About Me

Here I am at the age of 7. That was the exact moment when I touched a computer for the first time. My father was sitting next to me, patient, showing me how to play Zuma, how to write documents in Word, how to do calculations in Excel. I still remember that strange feeling: the keyboard under my fingers, the mouse responding to my movements, the screen coming alive according to my will. I found it fascinating immediately. Not just fun. Fascinating. At that time, I was attending a Catholic school. One day, while looking at the parchment hanging on the classroom wall, the one containing the prayer recited by all the students every morning, I noticed that it was almost unreadable: the paper yellowed, the ink faded, the letters half erased. The youngest students could not follow along. So I made a decision, discreet but determined: I retyped the entire text on the computer, carefully laid it out, and printed it. A small action, but one that left a deep mark on me. For the first time, I had used computers not to play, but to solve a real problem, to make something useful for others. That feeling never left me.

Very quickly, one question kept returning to my mind: how are these computer programs built? How can a click trigger a reaction? How do numbers and letters become images, sounds, and actions? This curiosity was stubborn, almost obsessive. I spent most of my holidays in front of the computer, exploring hidden menus, testing features no one had shown me, trying to understand by taking things apart through play what adults used out of habit. Over time, I ended up surpassing my father in certain areas. That reversal made me proud, not with ego, but with the kind of pride that comes from work and rewarded curiosity. From then on, I was the one explaining certain things to him. By the time I reached middle school, I had my first real computer classes. I remember the room: old computers lined up, fans humming, screens taking forever to turn on. But none of that mattered. After each session, I often stayed behind to help my classmates practice and understand what the teacher had explained too quickly. The computer was no longer just a tool for me: it was a passion, and perhaps already a calling. My father understood it before I did. He gave me my own personal computer, a gesture that changed everything. No more waiting for him to come home from work. I could explore at any hour.

It was during that period that a deeper question emerged. One day, while watching an application run, I wondered what was really happening underneath. What was making all of this work? That is how I discovered the concept of the operating system, that invisible layer that connects hardware and software. I was using Windows 7 at the time. Then I installed Windows 8, not out of necessity, but out of a desire to explore, compare, and understand what was changing and why. I learned by breaking things, reinstalling, and starting over. That was my way of learning. After earning my scientific baccalaureate, I already knew exactly what I wanted to do. There was no doubt, no hesitation. This passion for computer science was not a random part of my journey: it had guided my choices long before I was able to express them clearly. It was this conviction, rooted over many years, that naturally led me toward a path centered on technology: understanding systems, building solutions, and innovating through digital tools. Today, that childhood curiosity has become a structured professional project. I no longer simply want to use technology: I want to design it, improve it, and use it to solve concrete problems. Every project I lead, every line of code I write, extends something that began at the age of 7, in front of a screen, with a patient father and an unreadable parchment.