I'm looking at the picture again. Ghostface Killah holding my book. Let me repeat: Ghostface Killah, a member of Wu-Tang Clan, holding MY book in his hands. If you had told me this in 1995, when I was painting my room with "Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)" playing in the background, I would have laughed in your face. But here we are.
Wu-Tang Clan wasn't just a rap group for me. It was a school, a philosophy, a code. Their lyrics, their samples, that raw energy that felt like it was pulled straight from a kung-fu VHS mixed with street poetry... all of that shaped me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. I just knew it hit me hard, that it was real.
Painting my room in ‘95 – “1995. Painting my room while Wu-Tang played.
Now, years later, seeing one of those mic gods holding something I created is a brutal reminder of what hard work means. I'm not talking about luck or coincidences; I'm talking about putting in the hours, pushing forward when no one else believes in you, refining your craft until one day it happens. And sure, someone might say, “Well, for Ghostface this is just routine, he probably gets stuff like this all the time.” But here’s the difference: respect is mutual.
When someone recognizes your work, when you see them look at it with the same attention you put into creating it, there’s something there that transcends fame or status. It doesn’t matter if you’re a legendary rapper or an artist who spent years in the shadows— that moment of recognition is universal. And Ghostface isn't one of those who look down on others. The way he values good work without falling into the attitude of "I’m famous, who are you?" is something I deeply respect. Not everyone is like that. In fact, it’s rare to find.
Excerpt from Saturno: Lights and Shadows – “Wu-Tang was playing in the background. That’s how it all began.”
These moments make it all worthwhile. Not for external validation, but for the confirmation that what you do reaches people, that there's a bridge between what you create and what others receive. It’s an insane feeling. And yeah, maybe some would call it fanboying, but to me, it feels like connection.
So, as always, this is a reminder: keep creating, keep pushing, keep believing. Because you never know when something you made in the solitude of your studio will end up in the hands of someone who inspired you from the start.
WU-TANG FOREVER.