My Rockstar Years

The Beginning of My Rockstar Years

This was a time in my life that I still struggle to understand or make sense of fully. Before you dive into this story, I want to make one thing clear to everyone: drugs use is not something to glorify or take lightly. While this tale might captivate some with its wild moments and raw honesty, the truth is that drugs destroyed my relationship with the woman I loved and shattered the sense of dignity and order that makes life worth living.

I’ll share more in future blog posts about what it felt like to break free from the grip of addiction and how my worldview transformed in the process. But for now, this is a story about the highs and lows of my so-called "rockstar years"—a time of chaos, self-discovery, and ultimately, hard lessons learned.

I remember the day my mother gave me the advice that would change my life: “Move to Malta. You’ll absolutely love it there.” At the time, I was stuck in Turkey, my passport leaking oil like an old Hiace’s gearbox, and I was desperate for a change. But looking back, I’ve since told her, “I’m never listening to your advice on where to move again.”

Even before I arrived, I had a feeling Malta wouldn’t be my kind of place. It’s a tiny island, just 30 km by 25 km, and after three years there, I knew every door, every window, and even the color of the curtains around every corner. There’s no nature to escape to, no forests or mountains to recharge in. Instead, the streets are filled with shouts of “Go back to your country!” and neighbors yelling at each other from across the alleyways.

The Rockstar Years: 2019–2022 (The Pandemic Era)

“Jippakajei, here we go!”

This story takes place during the years 2019 to 2022—the era of COVID-19, lockdowns, and a world turned upside down. But for me, it was also a time of chaos, excess, and a lifestyle that felt like it was ripped straight out of a rockstar’s playbook. Later, I’ll tie this story back to how I had previously gotten stuck in Turkey, where my passport leaked oil like an old Toyota Hiace’s gearbox. But for now, let’s dive into the heart of it all: Malta.

For those who don’t know, Malta is the European capital of iGaming—a place where money flows freely, and so do the drugs. It’s a world of high stakes, late nights, and blurred white lines. I can’t tell you how many times we went straight from a strip club to the office, which was conveniently located right across the street. Malta has a handful of strip clubs that are open almost 24/7, and while you don’t have to buy drinks for the women or pay for their company, you certainly can if the mood strikes.

But let’s be honest—most of the time, these clubs weren’t about the women. They were about the afterparties, the backrooms, and the endless lines of cocaine that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. It was a world where excess was the norm, and moderation was a foreign concept.

The Downward Spiral: A Friendship with security guy of a strip club

As time went on, I actually became friends with one of the bouncers at these clubs. But like so many things during the pandemic, that friendship took a dark turn when everything shut down. This guy’s idea of breakfast was a sandwich seasoned with a line of cocaine. It was a lifestyle that seemed glamorous at first, but it was anything but sustainable.

Before March 2020, when the world was still open and the pandemic hadn’t yet brought everything to a halt, life was one big party. In the iGaming industry, every Friday was “Friday beers”—a tradition where companies would provide endless drinks for their employees. And when I say endless, I mean it. We’re not talking about a couple of casual beers; we’re talking about crates of alcohol consumed between 5 PM and 9 PM, after which the night would inevitably spill over into Paceville—Malta’s nightlife hub.

The routine was always the same: start at a bar, then move to a club, and keep the party going until the early hours of the morning. But it wasn’t just alcohol fueling these nights. By the time we got to the clubs, many of us were already buzzing from the lines we’d done in the office bathrooms. If someone had gone in there to conduct drug swab tests, they would’ve found more than just traces of cocaine. It was a world where boundaries blurred, and excess became the norm.

Malta: A Land of Rules That No One Follows

Malta is famous for its rules—or rather, for how no one follows them. On this tiny island, drugs are as easy to buy as a cup of coffee. You can get them from bouncers, police officers, or even bartenders. But the real fools are the ones who buy from illegal immigrants on the street, only to end up with something completely different from what they paid for. It’s a risky game and one that often ends in disappointment—or worse.

