I spent a ridiculous amount of time on forums. Not the shiny kind — the chaotic, deeply segmented ones, where you’d find sections like Design, Gaming Servers, TV Shows, Music, and the infamous Off-topic. I’d post a banner I made, some random 3D thing — you know, one of those AVI logos every MW2 clan was obsessed with in 2011. Sharp bevels, lens flares, way too much motion blur. That era. That energy, or even a random UI mockup — and wait for feedback from people I’d never met. Sometimes it was praise, sometimes silence, sometimes someone roasting the font choice. But weirdly? I lived for that. It was the first time I realized: sharing my work wasn’t just about showing off — it was about connecting. You build a game server, you’re hoping strangers show up and stay. You post a design, you’re hoping it lands with someone — that it feels like something to them.

Even in a thread about TV shows or music, you’re reacting to taste, mood, emotion. Looking back, those forums taught me more than I knew. They weren’t just places to share — they were early lessons in audience, tone, user feedback, and creative vulnerability. Turns out, pressing “Post” was my first version of “putting it out there.” And slowly, it shaped the way I created. I stopped making things just for the fun of it — I started thinking about meaning, intention, emotion. About how something felt to someone else. That’s probably when I started drifting toward identity — not just brand identity, but the idea of giving shape to something personal, something with soul. It wasn’t a strategy. It was just a shift. A quiet one. I realized I didn’t want to just create visuals. I wanted to shape how something feels — how it lands, how it connects, how it stays. That’s what led me to brand identity. I just wanted it to say something real.

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