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The
Philosphy of In10macy
"THE HOME OF GOOD VIBES."WE CREATED THIS SPACE WITH THE INTENT TO "WOO" YOUR MIND. THE EXPENSIVE TASTE, THE AURA, THE AESTHETIC, AND THE CULTURE. IT'S WHO WE ARE.
"THE CLASS OF 10."EVERYBODY'S GOT THE RIGHT TO LIVE THEIR LIFE THE WAY THEY WANT TO, BUT ONLY A 10 CHOOSES TO DO IT. SENSUALITY FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS, IT'S HOW WE SPEAK, HOW WE CONNECT.
ONCE YOU LET YOUR TONGUE TASTE THE WORDS, REST ASSURED IT WILL LEAVE A MARK - CONSIDER THIS A PROMISE FROM YOUR FAVOURITE SOUL PROVIDER.
"THE REAL RULER OF THE WORLD." A WISE MAN ONCE SAID, "SUCCESS COMES FROM DOING THE THINGS YOU LOVE MOST." LOVE IS FOUND WITHIN EVERY RICH SOUL. IN10MACY EMPOWERS YOU TO BE THAT RICH, PURE AND WHOLE SOUL. LOVE IS PURPLE.
LOVE IS THE TRUTH. LOVE IS 10.
WELCOME 10,
WELCOME TO IN10MACY
THIS IS A COMING-OF-AGE STORY SET IN THE GRITTY STREETS OF NORTH DUBLIN — TOLD THROUGH THE EYES OF A 17-YEAR-OLD BOY NAMED JAYDEN.
QUIET EYES, LOUD THOUGHTS.
JAYDEN IS A SHARP, SILENT TYPE — A TEENAGE BOY GROWING UP IN A SMALL TERRACE HOUSE WHERE LOVE, LOSS, AND STREET LIFE COLLIDE.
HE SHARES A ROOM WITH HIS OLDER BROTHER, REECE — A STREETWISE HUSTLER KNOWN FOR HIS MONEY, RESPECT, AND SECRETS.
REECE MOVES LIKE A KING IN A BROKEN KINGDOM, AND JAYDEN WATCHES IT ALL — THE CASH, THE LATE NIGHTS, THE PRESSURE — WITHOUT SAYING A WORD.
IN A HOUSE HELD TOGETHER BY A TIRED MOTHER, A STRONG-WILLED SISTER, AND THE ABSENCE OF A FATHER, JAYDEN IS STUCK BETWEEN BOYHOOD AND MANHOOD.
HE'S TRYING TO UNDERSTAND LIFE IN THE HOOD — A PLACE WHERE YOU GROW UP FAST OR GET LEFT BEHIND.
JAYDEN’S JOURNEY IS THE HEART OF HOOD LUV — A RAW, EMOTIONAL URBAN FICTION STORY ABOUT FAMILY, LOYALTY, MASCULINITY, AND SURVIVING THE STREETS.
THIS IS A SOCIAL FICTION SERIES THAT EXPLORES MENTAL HEALTH, STREET CULTURE, AND THE UNSEEN COST OF COMING OF AGE IN A BROKEN SYSTEM.
THIS IS IN10MACY —
A STORYTELLING PLATFORM THAT BRINGS STREET TRUTH TO A LUXURIOUSLY INTIMATE LEVEL.
WE SHARE STORIES THAT BREAK NORMS, BUILD WISDOM, AND HIT WHERE IT HURTS MOST.
EVERY STORY YOU READ IS A STEP TOWARD YOUR BEST SELF.
WE SHARED A ROOM IN NORTH DUBLIN, SO I SAW EVERYTHING.
REECE SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE BED, STACKING CASH LIKE IT WAS JUST ANOTHER TUESDAY.
CRUMPLED NOTES, RUBBER BANDS, A SHOEBOX THAT STAYED HALF-OPEN AND HALF-FULL.
MY OLDER BROTHER MOVED LIKE HE'D DONE THIS A THOUSAND TIMES — FOCUSED, HEAD DOWN, NO SMILE.