And then there’s the rain. Malta doesn’t have a proper sewage system, so when the heavy rains come, the streets turn into rivers, and cars float away like toys, swept straight into the sea. My friends and I used to joke, “In Malta, you don’t need a car during the rainy season—you need a kayak to paddle down the streets.”

The Party and the Price: My Rockstar Lifestyle in Malta

Let’s get back to the story. I moved to Malta in August 2019, and by March 2020, life was one endless cycle of excess—alcohol, drugs, and women. It was completely normal to show up to work hungover, or even still drunk, the next day. Back then, living in Malta was still cheap, unlike today, where it’s become one of the most expensive places in Europe, with wages that haven’t kept up.

Then came March 2020. I hadn’t been following the news, so when I walked into the office one day and saw people packing up their desks in a panic, I was completely confused. “What’s going on here?” I asked. One of my managers looked at me and said, “Have you not seen the news?” I shrugged and said, “No, not really.”

That’s when he broke it to me: “We’re going into a full lockdown. Everyone has to go home.” I stood there in disbelief, my first thought being, What the hell am I supposed to do with my life now? This is going to be so damn boring…

As I packed up my things, I couldn’t help but wonder, What are people going to do now that they can’t go out and party? The answer hit me like a lightning bolt: They’re going to smoke a ton of weed.

Walking down to the lower floor of the office, I thought to myself, I should probably buy a massive stash and start selling it. This business idea can’t possibly fail. And fail? It did not! The demand was through the roof. People did exactly what I thought they would—they stayed home and smoked all day. After all, what’s the point of harder drugs when there are no parties to go to?

For a few months, the streets were quiet. But then, people started throwing secret house parties, and the drugs started flowing again. By then, I had my little side business running smoothly. Everything I sold ended up going straight up someone’s nose—including my own. Money came in faster than I could have imagined, pouring in from every direction.

To maximize efficiency, I did not sell small bags, starting at 5 grams each. That way, I didn’t have to deal with every individual user; instead, I focused on supplying the middlemen who sold it further down the line. The business was profitable, but so was my own consumption. Weekends blurred into weekdays, and it wasn’t uncommon to go out on a Thursday and not come home until Sunday. It was a very healthy lifestyle, as you can imagine.

By the summer of 2020, bars in Malta began to tentatively reopen, though clubs remained firmly shut. The rules were strict: you had to sit at tables spaced two meters apart, and authorities regularly patrolled the bars to enforce these measures. But while the officials were busy checking table distances, people were streaming in and out of the bathrooms, coming out far more energized than when they went in. It’s almost comical to think about how seriously the COVID rules were enforced, while drug use went completely unchecked.

There was one bar in particular that became a regular haunt for me and my friends. We had a system for dodging the rules whenever the authorities showed up. The moment they approached, the music would suddenly stop, and everyone would rush back to their seats, pretending to follow the rules. Once the officials disappeared into the distance, the music would blast back on, and the night would resume as if nothing had happened. This bar became a sanctuary for many DJs who were desperate to play music during the lockdown, and it’s where I started to build connections with some of them.

Over time, I got to know several DJs, mostly through casual conversations. Then, one day, I met one of the biggest event organizers in Malta at the time. Today, this guy organizes massive international parties, but back then, he was still building his reputation. I told him about my photography work and showed him my portfolio. Then, I pitched him a deal: “I’ll do undercover photography at your events for free. If you like the photos, you can share them and credit me.”

He agreed, and soon enough, I found myself at one of his events, camera in hand, capturing the raw energy of the underground scene. Here are some of the results:

The Turning Point: From Hobby to Paid Gigs

A week passed, and I found myself back at that familiar bar, settling in for another night. The moment I walked through the door, someone came running up to me, their face lit up with excitement. “Niko, I saw the photos you took. They’re absolutely incredible. I want you to start shooting our events—and we’ll pay you for it.”

