I'm TziviSoftware developer.

Have you ever felt drawn to something mysterious, something you couldn't quite understand, but desperately wanted to?

I was just ten years old when I first faced the mystery that would shape my life.

Growing up, nobody around me really understood the questions I was asking. I wasn’t surrounded by engineers or tech-savvy people. There were no role models with answers, no guidance—just a constant itch in my mind that I didn’t know how to scratch. So I turned to the only place that felt infinite: the Internet.

I remember typing questions like “How do computers work?” and “What is inside a machine?” into search bars. I didn’t fully understand the results, but I didn’t care. I was hooked by the unknown. There was something thrilling about realizing that answers were out there, waiting for me to chase them.

Learning alone wasn't easy—I spent sleepless nights wrestling with technical concepts, feeling as though I'd never grasp the complexity hidden within those machines. I’d watch the same videos over and over, pause every two seconds, Google every term I didn’t know. I felt like I was on the edge of understanding, yet always slightly out of reach.

I thought I knew what I was getting into, but it wasn’t until I took apart my first computer and stared into its complex circuitry that I realized: technology wasn’t just my interest; it had become my obsession.

I didn’t fully understand what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop. Every screw I removed, every wire I traced, every strange metal component—it all spoke to me in a language I didn’t yet know, but felt compelled to learn. That curiosity became my compass.

But everything changed when someone unexpected nudged me toward programming—a relative whose casual suggestion opened a new world I hadn’t imagined. “Try learning code,” they said. Just three words. But to me, they sounded like a door unlocking.

I vividly remember sitting alone, the glow of my screen illuminating the dark room at 2 AM, feeling both exhausted and exhilarated by lines of code finally working. A blinking cursor became my heartbeat. The terminal, my voice. I wasn’t just using the machine anymore—I was communicating with it.

The more I learned, the more I wanted to know. By 16, programming had stopped feeling like a distant dream and had become the purpose that shaped every step I took. But even then, I had no idea how far it would take me—or whom I would meet along the way.

Joining a technology-oriented high school was a turning point. I walked into classrooms full of people who spoke the language I had taught myself in silence. There were others who understood my obsession, mentors who had walked the path before me, peers who challenged me and helped me grow.

I still remember the teacher who saw something in me—someone who pushed me not to settle for understanding how things work, but to question why they work that way. Their questions led me deeper, beyond syntax, into the philosophy of systems, the beauty of logic, the artistry of design.

Looking back now, it’s not the code or the machines that made the biggest impact—it’s the moments. The 2 AM breakthroughs. The frustration of a program crashing for the 15th time. The joy of debugging something I once thought was impossible. The friends I made. The questions that still keep me up at night.

I’ve learned a lot, but the most important lesson is that the best is yet to come. Who knows where this passion might lead me next?