The war drums of Beirut echoed outside, but within our home, music thrummed, a defiant melody against the chaos. It was my parents' shield, a refuge woven from vinyl and cassette tapes. This is where my love affair with sound began, at the tender age of eight, breakdancing to the infectious rhythm, my body a vessel for the music's energy. Then, a revelation struck. I saw Grandmaster DST, a sorcerer wielding a turntable, transforming Herbie Hancock's "Rock It" into a sonic kaleidoscope. In that moment, the DJ became my hero, and the turntable, my Excalibur. By eleven, I was the school DJ, juggling tapes, my fingers flying across makeshift decks. Soon, I was the youngest radio DJ in the city, my voice carrying the message of hope through the airwaves. But the nightlife scene pulsed with a different beat, one I craved to feel. At fifteen, I snuck into clubs, my heart pounding a counterpoint to the bass, my hands itching to manipulate the music, to make it my own. It was in the art of DJing and turntablism that I discovered my true voice, a language of scratches, cuts, and juggles, a symphony born from vinyl alchemy. My production journey was an extension of this sonic exploration. Each record became an instrument, waiting to be coaxed into new forms, its essence captured and reimagined. In 1995, I returned to Lebanon, Africa's rhythms still echoing in my soul. My music became a bridge, carrying the stories, struggles, and joys of our culture to the world.