Life is funny. For the longest time, I was navigating a dense fog of thoughts, trying to find my way to a career path that is truly adventurous. I jumped from one thing to another, only to find myself feeling unfulfilled and restless. It’s a journey we’re meant to do when the world presents us with a dizzying array of options.

This blog talks about my journey, my thoughts, it wasn’t about finding a single destination nor it was about the process itself rather but it was about honestly facing my own weaknesses, strengths, and deepest interests. I had to learn to quiet the noise of what I “should” be doing and listen to what I was genuinely drawn to. This meant a lot of introspection and, most importantly, a lot of questioning. Why am I doing this? Does this truly excites me? This continuous self-interrogation, this persistent asking of “the whys, whys, whys,” became my compass. Every moment of confusion became a lesson. By questioning every thought, I began to see the patterns, to understand the motivations, and to finally connect the dots between who I am and what I am meant to do.

The last year of college felt less like a celebration and more like a countdown to disappointment. My degree in Electronics and Communication was one year away, yet I felt like a fraud. Every interview I went on ended with the same polite rejection, a quiet confirmation that I was “very bad” at the very thing my degree was meant to prove I was good at.

Then came the call from Mistral Solutions. A hardware design engineering role. It felt like a lifeline. I cleared every round, got the offer, and was overcome with a feeling of relief and triumph. This was a “core” company; it was a big deal. The pride I felt was so immense that I stopped attending all other interviews. I was set, contained, and finally had something to brag about to everyone.

My first few months at the company were a blur of onboarding and learning. The real challenge began when I was passed over for project assignments. The reason was brutally simple: my knowledge of basic electronics the RLC circuits was lacking. This humbling realization was my wake-up call. I spent months working to fill the gaps, burying myself in the fundamentals, bugging my colleagues, determined to prove my worth.

Finally, I was given a project to design schematics. I poured my life into it, working day and night with little rest. I had an incredible mentor who, though he didn’t have to, sat with me and guided me. He gave me answers; he helped me navigate the problem. My design had a lot of mistakes, some of which we caught, but some of which slipped through.

Then, before the project was even complete, I resigned.

The decision was born from a whirlwind of new insights. I wanted to move to the firmware side of electronics the idea of enabling a piece of hardware and making it do what I wanted was fascinating. I was also starting to see that hardware design, being rule-based, might be automated in the coming decade. I wanted a career with a future and excitement. And yes, I thought software paid more. But most importantly, my mentor encouraged me to pursue a master’s degree, calling it an upgrade for my career.

A year later, I reconnected with few of my old colleagues. I learned that the project I had worked on was a mess. But no one gave me details, only reassurances that I was in a good place now. I chose not to stress over it. The past was out of my control. I made a promise to myself then: I would be accountable for everything I did from that moment on. I would accept when I was bad at something, and I would get second opinions and feedback early on, especially when the stakes were high.

Looking back, the most profound realization came to me while writing this down. I never once asked “why” back then. My habit of questioning everything only started when I turned 28. This leads me to the biggest “why” of all: Why was I able to get a role I wanted, even with my past failures? I mean data showed I am bad it.

The answer was simple: my past didn’t matter because the mistakes and lack of knowledge were just that—in the past. They didn’t define my present because I had chosen to improve. As the saying goes, you are dumb if you don’t ask, but if you do, you are dumb only until you asked. My unwavering focus on my present goal—to become a firmware engineer—was the only thing that mattered. It was a clear, unshakeable ambition that made me eligible, not a flawless resume. I might have gotten lucky, but my first company and mentor played the most crucial role in helping me find the direction I needed.

The years 2021 through 2023 were low-pressure time. I had just joined Intel as an intern, a firmware developer writing algorithms to enable main memory for different technologies. It was a fascinating new world, and my career path seemed to be finally solidifying and exciting.

