My name is Rasyid, spelled "Rasheed" in English. I write code and occasionally write about it. If you found your way here, I'm glad you did.
When I was six year old, my father brought home our first computer. It ran Windows 98 and was a little beat up, slower than it should have been. I remember the fan noise before anything else, that low mechanical hum that meant it was waking up. I had no idea what I was doing with it, but I took it apart anyway. I sorted the screws into a bowl and laid the parts on the floor. My father watched from the door and said nothing. I think he understood something I didn't yet: taking things apart to see how they work is its own kind of reading.
I put it back together and it still ran.
That machine lived in the corner of my bedroom for years. I played games on it, explored directories I had no business opening, and broke things until fixing them became second nature. Over time, the breaking started to feel less like failure and more like method. You learn a computer the way you learn a neighborhood, by wandering until the streets stop feeling foreign.
Middle school is when it got interesting. Several Indonesian carriers had a vulnerability where they granted free access to a handful of whitelisted domains and trusted that users stayed there. We used SSH tunnels and custom injectors to push traffic through that gap. The carrier thought we were reading a news site while we were on the full internet. Figuring out how that trick worked taught me more than any class did, not because it was an act of rebellion, but because it forced me to think in layers. Every network has assumptions baked in, and finding the assumption means finding the seam.
I spent most of high school in terminals doing network administration competitions, writing Linux configurations, and studying routing tables. I found the work that everyone else deemed tedious satisfying in a way similar to repetitive physical labor, where the body of the machine resists you and then gives way. I felt at home doing SysAdmin work in the infrastructure that nobody applauds because it just runs.
University introduced me to programming as craft. Java was everywhere in Indonesia then, and I learned it properly, understanding not just how to make it compile but how to think in its structures. I also spent time with Arduino and bare-metal code on hardware that had no patience for abstraction. When you write for a microcontroller with two kilobytes of memory, every byte is a decision. That limitation teaches you to be economical in ways that comfort never does.
After graduating I joined the Apple Developer Academy. That is where I discovered Swift. Its type system, value semantics, and a compiler that refused to let you be lazy with your intentions felt right. I had always liked the idea that constraints clarify, and Swift takes that idea seriously.
I have worked as a software engineer since then. Mobile is my main territory, writing Swift for iOS and using Dart when a project calls for Flutter. I build backends when the work lives there, frontends when it does not, and I drop down to low-level code when the problem sits close to the metal. I do not have a preferred tool. I have a preferred approach: understand the actual problem before reaching for a solution.
I know more about Elden Ring lore than is probably reasonable, and I have no plans to fix that. I have three scars on my face, each with a story I might tell you if you ask. I can fall asleep on trains, in airports, and in rooms where other people are talking, which is either a skill or a character flaw depending on who you ask.
No algorithm decides what lives here. This corner of the internet is mine.