Rap was my escape.

I wasn't a great rapper or anything but it was more of something that could cheer me up when I felt down, at least slightly if not by a lot. To be honest, I don't even remember how I started it. I guess I just picked it up one day and stuck with it till now. It didn't feel unfamiliar or foreign even from the start and it gave me a sense of belonging. I felt like I had a purpose when I rapped.

It was the safety net that I could fall into if I ever felt too weary because to rap was something personal, something private that I could keep as mine like the favorite special teddy for that one little kid. I didn't have to share it with anyone and there wasn't anybody to be compared with when I rapped, simply because I kept this all to myself and I never planned to let anyone in on this matter.

I didn't really bother about what rap was typically about: content, flow, delivery and such. To me, it was really just strings of flowing words stained with the potent mix of my spilling emotions that I allowed myself to comfortably drown in. It gave me temporary relief till the next time I could get the time and space to rap to myself.

I never rapped out loud, it was more of a silent kind of rap just for myself because the words were too personal for anyone to hear. It was like a spoken kind of journal, though I did write down all of my raps in my torn and tattered notebook that had been following me through the years. It was one of my most precious belongings because it was all of my inner thoughts and feelings written in raps, like a code only I could understand.

I had been protecting myself with my words, my raps and as long as Zico stayed the way he was and didn't do anything else, I thought I could get on with life. I had been building a wall around me, slowly but steadily. It wasn't the strongest and steadieast but it kept me secure and it gave me the space to breathe. I could hide behind it if I ever felt that things were getting too hard. Too bad if anyone wanted to see me as a coward. I just didn't feel like facing up to Zico and everyone else.

It wasn't fear or worry, more of a sense of resignation and compressed anger within.