It wasn’t just one person who approached me; it was several. Word had spread, and suddenly, my weekends became fully booked with event photography. What started as a casual offer quickly turned into a full-blown gig. I was no longer just a guy with a camera—I was the guy who captured the essence of the night, the one who turned fleeting moments into lasting memories.

As I immersed myself deeper into the scene, I began networking with more and more people in the music industry. DJs, organizers, promoters—they all knew who I was. My portfolio grew, and so did my reputation. But let me tell you something: when the club closes, that’s when the real party begins. Every DJ knows that the best moments happen at the afterparties.

And that’s where the drugs flowed freely—stuff I’d never even heard of before. There were liquids, pills, powders—you name it. The afterparties were a world of their own, a chaotic blend of euphoria and excess. My life became a whirlwind of shooting events, heading to afterparties, and then straight back to shooting again. It was exhausting, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

But amidst the chaos, I found a strange sense of purpose. My camera became my passport to a world most people only dream of. I was no longer just an observer; I was a part of the scene, capturing its raw, unfiltered energy. And as much as I loved it, I couldn’t ignore the toll it was taking on me. The late nights, the drugs, the constant pressure to deliver—it was a lifestyle that demanded everything I had.

The End of My Rockstar Years

Many men envied my life during this time, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them. With a camera in hand, I had direct access to every woman at the most exclusive parties. This lifestyle seemed glamorous from the outside, but it came with its own set of challenges.

Around this time, I met an Italian woman and fell head over heels in love with her. She was everything I thought I wanted—beautiful, intelligent, and full of life. Unfortunately, our story didn’t have a happy ending. I had promised her time and time again that I’d come home early, that I’d change, but the drugs always had other plans. My behavior became less than gentlemanly, and the substances I was using only made things worse. The more I tried to hold onto her, the more I pushed her away.

So, how did my “rockstar years” come to an end? In the summer of 2021, she broke up with me, and it shattered me. I was completely heartbroken, and instead of facing my pain, I drowned it in even more drugs and reckless behavior. I had never felt so broken, and I used substances to numb the ache. Nights turned into days, and days turned into weeks of self-destruction. I was spiraling, and I knew it, but I didn’t know how to stop.

By December 2021, I decided to take a three-week trip to Turkey, hoping for a change of scenery. But when I returned to Malta, I fell right back into the same destructive patterns. That’s when I had a moment of clarity: “It’s time to leave. If I don’t stop now, I’m going to die in the middle of all this chaos.” I asked myself, “Is this really the life you want, Niko?”

I organized one last blowout party—a Project X-style event at my penthouse. Around 200-300 people showed up, and the night was a blur of faces, music, and substances. I remember walking through the “Malta Air Room” in my apartment, the terrace packed with people, and thinking, This is it. This is the end. The energy was electric, but beneath the surface, I felt empty.

The next morning, I woke up to a trashed apartment and a sinking feeling in my chest. The place was unrecognizable—broken glass, spilled drinks, and the lingering smell of smoke. It was a physical representation of the chaos I had been living in. A week later, I packed my bags and left Malta for good, heading back to Turkey to clean up my life. It was the best decision I ever made.

The first three months were incredibly tough. Withdrawal, loneliness, and the weight of my past mistakes were constant companions. But I slowly started to rebuild myself. I remember sitting in Moda Sahil Park in Istanbul on a clear day, writing poetry about my past and looking up at the sky, thinking, “Life is so beautiful without drugs.” It was a stark contrast to just a year earlier, when I had claimed cocaine was the best thing in life.

Those years were filled with experiences—both good and bad—that taught me what the music industry and its lifestyle truly entail. I saw the highs and lows, the glamour and the grit. I met incredible people, but I also witnessed how easily dreams can be crushed under the weight of excess. Today, I’m grateful to have moved on from that chapter.

To the woman I loved, I wish nothing but the best from the bottom of my heart. She was a bright light in a dark time, and though I couldn’t be the man she deserved then, I hope she’s found happiness. As for me, I’ve learned that true strength isn’t about how much you can endure—it’s about knowing when to walk away and start anew.