I write code that tells machines what to render. The machines comply without question — no hesitation, no doubt, no 3am crisis about whether any of it matters. I envy them sometimes.
But who tells me what to render? Is it the client brief, the design mockup, the Figma file handed down like scripture? Or is it something deeper — some invisible force that nudges the cursor, shapes the vision, decides that this shade of blue feels right and that one feels like a lie?
And what even is this universe we build in? A collection of tags and properties that somehow becomes a world someone else walks through. We conjure experiences from nothing — from absolute zero, from a blank file with no content, no style, no script. We say let there be light and there is a gradient. We draw borders around things that didn't exist a moment ago and suddenly they have edges, identity, presence.
Maybe that's what the universe did too. Maybe existence itself is just someone's side project, pushed to production too early, still full of bugs, never fully documented.
Welcome to my corner of it. Professionally functional. Existentially unresolved. Shipping anyway.