Ah, the late 2000’s. High school was still a battleground where the socially awkward faced off against the popular, the jocks, and the in-crowd. But, in that swamp of teen angst and locker-lined hallways, something clicked for me that would change my life—or so I thought.
Picture this: me, a moody teenager, sitting in a computer lab that smelled faintly of body odor and stale coffee from the teacher’s brewer. Not gonna lie, it was a disgusting smell that made me wonder why some people don’t bother cleaning up, but that’s a rant for another day.
Everyone else was probably daydreaming about their next shopping spree or football game, but not me. Oh no. I was staring at a screen filled with lines of Java code, my face bathed in that soothing black and green light glow (I liked changing the look of command prompt to make it look better than everyone else’s. I like green, and plus, it looked like Fallout!).
Learning how to code was like discovering a secret language, one that wasn’t spoken by the cheerleaders or the football players, but by the machines—the only thing that made any sense in a world full of teenage chaos.
Coding. Who knew that a few lines of HTML and Java could be so damn empowering? I wasn’t exactly the most confident girl in the room, especially in a field dominated by dudes who’d probably been tinkering with computers since they started middle school. But there I was, clicking away, feeling like I’d finally found something that made sense, something that was mine.
And yeah, it felt good. Really fucking good.
I remember sitting at my desk, surrounded by books and notes, trying to absorb every bit of knowledge I could about programming. There was something exhilarating about it—like cracking a code that no one else could. It was intimidating as hell, especially with all the testosterone floating around in the classroom. But I didn’t care. I had found my thing, and I was damn well going to own it.
Programming became my language, a way to express myself beyond the usual snark and sarcasm that got me through the day. It was more than just typing lines of code—it was about creating something, bringing ideas to life with nothing but a keyboard and a screen. Kinda like virtual Lego before Minecraft was ever a thing. I remember raising my hand in class, asking questions, and feeling the eyes of my classmates on me. But I didn’t give a fuck. I was there to learn, to push myself, and to show that I could do this just as well as any of them.
I think my teacher noticed my passion, too. They started handing me brochures for computer science programs at my local university, encouraging me to pursue this new-found love. I’d sit on my bed, surrounded by all the application paperwork, feeling a mix of excitement and dread. I wasn’t just applying to college; I was applying to the future I wanted to build with my own two hands. It was terrifying and thrilling all at once.
Coding wasn’t just a subject for me—it was a gateway to endless possibilities. I worked late into the night on coding assignments, reading up on operating systems, and learning bit by bit about what you could do. With each line of code, each project completed, my confidence grew. I was still a quiet, socially awkward girl, but I noticed myself becoming someone who could create, innovate, and challenge the norm.
High school still had its challenges—social cliques, homework, the usual—but I had found my passion. My purpose. I was ready to code my way into the future, one line at a time. I imagined myself working on groundbreaking video games, joining a team of brilliant game designers, and maybe even changing the world in my own way.
But life, as it so often does, decided to take a massive dump on those dreams. Fast forward to today, and here I am, typing away in a call center, dealing with irate customers who can’t figure out how to turn on their Wi-Fi. It’s a far cry from the future I envisioned. Instead of coding my way to success, I’m stuck in a monotonous job that saps my energy and creativity. The passion I once had for programming feels like a distant memory, buried under the weight of daily drudgery. Even drawing art has been tough to get back into.
Some days, I look back at that girl in the computer lab and wonder where she went. What happened to that fire, that drive to create and innovate? Life happened, I suppose. Reality kicked me in the face, and the world of coding, once so full of promise, became just another casualty of adulthood.
But here’s the thing—I haven’t completely given up on that girl or her dreams. Coding is still there, lurking in the background, waiting for its moment to shine again. Maybe one day, I’ll find my way back to it, reclaim that passion, and finally create something worth sharing with the world. Until then, I’ll keep slogging away at my day job, but I’ll never forget the excitement and possibility that coding once brought into my life.
So, if you’re still here, reading my ramblings, maybe take a moment to think about your own dreams. The ones you had before life got in the way. They’re still there, buried under the bullshit, waiting for you to dig them up and dust them off. And who knows? Maybe one day, we’ll both find our way back to the things that made us feel alive. Until then, we’ll keep going, one day at a time, and hope for better things ahead.
Stay snarky,
~ Rita 🖤