If I look back, the journey didn't begin with computers —
it began with curiosity.
From stargazing as a child to building AI-powered solutions today, my path has been shaped by an endless fascination with how things work — and how they can work better.
When I was a child, the night sky was my greatest teacher. While others looked up and saw stars, I saw questions.
I wanted to be an astronaut — not because of the suit or the fame, but because space felt like a place where imagination meets truth. A place where silence is louder than noise, and distance becomes meaning.
That curiosity never faded — it just changed shape.
Before I wrote code, I wrote stories. Before screens, there were notebooks.
I was fascinated by characters — why they behaved the way they did, why they loved, failed, grew, or broke.
In school theater, I didn't just act — I tried to understand. When performing The Merchant of Venice, I remember thinking more about Antonio's silence than his dialogues.
Don't just see the surface — understand the pattern beneath it.
Later, I discovered music. Creating simple beats, learning basic production, experimenting with rhythm — I realized sound had structure, timing, mathematics.
Art and logic were never separate — they were just different ways of expressing order.
For some time, I trained for defence services. Not because I wanted power — but because I admired discipline, clarity, and service.
Even though that door didn't open, it gave me a lasting lesson:
Consistency is more important than intensity. Quiet effort builds unshakable strength.
Eventually, everything intersected: my curiosity, my storytelling, my logical thinking, my patience, my love for building things…
All of it pointed toward technology.
Programming didn't feel new — it felt like something I was already wired for.
The first time code worked, I felt something familiar: the way stars aligned in my childhood sky.
After graduation, writing came back — this time with clarity.
I wrote essays, reflections, technical concepts, and personal thoughts. People connected with them — not because they were complex, but because they were honest.
Along the way, I taught people:
Two very different things, yet both rooted in the search for inner order.
Today I build:
But the essence remains the same:
Build things that are clean. Build things that are meaningful. Build things that make life easier. Build things that feel human.
The child who stared at the stars hasn't disappeared.
He just changed his dream:
"If I cannot go into space, I will build technology that someday becomes useful in that direction. Software that scales like galaxies — quiet, precise, meaningful."
My vision now is simple:
Technology that feels natural. Design that feels invisible. Work that feels close to purpose.
And this is not the conclusion —
just the first chapter.
The journey continues — one project, one thought, one creation at a time.