Every person is born inside an invisible vault.
Some spend their lives trying to escape it; others, like me, learn how to open it.
Inside mine, there is no gold, no money, no tangible wealth—only evidence. Proof of a lifetime spent excavating truth, preserving memory, and documenting what it means to remain whole in a world determined to divide you.
My vault was never about secrecy. It was about survival.
Because when people rewrite your story in their own handwriting, you start building safes inside yourself to protect the original version.