A STREETWISE HUSTLER WITH TOO MANY SECRETS FOR A 21-YEAR-OLD.
I LAY ON MY MATTRESS ON THE FLOOR, PRETENDING TO SCROLL MY PHONE,
BUT REALLY, I WAS WATCHING. COUNTING. LEARNING.
THERE WAS A SYSTEM TO IT — TWO TWENTIES, A FIFTY, A NOD.
LIKE MUSIC, BUT WITHOUT SOUND.
THIS WAS STREET LIFE — THE KIND YOU DON’T CHOOSE, JUST INHERIT.
AND THIS WAS WHAT COMING OF AGE LOOKED LIKE IN A WORKING-CLASS HOME WHERE LOVE AND SURVIVAL LIVED IN THE SAME ROOM.
DOWN THE HALL, I COULD HEAR MY SISTER TIANA IN THE KITCHEN,
SINGING OFF-KEY TO OLD SCHOOL R&B AND BANGING DRAWERS.
MUM WAS ON THE PHONE IN THE LIVING ROOM, TALKING TOO QUIETLY TO BE GOOD NEWS.
AND DAD?
HE WASN’T ABSENT — JUST ALWAYS WORKING.
MORNING SHIFTS, NIGHT SHIFTS — DOING HIS BEST TO KEEP THE LIGHTS ON,
BUT NEVER AROUND LONG ENOUGH TO NOTICE HOW MUCH THE HOUSE HAD CHANGED.
HE PAID BILLS. HE FIXED THINGS.
BUT HE NEVER ASKED WHAT WAS GOING ON IN THE ROOM I SHARED WITH MY BROTHER.
REECE LOOKED UP ONCE. JUST ONCE.
LIKE HE MEANT IT.
BUT NOT ENOUGH TO SHOW ME HOW.
I NODDED. SAID NOTHING.
BECAUSE TEENAGE BOYS LIKE ME — GROWING UP IN NORTH DUBLIN —
KNOW NOT TO SPEAK WHEN THE ROOM SMELLS LIKE WEED, MONEY, AND LIES.
REECE DIDN’T JUST MOVE DIFFERENT.
HE WAS DIFFERENT.
HE HAD THE LATEST BIKES BEFORE ANYONE KNEW THEY DROPPED — INNER-CITY SCOOTERS, LIMITED EDITIONS, ONES THAT TURNED HEADS ON EVERY BLOCK.
HE DIDN’T ASK MUM FOR THEM. HE DIDN’T SAVE UP.
THEY JUST APPEARED, LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE THAT FOLLOWED HIM HOME.
THE GIRLS CAME TOO.
SOMETIMES ONE AT A TIME, SOMETIMES MORE THAN THAT.
THEY LAUGHED TOO LOUD IN OUR HALLWAY, USED OUR BATHROOM MIRROR LIKE IT WAS THEIR OWN,
AND LOOKED AT ME LIKE I WAS A LITTLE KID WITH BIG EARS.
I DIDN’T MIND.
I THOUGHT HAVING GIRLS AROUND MEANT YOU WERE DOING SOMETHING RIGHT.
AND WHEN REECE SPOKE, HIS BOYS LISTENED.
LIKE HE WAS A BLIND LEADER WITH PERFECT VISION.
HE NEVER HAD TO SAY MUCH.
JUST A LOOK, A NOD, A GUT FEELING — THEY MOVED OFF INSTINCT BECAUSE REECE DID.
HE WASN’T EXPRESSIVE. HE WAS INTERPRETED.
LIKE STREET CREDIT HAD TURNED HIM INTO A LANGUAGE ONLY THE HUNGRY UNDERSTOOD.
I STUDIED HIM THE WAY OTHER BOYS STUDIED FOOTBALLERS.
FROM THE WAY HE LACED HIS TRAINERS TO THE WAY HE CUT HIS HAIR.
I KNEW HIS LAUGHS, HIS SILENCES, HIS FAKE SMILES.
HE WAS MY BIG BROTHER — MY BLUEPRINT.
BUT LATELY I WAS WONDERING:
WAS HE THE BEST ROLE MODEL?
