactly what happened. Amidst the noise of nightclubs and film sets, a quieter part of me began to speak. I turned my focus inward, and with nothing more than a keyboard and my imagination, I began to write—not reports, not policies—but fiction.

My fingers, once used to form statements of fact, now painted images with metaphor and myth. My nine little literary soldiers—my fingers—became the tools of a new trade. No longer bound by regulations, I stepped into the world of ambiguity and emotion. I found myself drawn toward bardic pursuits—storytelling that echoed legends, myths, and the timeless truths of the human condition.

I was no longer just a guardian of law or a servant of structure. I was becoming a storyteller, a writer of verse, and a weaver of dreams.

Through this creative rebirth, I discovered that words could be both armor and art. Writing allowed me to explore the nuances of life—the grey areas that no policy ever addressed. I dove deep into the myths, legends, and poetic traditions, blending truth with imagination, structure with freedom.

This is where my path has led me: from fact to fiction, from order to art, from custody to creativity.

As I reflect, I realize this journey was never linear. It zigzagged through contrasts—crime and justice, silence and expression, discipline and passion. But perhaps that’s the beauty of it. We don’t always get to choose where we begin, but we do get to choose how we end.

And so, here I am—at the edge of one chapter, the beginning of another. A writer shaped by a life that has seen both the bars of a cell and the boundless skies of imagination. A guardian turned guide. A protector turned poet.

This is not just the end of my old life—it is the beginning of a new story.