Series: What each commit really means to me
Once upon a debug session…
I didn’t start out in a fancy bootcamp. There were no MacBooks on ergonomic standing desks, no curated coffee breaks or tech mentors in branded hoodies. Just me, a second-year Civil Engineering student juggling trusses by day and JavaScript by night — and a part-time gig as a video editor trying to make Adobe Premiere not crash every 5 minutes. Romantic, right?
But somehow, I fell into the rabbit hole of web development. It started with curiosity, evolved into obsession, and very quickly spiraled into an existential crisis involving semicolons and missing brackets. There were nights I stared at my VSCode terminal like it had personally wronged me. Spoiler alert: it had.
Back then, there was no ChatGPT. No friendly AI assistant to tell me, “Hey, you missed a closing tag.” No Copilot whispering sweet syntaxes into my editor. Just Stack Overflow, dense documentation, and a whole lot of Ctrl+Z. It was me, a barely-functioning laptop, the hum of a standing fan, and the creeping fear that I might never make it out of the tutorial hell.
And the errors. Oh, the errors. The “undefined is not a function” that defined my sleepless nights. The “cannot read property of null” that made me question my life's direction. There were moments I was sure I’d invented a new language entirely — one made up exclusively of bugs and broken dreams.
But I kept pushing.
Each commit was more than just code — it was a digital timestamp of struggle and small victories. A line of hope. A marker that said, “I was here, I broke it, and I fixed it… eventually.”
Some commits were angry — “Fix stupid bug AGAIN.”
Others were desperate — “Final_final_REALLY_FINAL_version2.”
But many, in hindsight, were beautiful, because they showed growth — not just as a developer, but as a person learning to fail, recover, and ship anyway.
There were days I felt like a fraud. Days I almost gave up. Nights I paced around my boxed little room like a mad scientist, whispering to myself, “Why won’t this damn API call work?”
But through the chaos — gracefully and God-fidently (yes, that’s God + confidence, deal with it) — I made it through. And I’m proud to finally say:
I’m a Full-Stack Developer.
Now, I want to tell my story.
Not just the shiny parts where the website loads and the animations are smooth.
But the messy commits. The tear-soaked bug hunts. The near-breakdowns.
The real journey behind every git push origin main.
So if you're out there, stuck on an error that makes no sense, or wondering if you'll ever “get it” — trust me, I’ve been there. And I survived. With hair loss, sleepless nights, and a Git history full of emotion.
Welcome to my journey. Let’s code and cry together.