OR JUST THE ONLY ONE I HAD?
THE STREETS CALLED HIM A KING.
BUT KINGS DON’T PAY RENT.
THEY DON’T KEEP SISTERS SAFE.
THEY DON’T LAST.
STREET CREDIT LOOKED LIKE POWER.
BUT SOMETIMES, I THINK IT WAS JUST A MASK —
A NOISE THAT MADE SILENCE SEEM LESS SCARY.
I’VE ALWAYS BEEN TOLD I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL TO BE RAISED IN A TWO-PARENT HOME.
BUT SOMETIMES, I WONDERED WHAT I WAS ACTUALLY THANKING THEM FOR.
MUM AND DAD WERE THERE.
BUT SOMETIMES, IT FELT LIKE I WAS BEING RAISED BY WALLS.
MUM MOVED LIKE A GHOST WITH A PURPOSE —
CLEANING, PRAYING, WORKING, FALLING ASLEEP MID-SENTENCE.
SHE WAS EXHAUSTED IN EVERY LANGUAGE KNOWN TO MOTHERS WHO HOLD A HOUSE TOGETHER ALONE.
DAD WORKED EARLY. CAME HOME LATE.
SAID THINGS LIKE “HOW’S SCHOOL?” WHILE LOOKING PAST ME.
IT WAS THE KIND OF PARENTING THAT CHECKED BOXES BUT MISSED THE POINT.
THEY FED ME. KEPT THE LIGHTS ON.
BUT LOVE ISN’T JUST A ROOF.
IT’S WHO’S UNDER IT WITH YOU.
AND SOMETIMES, I FELT LIKE AN ORPHAN
WITH TWO PARENTS STILL BREATHING UNDER THE SAME NORTH DUBLIN SKY.
THIS IS THE KIND OF EMOTIONAL NEGLECT
THAT DOESN’T GET TALKED ABOUT IN STREET STORIES.
BUT IT’S REAL.
AND IT’S WHY I LOOKED TO REECE FOR EVERYTHING.
MAYBE THAT’S WHY I NEVER ASKED WHERE THE CASH CAME FROM,
OR WHY THE GIRLS KEPT COMING,
OR WHY HIS PHONE NEVER STOPPED RINGING.
HE WASN’T JUST A ROLE MODEL.
HE WAS THE ONLY ONE I COULD SEE —
LOUD ENOUGH TO DROWN OUT THE QUIET.
I STOOD OUTSIDE OUR BUILDING IN NORTH DUBLIN, HOOD UP, ARMS CROSSED.
TRYING TO LOOK UNBOTHERED.
TRYING TO LOOK STREET-READY.
LIKE REECE DID.
A GUY ON A SCOOTER SLOWED DOWN. NODDED.
I NODDED BACK — TOO FAST. TOO SHARP.
NOT NATURAL ENOUGH TO BE REAL.
HE TURNED AROUND AND PARKED.
“YOU GOT SOMETHING FOR ME?”
I FROZE.
NOT BECAUSE I WAS SCARED.
BUT BECAUSE I HAD NOTHING.
NO PRODUCT. NO STATUS. NO NAME.
“NAH, BRO,” I MUMBLED. “WRONG PERSON.”
HE STARED A SECOND TOO LONG.
THEN TOOK OFF. NO WORD. NO WARNING.
BUT MY CHEST STAYED TIGHT FOR A WHILE AFTER.
THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKE BEING A TEENAGER IN THE STREETS — WHERE MISTAKEN IDENTITY CAN GET YOU KILLED.
POSTURE AIN’T ENOUGH
WHEN YOU’VE GOT NO WEIGHT TO BACK IT.
IT WAS LATE.
I WAS HALF-ASLEEP ON THE MATTRESS WHEN I HEARD THE FRONT DOOR BANG.
REECE STUMBLED INTO THE ROOM —
ONE HAND ON HIS SIDE, THE OTHER DROPPING HIS PHONE.
HE LOOKED… SMALL.
LIKE HIS BODY WAS TOO HEAVY TO CARRY.
