Hey.
This is one of those pages no one really tells you to make, and yet here we are.
You clicked on "Message" or "About" or some odd link I buried somewhere, and now you're here — reading this. I respect that.
It's not a pitch. It's not a mission statement.
It's just... stuff. Things I've been meaning to say.
Thoughts I wanted to get out of my head before they rotted in there forever.
No structure. No life lessons. No quotes in italics.
Just me. Typing this. Hoping it finds someone who gets it.
Never did.
And honestly? I'm suspicious of anyone who acts like they do.
Every time someone says "I'm building at the intersection of x, y, and z," I quietly want to delete the internet.
You know what I'm actually building at the intersection of?
Mild confusion, coffee, long walks, two-hour YouTube rabbit holes, late-night thoughts I forget to write down, and the occasional existential crisis.
But hey, I'm still here. And that counts for something, right?
Good student. Good son. Good worker. Good at stuff.
Not necessarily fulfilled. Just… efficient.
I did the things people said would matter. I took advice. I smiled politely.
I overthought everything. Still do.
I tried fitting in with people who seemed confident, loud, and certain — thinking maybe if I hung around long enough, some of that would rub off on me.
Spoiler: it didn't.
At some point, I looked around and thought:
"Wait. Do I even like any of this?"
Turns out — not really. I was just playing a character.
And the character was exhausted.
Don't get me wrong — I love systems, clean Notion pages, and a solid to-do list.
But at some point, I realized I was "life-hacking" myself into numbness.
Trying to squeeze productivity out of every second until there was nothing left but an empty Google Calendar and a weird sense of guilt anytime I wasn't "doing something."
So I stopped. Or at least, I'm learning to.
These days, I go on more walks.
I talk to fewer people, but more deeply.
I work on things that may or may not go anywhere — but feel real while I'm doing them.
I let myself get bored sometimes. Boredom is underrated.
Even the ones who look shiny on the outside.
Even the ones "killing it."
Even the ones who post like they've got it all mapped out in Miro.
We're all figuring it out.
Pretending a little.
Doomscrolling at 1 AM when we should be sleeping.
Looking for that thing that feels worth building, worth waking up for, worth struggling through.
And yeah, sometimes it's hard to admit that.
So I'll go first.
Not just objects — but people, places, ideas that feel grounded.
Conversations that don't start with "so what do you do?"
Work that's not just a race to get featured in some list that no one reads.
Communities that don't revolve around algorithms or metrics.
I miss slowness. Depth. The feeling of doing something quietly good, even if no one's watching.
That's what I've been craving. That's what I've been slowly (and badly) learning to build my life around.
I'm building something called Farmlys.
It's a marketplace for farmers to buy, sell, or finance used equipment and livestock.
Not sexy, I know.
No NFTs. No 10x-ing.
Just a solid, real thing for real people.
It's inspired by where I come from — a family that left farming behind when I was young.
And by where I am now — working in tech, but wanting to stay connected to the ground. Literally.
Farmlys is my small attempt to make something that matters.
Not flashy. Just useful.
Not perfect. Just needed.
If it works, great.
If it doesn't, I'll still be proud I built it.
No moral. No pitch. No "click here to subscribe."
Just me, rambling into the void, hoping it lands with someone who feels even a tiny bit the same.
If that's you — cool.
If it's not — also cool.
But if you made it all the way down here... damn. You've got stamina.
Thanks for reading.
Thanks for existing.
Thanks for clicking on the weird little page no one else will notice.
Catch you out there —