When I was born, I couldn’t walk or talk. I was completely helpless. Limited by a body that wouldn’t cooperate with my will. My disability allowed only my hands to move, just a little-but even that was enough. In that small freedom, I found a voice, I found art.

Being confined to a wheelchair for so many years was not easy. There were moments of frustration, silence, and deep questioning. But every brushstroke became a declaration: “I am still here.” Painting gave me purpose when the world expected limitations. I became my language, my strength, my way forward.

What began as survival became expression. What felt like confinement became creation. And what once seemed impossible slowly transformed into possibility.

This journey isn’t about what was taken away-it’s about what was discovered. And the story is still unfolding.

If this path can rise from struggle to purpose, imagine what’s still ahead.

Stay with me. Follow the journey. The masterpiece isn’t finished yet.