I didn’t grow up chasing one dream. I chased whatever made me feel alive. One week I was building forums. The next, I was lost in 3D rigs, making logos, sketching fake UIs, building random tools — like auto-clickers, because trading 200 items in a game manually? Yeah, no thanks. I wasn’t about to sacrifice my mouse for virtual loot. or coding buttons that did nothing but blink. Some days, I was tweaking banners for people I’d never met on a forum — just because it felt fun. No big plan. No mentor. Just an internet connection, a folder full of experiments, and a mind that never sat still. I wasn’t trying to “be a designer.” I just wanted to create stuff. Weird stuff. Cool stuff. Sometimes, terrible stuff — but it was mine.

That’s how I learned. By making things I didn’t fully understand. By jumping into tools I wasn’t “qualified” to use. By following instincts instead of rules. I didn’t know where it was leading. But I knew I couldn’t stop.

And if I’m being honest? I was just a kid when it all started. Eleven, maybe twelve — probably around 2008, when I was fully addicted to Habbo. And I mean fully. For the real ones: yes, I watched the Habbo series. Yes, I had a thing for Habbo Grober — don’t judge. That was also the moment I discovered the terrifying and unstoppable power of Paint. Not Photoshop NAH— Paint, the OG.

I was out there recreating full Grober scenes pixel by pixel, like it was serious business. The results? Awful. But I was committed. Somewhere in that same era, I may or may not have made glittery forum signatures too — we don’t talk about that. I’d be up way past my bedtime, editing until the birds started chirping outside. No client. No brief. Just pure obsession and a folder named “tests” filled with chaos and JPEG compression

Sometimes I went all in. Other years, I hit pause. But no matter how long the break — I always came back. Same fire. Same drive to explore more and do better. Looking back, that chaos was the foundation. It taught me how to adapt, explore, break patterns, and build from nothing. That’s where it started. Not with confidence. But with curiosity, chaos, and a bit of stubborn magic. Because I didn’t wait for permission to try. I just tried. Again and again.

And through it all, I learned this:

Creativity doesn’t ask for permission — it asks for commitment. That’s still how I move — instinct-first, all heart, no brakes.