Five years ago, I was in a hospital bed, on the verge of losing everything—including my life. Today, I stand before you as a chef who travels the world, sharing the flavours of my Guyanese heritage and the warmth of Indo-Caribbean cuisine. This is my story of finding salvation through food.

I grew up in Ontario, in a household filled with the aromas of Caribbean spices and the sounds of my family's kitchen. My brother Jai was my hero—five years older, an all-star hockey player, an incredible guitar player, and someone who could light up any room he walked into. I wanted nothing more than to be like him.

But something felt off inside me. I struggled to connect, to fit in. At school, I felt awkward and out of place. That sadness I couldn't name led me down paths I'm not proud of—the wrong crowds, the wrong choices, and eventually, to rock bottom.

When I lost my brother in 2006, I used that grief as an excuse to spiral further. For years, I bounced around, medicating my pain with substances, running from the feelings I didn't know how to express. I didn't understand emotional intelligence. I didn't know how to ask for help.

But through it all, one thing remained constant: my obsession with food. The sights, the sounds, the aromatics of the kitchen. The memory of sitting cross-legged on my grandmother's floor, grating coconut for choka. That flame never went out.