BAD CHILD
I never understood who I was, never thought I was good enough, never thought I’d get anywhere. Growing up my family was ethnically diverse. My grandmother was native to Algeria, my grandfather former Yugoslavia. My mother was born in France, my father Canadian. I didn’t quite know where I belonged.
My father had this old Hewlett Packard computer with this bootleg copy of fruity loops, I’d spend hours making beats. I couldn’t stop creating. I didn’t start singing until after my mother's death, it was the only way I could unpack my emotions. I became colder than the winter that she left. I fell in a downward spiral and would eventually have to face the depression that swelled inside. I moved to Toronto not knowing anyone, just on a gut instinct. I lived out of an old rehearsal space with a hot plate and an air mattress, and when the air mattress burst I slept on the floor.
BAD CHILD took on a different meaning to me. It was about finding redemption in my failures.
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