Small Rules. Big Consequences.

In college, I tried to implement Conway's Game of Life.

It sounded simple:
A grid of cells. A few rules.
Cells live or die based on how many neighbors they have. That's it.

What could go wrong?

A lot, actually.

I remember spending way too long trying to figure out why nothing moved, why everything died instantly, or why the entire grid turned into some kind of cellular rave. What I thought would be a clean, elegant little side project quickly turned into an exercise in debugging infinity.

Eventually, I got it working.
Here's the code. It's not the cleanest thing I've ever written, but it runs—and watching the patterns emerge (gliders, blinkers, strange clusters that just…vibe) was mesmerizing.

You can see it quietly running in the background of this page, by the way.
Because apparently I like to relive past struggles in ambient form.

The Rules of the Game

In case you've never seen it, Conway's Game of Life is a cellular automaton where each cell on a grid is either alive or dead, and updates each cycle based on these three rules:

1. Any live cell with 2 or 3 live neighbors survives
2. Any dead cell with exactly 3 live neighbors becomes alive
3. All other live cells die, and all other dead cells stay dead

That's it. Just three rules.

But run it over and over, and suddenly you've got motion, structure, stasis, chaos—emergence.

And That's the Point

What stuck with me from that project wasn't the math, or the visuals.
It was the idea that a few tiny rules, repeated enough times, could produce something that felt real. Felt alive.

That phrase—small rules, big consequences—has been echoing in my head ever since.

And now, years later, I find myself drawn to the same kinds of patterns.
Except this time, it's not a simulation.

Where This Leads

These days, I spend most of my time thinking about AI, algorithms, and life.

Not just the tools we're building, but the ways they shape us back.
How recommendation systems tweak attention.
How optimization logic changes workflows.
How friction—or the lack of it—reshapes behavior.

It's not always the complex systems that surprise us.
It's the simple ones, repeated.

This site is where I make sense of that.

I'll be writing about:

• Things I'm building
• Ideas I'm circling
• Weird stuff I can't stop noticing
• Patterns in tech that feel suspiciously human

Think of it as a running notebook. One that's alive. One that sometimes crashes.
And maybe—every now and then—spits out something worth watching.

If you're here: welcome.
Poke around. Stay curious.

And if something breaks, try refreshing.
That's what I did in college, and honestly, it worked more often than it should've.