Welcome to my tiny corner of the web.
I'm a simple man, driven by analytical challenges (driven into action usually, sometimes into insomnia-fuelled madness). Give me legacy code to reverse engineer, a late-night debugging mystery, an AI to gaslight, or a rabbit hole to explore, and I'm in my happy zone.
When I'm not diving into the Matrix, there are a few hobbies I'll be chasing. I love photography, cooking (usually edible) food, playing video games, and writing. I also read Tarot, because it's an awesome mindfulness practice - no subscription to Occultist's Digest required.
Writing is, of course, the very reason this blog exists. It's much less about creating a portfolio to showcase my awesome skills at creating shareholder value, and way more about sharing experiences, war stories, and experiments. It's also a space for me to reflect, vent, heck - maybe even figure myself out, long form.
Now, speaking of writing, here's some that ain't the prose equivalent of boiled chicken breast:
Early Life
Born and raised in post-Soviet Poland, a gentle and beautiful land where, in the 90s, nothing ever really happened beneath the bleached-blue sky. Small villages and towns scattered and forgotten across the landscape, surrounded by fields whispering secrets that people preferred to forget. Nearby stood brutalist cities, grey plattenbau blocks standing stiff and proud, like weathered soldiers forgotten by their generals. Each prefab marked by long, dark streaks — rain crafting its masterpiece over years of grime and stillness.
This is where dreams die, fading like old photographs tucked away in the attics nobody visits anymore. People's faces carried a quiet melancholy, a blend of polite warmth and deeply rooted sorrow. Nobody ever bothered to ask if you were okay, because "okay" seemed like an overly ambitious goal.
You learn to pay attention. To patterns, to silences, to warnings whispered by creaking floorboards, and to the subtle shift in the air right before a storm.
My first debugging session was in a forgotten Polish village, where the road turned to dirt, and the fields began. A pirated cassette refused to load on my 8-bit Atari. I spent way too much time listening to the horrible noise of data turned audio, brushing the magnetic head with moonshine to clear off dust and calibrating it with a greasy screwdriver. I learned that systems, even the broken ones, still follow rules. You just need to figure them out.
Since then, I've chased futures that never came to be: hoped to be a Texan cattle rancher (don't ask, I saw the Dallas opening credits as a kid and it somehow stuck), wrote over a hundred pages of a now-dead novel, poured drinks for strangers who shared their life stories with me on long and lonely nights. Turns out, all roads lead to solving puzzles — only now, the puzzles involve matrices, training loops, and pretending I understand backpropagation.