LIKE THE STREETS HAD TAKEN MORE THAN THEY GAVE.
HIS TRACKSUIT WAS RIPPED.
ONE SIDE OF HIS FACE WAS SWOLLEN.
BLOOD, OR SOMETHING LIKE IT, ON HIS SNEAKER.
THIS WASN’T THE REECE THAT RODE SCOOTERS THROUGH INNER-CITY DUBLIN.
THIS WASN’T THE GUY WITH GIRLS IN THE HALLWAY AND BOYS ON STANDBY.
THIS WAS A BIG BROTHER WHO LOOKED LOST.
“YOU GOOD?” I ASKED, SITTING UP.
HE DIDN’T ANSWER.
JUST SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE BED, HEAD DOWN, BREATHING HARD.
NO CREW. NO PLAN.
JUST HIM.
AND ME — WATCHING HIM FALL APART IN THE SAME ROOM I GREW UP IDOLIZING HIM IN.
FOR THE FIRST TIME,
HE LOOKED LIKE A BOY.
LIKE ME.
LIKE SOMEONE THE STREETS LEFT BEHIND.
STREET CREDIT LOOKS TOUGH — UNTIL IT’S BLEEDING IN YOUR ROOM.
AND YOU REALIZE: THIS ISN’T POWER. IT’S SURVIVAL, BARELY HOLDING ON.
I STAYED AWAKE THAT NIGHT.
LISTENING TO REECE’S BREATH GET SHALLOW, THEN STEADY,
LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED.
BUT SOMETHING DID.
HE DIDN’T SAY IT.
DIDN’T NEED TO.
TROUBLE FOLLOWED HIM HOME.
AND NONE OF US KNEW IT WAS WAITING TO KNOCK AGAIN.
IN THE STREETS, CONSEQUENCES DON’T ALWAYS COME QUICK —
SOMETIMES THEY ARRIVE LATE.
AND WE PAID IT WITHOUT KNOWING IT WAS DUE.
A FEW DAYS LATER,
TIANA LEFT TO GO TO THE SHOPS.
SHE NEVER CAME BACK.
NOT A SCREAM.
NOT A CALL.
NOT EVEN A RUMOR.
JUST A DOOR OPENING…
AND A WHOLE FAMILY SHATTERING.
THE COPS SAID WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME.
ANOTHER CASE OF INNER-CITY VIOLENCE.
MUM SAID IT WAS GOD’S PLAN.
DAD STOPPED TALKING FOR A WEEK STRAIGHT.
AND REECE?
HE NEVER SAID HER NAME OUT LOUD AGAIN.
BUT I KNEW.
WE ALL KNEW.
THEY WEREN’T AIMING FOR TIANA.
THEY WERE HUNTING STREET CREDIT.
AND REECE BROUGHT THE BEEF TO OUR DOORSTEP.
THE BULLETS JUST LANDED ON THE ONE PERSON
WHO NEVER PLAYED THE GAME.
THIS IS WHAT GUN VIOLENCE IN DUBLIN LOOKS LIKE.
FAST. STUPID. UNFAIR.
AND NEVER AIMING RIGHT.
THE HOUSE WAS QUIET AFTER TIANA DIED.
NOT JUST QUIET — HOLLOW.
MUM MOVED LIKE SHE WAS FLOATING.
DAD STOPPED SHOUTING AT THE NEWS.
NOBODY COOKED.
THE RADIO STAYED OFF.
AND REECE?
REECE BECAME A GHOST WITH A BODY.
HE DIDN’T TALK.
DIDN’T JOKE.
DIDN’T EVEN YELL WHEN I LEFT THE MILK OUT.
SOME DAYS HE STARED AT HIS PHONE FOR HOURS,
OTHER DAYS, HE WAS GONE BEFORE SUNRISE —
COMING BACK WITH BLOOD ON HIS KNUCKLES,
NEW MONEY IN HIS POCKET,
AND A LOOK THAT SAID:
“DON’T ASK ME NOTHING.”
HE WENT FROM STREETWISE TO SELF-DESTRUCTIVE.
