i didn’t grow up around tech. no one in my family worked in startups, no one used words like product-market fit at the dinner table, and the closest thing to a mentor was a mechanic down the street. that makes the story simple and a little weird: everything that comes after can be traced back to one small, ordinary handoff.

i was 12. i’d just watched the first season of silicon valley and felt something strange in my chest. not the plot, not the jokes, but the way people built because they were curious, because they could. the idea that you didn’t need permission to start moving. that energy lodged itself somewhere in me.

a little while later my uncle gave me an hp elitebook. that laptop opened a door i didn’t know existed. suddenly there were midnight tabs, forums where people argued about startup valuations, videos where strangers explained how they built things with nothing but curiosity and bad coffee. i learned to read code like a second language, to mock up products that didn’t exist, to write fake decks and then feel ridiculous and keep going.

i chased anything that answered the question how does this actually work. by 14 i was freelancing. i was small, hungry, and embarrassingly direct. i emailed people who seemed interesting, offered to do work for cheap, and then did it anyway. i learned how to finish projects, how to stop perfecting and start shipping. i learned how to take feedback from people twice my age without folding. money started showing up in strange, satisfying increments. it was a weird kind of validation, but it also felt like proof that the doorway was real.

i tried everything. design, a bit of front-end, network security experiments, marketing that mostly taught me how to talk to actual humans, writing that wanted to be sharper. i read business books before i knew what a profit margin meant. i binged paul graham essays and yc talks and naval podcasts as they taught me a new grammar for making things.

then web3 found me. or maybe i found web3. it felt like the early internet all over again. it matched the way my brain wanted to work..fast, chaotic, full of experiments. i started working with protocols and teams across timezones, helping launch products and sometimes just staying up to patch a thing at 3 a.m. it was exhausting and intoxicating. it taught me how to ship in environments where nothing was set in stone. some of those nights turned into stages.

i spoke at ethcc, co-founded ethbelgium, and met people who rearranged how i thought about work and society. those are the visible moments: a talk, a meetup, a logo on a slide. they’re not the whole thing, but they matter because they were earned in small, boring, relentless ways. i’ve also burned out hard. there were stretches where i measured my worth in output, where i forgot why i started building other than to prove i could. those periods taught me something essential. rest is not optional. travel is not indulgence. learning to slow down makes the work better.

this site isn’t a portfolio. it’s not a pitch. it’s a window into how my mind moves and why i care. it is the thing that sits next to the other documents where i show outcomes and numbers. here you see the why. you see the failures that taught me more than any success, the half-finished projects that were honest experiments, the nights i stayed curious. if you skim for achievements, you’ll find them. if you want the messy version, it’s here too.

i’m still learning. i still make mistakes. i still choose motion over perfection a little too often. and i still get that feeling sometimes, the one i had at 13. that was the first spark. since then, each year has left its own mark. moments, wins, failures, people, places. all of them part of the same thread.

what comes next makes more sense when you see where it all came from