My Story
The Glass Box
Fifth grade. I’m standing inside a glass-walled squash court. The air smells like rubber soles and expensive cologne. My parents are watching from the gallery. My coach is watching with his arms crossed. And I am freezing.
I’m not thinking about the game. I’m thinking: “If I miss this shot, they’ll all know I’m a fraud.”
I lost. I ran to the locker room, locked the stall, and sat on the cold tile for twenty minutes. I didn't want to win; I just wanted to survive the gaze. That was my relationship with pressure: a spotlight I wanted to smash.

The Whiff
High school volleyball nationals. Orlando Convention Center. The noise is a deafening roar of 500 whistles blowing at once. I’m standing on the court, knees bent, waiting for the serve.
I’m not thinking 'I got this.' I’m thinking: “Please don't hit it to me. Please, God, don't let the ball come to me.”
The serve comes. It floats right to my platform. I swing—and completely whiff. The ball hits the floor behind me. My teammate taps my shoulder, but the silence in my head is louder than the crowd. I wanted to dissolve into the hardwood. I wasn't playing to compete; I was playing not to lose.

The 3 AM Hum
Junior year. 3 AM on a Tuesday. My room is dark except for the harsh blue glow of VS Code. No audience. No scoreboard. No parents. Just the hum of my laptop fan.
I'm debugging a breathing detection algorithm for a friend with ASD. I hit 'Run'. The green box tracks my chest movement with surgical precision.
I leaned back—not with relief, but with power. I realized: When I solve real problems, the fear disappears. I wasn't an imposter here. I wasn't performing for anyone. I was an engineer.

The Margaret Moment
Tech4Silvers workshop. A room full of seniors staring at blank screens. The old me would have panicked.
The new me saw a problem I knew how to solve.
I walked up to Margaret, a 70-year-old grandmother. I didn't stutter. I guided her hand to the mouse. We connected the video call, and her grandson’s face appeared. She grabbed my hand, weeping with joy.
In that moment, I stood taller. I wasn't the kid hiding in the stall anymore. I was the one opening the door for someone else.
The Arena
Present day. I’m about to submit our 'Beyond Euler' research paper. The deadline is in 5 minutes. My heart is hammering—the same physical feeling as the squash court.
But this time, I’m not looking for an exit. I’m grinning.
I type the final sentence. Click.
I don't just tolerate the pressure now; I hunt for it. The 'shaky guy' is gone. I’ve learned that fear is just fuel, and I have a lot of work left to do.
That mindset now shows up in projects like Beyond Euler and Tech4Silvers.






