STREET CREDIT COULDN’T FIX WHAT HE LOST.
AND ME?
I STOPPED WAITING FOR HIS APPROVAL.
STOPPED SITTING ON THE FLOOR AND STARTED SITTING ON THE EDGE OF THE BED.
HIS BED.
I WAS ANSWERING CALLS HE DIDN’T WANT TO PICK UP.
I WAS NODDING AT PEOPLE WHO USED TO NOD AT HIM.
I WAS COPYING HIS WALK, HIS WORDS,
BUT THIS TIME, NOBODY LAUGHED.
GRIEF TURNED HIM INTO A SHADOW.
AND IT TURNED ME INTO HIM.
STREET CREDIT TOOK MY SISTER.
BUT IT DIDN’T SHOW UP WITH A GUN.
IT SHOWED UP WITH SILENCE.
WITH CASH STACKED ON A BED.
WITH GIRLS IN THE HALLWAY.
WITH NODS, LOOKS, BIKES, AND BOYS WHO FOLLOWED WITHOUT ASKING WHY.
REECE DIDN’T MEAN TO BRING TROUBLE HOME.
BUT HE DID.
AND WHEN THE STREETS COME LOOKING FOR BLOOD,
THEY DON’T CHECK WHO DESERVES IT.
TIANA DIDN’T PLAY THAT GAME.
SHE WAS JUST IN THE HOUSE.
BUT THAT’S THE THING NOBODY TELLS YOU ABOUT STREET LIFE —
IT DOESN’T STAY OUTSIDE. IT GETS IN.
NOW MUM STARES AT EMPTY CHAIRS.
DAD BARELY SPEAKS.
REECE MOVES LIKE HE’S ALREADY DEAD.
AND ME?
I KNOW WHAT STREET CREDIT REALLY IS.
IT’S A LOUD LIE WHISPERED IN BROKEN HOMES.
A MASK BOYS WEAR TO FEEL SEEN.
A CURRENCY THAT COSTS TOO MUCH.
WE THOUGHT REECE HAD POWER.
BUT POWER PROTECTS.
AND WHEN THE BULLETS CAME,
NO ONE WAS PROTECTED.
“IF THIS HIT, DON’T SIT ON IT.”
HOOD LUV ISN’T JUST A STORY — IT’S A MIRROR.
STREET CREDIT TOOK MORE THAN IT GAVE.
AND SILENCE? IT DID THE MOST DAMAGE.
JAYDEN LOST HIS SISTER TO A LIFE HE NEVER CHOSE.
HIS BROTHER BROKE UNDER THE WEIGHT OF A NAME THAT LOOKED LIKE POWER.
AND YOU?
YOU MIGHT SEE A BIT OF YOURSELF IN THE QUIET BETWEEN THEIR LINES.
SO LET’S TALK ABOUT IT.
NOT ON THE SURFACE — FOR REAL.
🧠 JOIN THE DISCORD.
🔔 SUBSCRIBE FOR THE NEXT DROP.
👥 SPEAK. LISTEN. LEARN.
BECAUSE EVERYONE’S LIVED SOMETHING DIFFERENT.
AND THE MORE WE UNDERSTAND,
THE LESS WE BLEED IN SILENCE.
🚨 SHOUTOUT TO INNER CITY SCOOTERS — THE GO-TO IN IRELAND FOR SCOOTERS AND REPAIRS.
BUILT FROM THE GROUND UP BY DANIEL ADIGUN AND HIS TEAM,
THEY KEEP THE STREETS MOVING — WITH HEART, HUSTLE, AND THE BEST SERVICE IN THE CITY.
THAT IS THE DEFINITION OF STREET CREDIT.
A 10VERIFIED POST. 💜
— MR.10
#IN10MACY
#10OUT
Born on the first year of the greatest century to ever exist, its only makes sense that a name like mine was a part of the equation. But even a ni**a like me got no blueprint. With mortals like 2Pac, Hugh Hef’, and the Great Gatsby breathing, the youth in me figured out the game. After all, real recognizes real. But what did ‘real’ mean to a ten-year-old me?
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