My journey into programming didn’t start in a classroom or in front of a computer. It began with curiosity—a deep need to understand how things work. Growing up in Congo, I was always fascinated by the “why” behind everything. Why does this machine move? How do these buttons do something? But more than that, I wanted to understand why we, as people, are the way we are. What is our purpose?

To me, programming became more than a technical skill. It became a way to explore meaning.

I’ve always believed that life, in many ways, is like software. There’s a frontend—what we show the world, the image we carefully present. But behind it is the backend—our thoughts, our history, our emotions. Sometimes, the backend is messy, full of unrefactored code and unresolved issues, but the frontend still looks polished. It works, for a while. Until it doesn’t.

That’s where the idea of technical debt speaks to me deeply. In software, technical debt builds up when we choose short-term solutions, cutting corners to move fast. Over time, that debt can slow everything down, cause crashes, and even break the system. Doesn’t life work the same way? When we avoid resolving our inner issues, they come back later, harder to deal with. Sometimes, like in tech, we need help—outside consultants, friends, mentors—to guide us back on track.

Being a programmer, for me, is a way of understanding not just machines, but life itself. I don’t just see an app or a website—I see the layers, the invisible logic, the long hours of trial and error behind it. I see the beauty in building something that works, something that brings value, even if no one sees the code.

My journey into programming was gradual, like peeling layers of an onion. I started by building mechanical things, then wanted to go deeper—so I learned to code. Then I wanted to control physical devices, so I studied electronics. I spent hours on the train during my commute learning embedded development. I experimented at home, taking online courses, moving from Arduino boards to Nordic Semiconductor chips. From high-level software to low-level hardware, I kept going deeper.

Every level I reached only opened up new questions. And that’s what I love the most—the infinite learning. There’s always more to understand, more to build, more to perfect. Programming lets me create my own world, one where every bug has a lesson, and every feature has a purpose.

So why did I choose to be a programmer?

Because it’s more than a job. It’s a philosophy. A way to connect curiosity, creativity, and purpose. It’s a mirror of who I am, and who I want to become.