But alongside my new professional life, another obsession was taking hold: stock trading. I dove into it, consuming courses, mastering technical analysis, and watching my charts fill with lines and indicators. I had the dream of becoming a millionaire, a side hustle that would change everything. The journey was a rollercoaster. I made money, I lost money, and by the end of the year, the net result was a big, fat zero. It was a funny paradox, but it was also a heavy one. The mental energy it took was immense. Juggling my day job with the constant wins and losses of trading took a toll, and some months, the losses were so significant that I had very little left to spend.

During this time, I met someone who was a walking, talking “why.” They questioned everything. My initial approach to life was simple: if I want to do something, I just do it. I was not a curious person in that way; I didn’t feel the need to understand the deeper motivations behind every action. I didn’t realize the importance of their constant questioning until much later.

One day, I decided I couldn’t do it anymore. The trading had to stop. I would quit and instead stick to a few investment patterns I was good at, focusing my energy entirely on my day job. I knew if I told this person about my decision, the first thing they would ask was “why?” This simple thought prompted a deeper self-reflection than I had ever done before. I had to find a real reason, a clear “why” to justify quitting.

The answer, when it finally came, was surprisingly simple. I realized I was good at doing one thing at a time. Multi-tasking was not a strength; it was a distraction, a drain on my energy. I needed to fully immerse myself in a single task to master it, to get it done well and get it done fast. By the end of 2023, my focus had shifted entirely. My day job was no longer just a job; it was my singular pursuit.

I had given up the dream of becoming an overnight millionaire, but in doing so, I had gained something far more valuable: a profound understanding of myself and how I work best. The trading journey and the “why” questions from a curious person had given me the clarity to quit a path that wasn’t working and commit fully to the one that was.

The years 2024 and 2025 were a period of peaceful decisions in my life, though they began in a storm. 2024 was a year of profound physical and mental struggle, a chaos I couldn’t understand. I spent my time getting lost in books, not for pleasure, but for answers. I was searching for the WHY behind my physical and emotional fatigue, finding solace in the quiet solitude that became my comfort.

In the midst of this personal turmoil, a new professional chaos emerged: AI/ML. I was consumed by a desire to learn, to understand the fundamental mathematics and the deepest secrets of it. I invested a significant amount of time, but something was missing; I wasn’t excited. The fascination was a quiet, intellectual pursuit, a good investment of time, but not a passionate one. I was a victim of market hype, and the interest, which had been a low hum since 2023, was ultimately superficial.

The beginning of 2025 felt like a breath of fresh air. My health improved, and with it, my mental clarity. This was the start of a new, curious me. My curiosity wasn’t about the world at large or the latest social media trends; it was a deeply personal curiosity—a desire to understand myself and the things I saw and read.

This newfound sense of inquiry brought peace back to my career. There are a hundred things in the world that fascinate me, but I finally understood that true interest is a prerequisite for deep, meaningful learning. I questioned myself, wondering if I was simply a victim of the AI hype, and came to a simple, honest realization: I was not made for it. It sounds easy, but it took a lot of quiet, persistent questioning to arrive there. I liked working on hardware. I loved the process of giving something a life, the introverted world of hardware and firmware that exhibits its power without the world knowing. It was just like me, and that’s how I could be a part of it.

Firmware is a generic term, though, and new “whys” soon followed. This time, it didn’t take years to find the answer. I wanted to be a part of the analog world—the beautifully chaotic world. I want to understand more about analog signal behavior and, one day, maybe even get down to the electron level, where I might control them using the power code.

And here is the funny part of this whole swirly story: I was always part of the analog world from the very beginning…..

If I look at the last five years of my career, I see a journey guided by a sort of quiet magic. By some stroke of luck, I’ve always been on the path I wanted to be on. Maybe sometimes, we’re in the right place already. We just have to ask ourselves, Why am I here? Being in this exact spot might be the perfect thing for us. Something has always been there, making sure I was at the right place. Even when I feel I wasn’t, I am certain that asking “why” will make all the difference in the choices and decisions I make. Life really is a funny thing.