Hello, World. Again.

I grew up as an undiagnosed autistic kid who kept accidentally bumping into gender expectations without even realizing it. But even the way I “rebelled” was its own flavor of different. I didn’t trade Barbies for Hot Wheels—I traded everything for PlayStations. I had blogs by age ten, clung to any excuse to visit my cousin so I could play the newest games, and begged my grandparents for anything even vaguely technological for Christmas… only to be told I was ungrateful when the dolls they insisted on giving me didn’t land.

Being a kid in the late 90s and early 2000s was its own kind of magic. We’re the last generation that remembers life before the internet swallowed everything, but we also grew up right in the middle of the shift. One foot in analog, one in digital. I think that gave us a strange superpower: adaptability. We learned to navigate constant change before we even had the language for it. There’s something beautiful about being fluent in both worlds.

Maybe that’s why the digital realm has always felt like home to me. It’s a place where you can build anything from scratch—identities, ideas, entire worlds. And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how much I miss the early‑internet spirit: the DIY corners, the personal websites, the sense that the web was a place you made, not a place you were fed.

So I’m starting this blog the old‑school way—fully hosted on GitHub, built by hand, and completely under my control. No algorithms deciding whether my voice is worth showing. No platform pivoting out from under me. Just a small, intentional space carved out on the internet, the way we used to do it.

I’m doing this because I think there’s value in sharing lived experiences—especially the messy, nonlinear, deeply human ones. If the early internet taught me anything, it’s that connection doesn’t need to be optimized to be meaningful. Sometimes it just needs a place to live.

This is mine. And if you’re here reading it, welcome. I’m glad you found your way in.