The First Word

Technology felt like a foreign language.

It had its own rules, its own dialects — ones I could not yet understand.
Each day I learned a new word: a parameter, a function, a combination of values.
But the full sentence always slipped away.

It reminded me of those first days in an unfamiliar country, when everything feels both familiar and incomprehensible.
It was not only about buttons and code, but about sensing the rhythm behind them.
Every setting was a letter. Every print, a tentative sentence.
And most of the time, the sentence stopped halfway.

It frustrated me, yet it also intrigued me.
I began to find joy in small translations: when a detail turned out right, when a form followed the plan in my mind.

That was the moment I understood it was not a struggle between myself and technology.
It was a process of mutual learning.
And the first word you learn is always the hardest — and the most precious.