I barely slept during those first two weeks.
SUEZ3 was getting attention faster than I could settle into a routine. Every time I opened a social app, there were more comments to read, people to thank, questions to answer, and numbers I wanted to understand. I was excited. I was also still trying to make the music, build the videos, and keep up with my regular life.
I work with data, so of course I watched the results. But the dashboard couldn't tell me how to fit another hour into the day. Most of what people saw was a finished song or a few seconds of video. The work behind those seconds had no real off switch.
Two Albums. One Weekend.
I had put a deadline on myself. REALISM came out June 11, 2026. LOVE & HATE followed on June 13. The National Puerto Rican Day Parade was June 14. I wanted both albums available before that weekend's attention peaked.
No Passport was on LOVE & HATE, and the Puerto Rican Day Parade gave me a timely way to introduce the track through short social videos. I was hoping some of the people who stopped for the parade-related reels would get curious enough to hear more.
That was the part I cared about beyond the initial views: if someone landed on SUEZ3 for one record, what else could they discover?
Two Albums, Two Doors In
I kept thinking about artists who could move between rap and melody without having to become somebody else each time. Drake was an obvious example of that kind of range. I wasn't looking to copy his records. I liked the idea that different listeners could find different reasons to stay.
REALISM leaned into alternative R&B and soul. LOVE & HATE carried more of the hip-hop attitude I had been developing, including No Passport. The contrast was deliberate. They weren't competing versions of SUEZ3. They were two sides of an artist I wanted to keep expanding.
I didn't know which door somebody would walk through first. I just wanted more than one to be open.
REALISM
The warmer, melodic direction—the kind of music I could picture SUEZ3 growing into over time.
LOVE & HATE
A sharper-edged album, with No Passport and Plena en mi pecho among the songs in its wider musical palette.
The Videos Had Their Own To-Do List
I'd built up enough Sora material to imagine visuals for roughly ten songs. That didn't mean I had ten finished videos sitting on a drive. I had scenes, experiments, partial ideas, and clips I could turn into something if I put the time in.
I tried to create videos around tracks from both albums. Some ideas needed a stronger character performance. Others needed a better edit, more consistent shots, or footage I hadn't generated yet. I wanted the music and the images to feel like they belonged to the same artist, and that took more than matching a song to a pretty picture.
Every video I added to the list created another little production job for me. I was still learning how much work I had given myself.
The Music Was Already Crossing Languages
I was leaning into more Spanish-language social posts because I wanted to connect with the Puerto Rican listeners who were finding SUEZ3. But Plena en mi pecho wasn't a song I made in response to criticism. It was already on LOVE & HATE.
I used the record as another test of how far I could push the creative process. I don't speak Spanish, so I worked with language models as part of the writing and revision process, paying attention to expression, phrasing, and the sound of the words against the music. I wanted to make something people could enjoy on its own terms, not just something that checked a language box.
For social media, I created a separate Plena flyer in ChatGPT to build on the Puerto Rican visual direction that was connecting. It was promotional artwork, not a standalone album cover.
I was thinking beyond that audience, too. Nossa Batidao explored Portuguese, and I wanted Spanish- and Portuguese-language records available around the World Cup. To me, a more universal artist could move toward unfamiliar sounds with curiosity and care, without being locked into a single style.
There Was No Team Behind the Notifications
I was making songs, planning videos, editing clips, writing posts, looking at performance, replying to comments, liking responses, and sending invitations to people who had engaged with reels. On paper, those sound like separate jobs. I was doing all of them.
The first two viral weeks were exhausting. I'd finish one thing and find three more waiting. A new video could bring a wave of comments, and those conversations needed attention, too. I wanted people to feel acknowledged when they took the time to support the music.
I don't say that to make the project sound bigger than it was. It was one person learning what it takes to run the creative work and the audience around it at the same time. I enjoyed the momentum, but I couldn't keep every part moving at that pace forever.
The Support Came With Questions
A lot of the Puerto Rican response had been generous. People shared the videos, celebrated the music, and made room for a new artist in their feeds. I appreciated that more than I could say in a comment reply.
Not every reaction was encouraging. Some people questioned the idea of a digitally imagined Puerto Rican performer at a time when the island was dealing with serious infrastructure needs, including access to water. I understood why that contrast might bother someone. I'm not reproducing individual comments here; the broader point is what those reactions made me consider.
I had never wanted SUEZ3's entire identity to rest on one cultural reference. At the same time, I couldn't ignore that Puerto Rican listeners had given the project its first real lift. I felt grateful for that and unsure about how narrowly to present her going forward. Both feelings were there.
Back to What Could Last
I slowed down the social posting and gave more attention to the music. It wasn't a decision to walk away from the audience that had supported SUEZ3. I needed room to make choices without treating every release like another attempt to catch the same viral moment.
The soul side kept pulling me back. REALISM had reminded me that the softer, more atmospheric music felt like a natural home for her, even while I enjoyed building harder hip-hop records. Having a recognizable artist didn't mean making her predictable. It meant I could experiment without starting over every time.
I had two albums in the world, a growing audience, and plenty left to learn. The next records would test a different question: how much direction did I want to give the writing itself?