I didn’t grow up dreaming of being a designer.

In school, I was that kid who was always half-bored, half-curious, doodling in margins, pulling apart computers, messing with games, asking "why" a little too often.

I liked logic, but I hated rules.

I liked art, but I didn’t want to be boxed into it.

I wanted systems. Control. Drama. Chaos with structure.

Video games were my first obsession. They weren’t just entertainment, they were entire worlds built out of logic, visuals, sound, and emotion. I didn’t just play them, I tried to understand them.

Around the same time, I was exposed to the advertising world through my dad, and that’s when I first encountered Photoshop. That shi..stuff blew my mind. Suddenly, creativity wasn’t abstract — it was operable. Clicks turned into outcomes. Ideas turned into visuals.

From there, things spiralled beautifully.

Photoshop turned into music software.
Music turned into 3D tools.
3D turned into game-making engines.

I wasn’t trying to “master” anything, I just loved making. If a tool let me create something from nothing, I was in. That phase defined me more than I realised at the time.

Game development felt like the obvious path forward, which is how I ended up pursuing a degree in computer science. That world trained me to think cleanly — systems, logic, efficiency, consequences. It sharpened my problem-solving and gave me a ruthless respect for structure.

But the tech world, for all its brilliance, lacked the chaos I craved.

It was smart, but safe. Powerful, but emotionally flat. I wanted messier rooms. Louder ideas. Work that sparked arguments instead of approvals.

So I jumped.

I moved into visual communication and spent the next two years working professionally. Real timelines. Real teams. Real pressure. That’s where I learned how to manage work, people, and expectations.

Today, I work at the intersection of visual design, strategy, and storytelling. My computer science background still shows — I’m obsessed with structure, clarity, and efficiency — but my heart lies in the drama of ideas.

The why behind the work matters more to me than the polish.

If my work feels slightly intense, and unwilling to play it safe, that’s not an accident. It’s the result of years of pulling systems apart and rebuilding them with emotion stitched in.

I’m still curious. Still opportunistic. Still chasing variety.

Just with sharper tools now.