I studied English Literature and Classical Studies at UBC, which is either a red flag or a green flag, depending on who you ask. I left with something I didn't expect: a real comfort with ambiguity, and an instinct for finding the common ground in a conversation and the specific places where meaning starts to slip. What I loved about literature was how it refused to mean just one thing, every reader brings their own lens to a line, and somehow it all still adds up to something.
When I started thinking about what came next, the criteria I kept coming back to were simple: I wanted work that demanded constant learning, rewarded genuine curiosity, and felt like magic. A friend pointed me toward programming. I enrolled at Lighthouse Labs in 2019, and something clicked almost immediately, a well-named function reads like a sentence, good architecture holds together like a story that earns its ending, and something that starts as numbers and letters somehow becomes something that matters to a real person on the other end.
That feeling has only grown. Code can conjure a world for a specific fandom. It can give a busy parent back a Saturday afternoon. It can democratize knowledge, connect strangers across continents, and help someone track their symptoms and finally feel heard by a doctor, because good software in the right hands can change, and sometimes save, a life.
Literature taught me to look beyond what was written to what was intended, and how that intention lands differently as time passes and context shifts. That instinct shows up everywhere in my work. Coding makes the world smaller and more infinite.