Back in the day, when I was just starting my full-time job, I had dreams that stretched far beyond my daily routine. I had always wanted to pursue a career in the electronics field, but life had a way of pushing those dreams to the back of my mind.
Two years before I began working full-time, I was enrolled in the Industrial Training Institute, one of the country’s training centers. The institute's mission was to prepare semi-skilled workers to support the country's industrial growth. It was my first real taste of what a professional life might look like.
By my second year at the institute, I had become the top student in my class. It felt like everything was falling into place. But life, as it often does, threw me a curveball. When it came time for the final exam, I faltered. I failed. It hit me hard. I was disappointed in myself, but in some strange way, I understood. I had made a terrible mistake—a mistake that forced me to learn a painful lesson. The sting of failure stayed with me for a while, but eventually, I realized I needed to move forward. And so, I did.
Fast forward six months, and I found myself working as an assistant technician at a Japanese electrical company. The first three months were brutal. My job required me to stare at a TV screen for hours, trying to decipher patterns and fix them if they were misaligned. It was tedious, intricate work, and I often struggled to understand what I was looking at. Each day felt like a battle—not just with the complexity of the job but with the crushing weight of my own self-doubt. I wanted to prove myself, but the harder I tried, the more lost I felt.
The stress started to take a toll. A persistent, throbbing pain built up in my head, growing stronger with each passing day. It felt like a storm raging inside me, one I couldn’t escape. At times, I wondered if something was seriously wrong—imagining the worst, like having an illness as grave as cancer. The combination of physical discomfort and emotional exhaustion left me feeling drained, overwhelmed, and uncertain about my future.
At home, things weren’t much easier. My housemates were diploma holders with sharp minds, and their evenings were filled with lively discussions about IT. They spoke passionately about computer hardware, software, and the latest tech trends—things that were completely foreign to me. Yet, despite my lack of understanding, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to their conversations. There was something about their excitement that stirred a deep curiosity within me. I wanted to understand what they were talking about. I wanted to be part of their world.
One evening, I decided to take a small but significant step. I picked up an IT magazine they had left on the coffee table. At first, it felt like trying to read a foreign language. The terms were unfamiliar, the concepts daunting. But I kept at it, flipping through pages, rereading paragraphs, and letting the words sink in. Slowly, things began to click. Bit by bit, the articles started making sense.
And then, something unexpected happened—I felt a spark, a tiny flicker of excitement I hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time in months, I wasn’t just trying to survive; I was learning, growing, and rediscovering a part of myself I thought I had lost.
What began as a distraction from the tension in my mind turned into something far more profound. Each page I read seemed to lift a weight off my shoulders. The pain in my head started to ease, replaced by a sense of curiosity and hope. I wasn’t just escaping the storm inside me; I was finding a way through it. Learning about IT didn’t just soothe my mind—it awakened it. It gave me a new sense of purpose, a fresh perspective, and the first steps toward building a better version of myself.
That was the turning point. The hunger for knowledge began to consume me. I started buying my own computer-related magazines, each one feeding my mind and my soul. It became my medicine after long, grueling days in the factory. Every page I turned, every concept I understood, felt like a small victory.
Months later, I stood at the registration counter of Informatics College, signing up for a weekend Computer Studies class. I was no longer the person I had been when I first started that job—confused, uncertain, and lost. I had rediscovered my passion, my drive, and, most importantly, my belief in myself.