How did a would-be video game designer end up self-hosting her own site? I didn't wake up one day ready to wrestle with PHP files for pure entertainment. My path started much earlier, with a different kind of glow.
Video game consoles hold memories for me. At five years old, I was huddled in front of a PlayStation 2, mesmerized by the rising chime of its startup sound and the strange, joyful world of Katamari Damacy. The game was quirky and maximalist: a rolling ball gathering up objects until entire cities stuck to its surface. That memory has always stayed with me. Technology wasn't just machines; it was play, creativity, and a way of seeing the world differently. I came to believe video games were a form of interactive art, and as a youth I was determined to take them apart.
Let me give you a brief story of the trail of sparks that carried me from games to digital art, through archives and coding, and finally into the decision to host my own site.
I grew up around computers, and that access shaped me early. Sometimes it meant working on aging Macintosh desktops in school labs, waiting my turn for computer time. At other moments, it meant browsing the latest browser-based puzzles on CoolMathGames, where problem-solving and creativity were disguised as play.
Early exposure to these platforms underscored how fortunate I was to interact with technology in so many forms. Computers, websites, and games became a sandbox where I could explore, experiment, and learn.
In high school I began moving from playing to creating. I earned certifications in several Adobe programs, but more importantly, I learned what each tool could do. Adobe Illustrator taught me vector graphics and precision design. Image and layering possibilities were revealed once I learned Photoshop. I had a peek at web design and user experience when I experimented with Dreamweaver. After Effects opened a door into motion graphics and animation.
Together these programs expanded my vocabulary for what technology could express. The certifications were not trophies; they reminded me how much I enjoyed experimenting, clicking through menus, and testing what made an image or animation come alive. Early access to these tools gave me both confidence and fluency in technology. Computers speak a language too, and I spoke back.
As a kid, I dreamed of designing video games. I didn't need to know the exact age when that spark started—the important part is that it shaped how I learned and what I chased after. One clear step along the way was attending Game Worlds, a video game camp in Austin where teams built small games and presented them to real developers, including staff from BioWare.
Afternoons of sketching, testing, and presenting showed me that game design was more than play. It was a discipline where art and systems came together.
With my ambitions sharpened, I explored broader genres of classic games and studied what made them immersive. I was accepted to the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) for Game Design, proof that my efforts had grown into something tangible. I ultimately chose a different academic path because I decided not to enter the game design industry.
The industry was not only ethically troubled but also poor business to enter. Workplace policies were underdeveloped, work-life balance was difficult, and developers were often underpaid compared to publishers. Even with that decision, my early experiences built a critical lens and taught me how design thinking applies across fields.
The full-circle moment came much later, in 2024, when I began learning Python. Writing simple command-line games, text prompts and loops, taught me that I enjoyed coding as much as I enjoyed game design itself. In June 2025 I completed my CompTIA ITF+ certificationwhile also exploring encryption standards and security basics. Coding no longer belonged only to games; it extended into protecting data and became the bridge to my next stage—professional work that drew me deeper into the overlap of coding, communication, and preservation.
That perspective carried forward. During my internship with the bell hooks Digital Archive at Berea College, I was introduced to digital humanities and the world of metadata. I scanned and analyzed more than one hundred published documents, cataloged records, and built systems to make information usable.
Metadata, in practice, is the descriptive scaffolding that determines whether data can be found and understood. A mislabeled file can render a resource invisible; a clean record can transform that same resource into something valuable for researchers, students, and communities.
While working in the archive, I handled a VHS tape recorded by hooks herself. It had to be managed with cloth gloves, as if it were a fragile artifact. The contrast was striking: a medium that once felt ordinary had become delicate and rare. Now, I view technology not only as creation, but as preservation. Data and media do not last forever; if data isn't archived, it perishes.
Archiving for bell hooks' works showed me how coding and communication overlap. Writing metadata, transcribing audio, and building access tools were all technical acts of communication. Each task carried an implicit message: who is this for, and how can they reach it? The bridge between art, humanities, and technology became clearer. I was not abandoning creativity; I was learning a different way to connect.
In June 2024, I completed my CompTIA ITF+ credential and soon after began studying for the A+ certification. These milestones gave structure to skills I had already been practicing. Python and HTML provided the means to build projects that were both functional and personally meaningful. Coding moved from theory into application, and I learned how to make technology serve my goals.
Before self-hosting, I had tested how digital platforms could support creative work. I sold art on Etsy and exhibited pieces in community spaces. Those experiences showed the benefits of reach and visibility, but they also revealed the limits of relying on platforms I could not fully control.
Interface restrictions, opaque policies, and limited options for presentation pushed me to search for alternatives.
My concern grew sharper as I studied data scraping, AI training, and copyright. I wanted my work to be respected and accessible at the same time. Many platforms failed at this balance, and the only way to achieve it was to design the interface myself. Building my own site became the answer. It allowed me to establish digital sovereignty. I could decide how my work was displayed, shared, and preserved.
Self-hosting was not only a technical project but also a philosophical commitment. It represented autonomy, responsibility, and continuity with the values I had carried since my earliest encounters with technology. My career aim is to begin as an entry-level remote tech specialist, with a path toward long-term growth. My investment in self-hosting demonstrates readiness and resilience—qualities I intend to bring into every future role.
So how did a would-be game designer end up self-hosting a website? The answer is simple: the burning curiosity and passion for design carried forward and morphed into a ball of Python scripts, metadata, and crumbs of digital sovereignty.
Games taught me to see systems as art; archives taught me that data requires care; and coding taught me that I could build those systems myself.
Self-hosting is just another form of interactive art, only this time, the player is anyone who clicks.