3AM.
Radiohead’s Let Down is bleeding through my ears.
And it's not just a song title, it’s a diagnosis.
You can call me Pedro. They call me like that and I don’t really know why. Maybe because my real name’s too long for people who forget easily.
I wasn’t born rich. But I’ve always had this fire in me, small, stubborn, and loud. A fire that whispers “keep going” even when everything else says “what’s the point?”
I’m not writing this to be cool. Not to be profound. Not to create art. This is just my fingers moving because my brain won’t shut up. No chapters. No clean structure. Just what is.
I was born the year the ocean swallowed Aceh. People say my birthday is “unique.” But I don’t think they know what that means.
I grew up in what they’d call a “normal” place. No extreme violence. No grand tragedy. But I was always a weird kid. Curious. Restless. Obsessed with beautiful things, things you can see, hear, or feel. Things even a deaf person could see, a blind person could hear, and someone who’s both deaf and blind… could still feel with their heart.
I’m not a genius. But I touch many things. I make, I break, I learn, I move on. Never the best, but never afraid to try.
At 7, I found a camera. And suddenly, I could save time. That blew my mind.
At 10, I borrowed my brother’s computer. Typed things like: “How to make money online” “How to get rich overnight” Funny now, but that was the start of my internet rabbit hole.
At 14, I made my first YouTube channel. Got a few dollars. Not much, but it was real. Proof that imagination can be monetized.
But again... I got bored.
So I dove into programming. Hacked games to skip the grind. Stole WiFi. Broke into phones. Not because I was evil, but because I was curious. How far can you push reality before it pushes back?
Then I swing back to videography. Because sometimes, the only way to process life is to replay it frame by frame.
At 16, I returned to hacking. Not for fun, for survival. I wanted my code to make me money. And it did. I did some things I can’t put here. Let’s just say... I had more money than most kids my age.
Then came the bikes.
I met friends who raced. Started to hang out with them. Got into it. Went fast. Until I crashed. Hard. Broken hand. Broken neck.
That was the first time I thought, “So… I can actually die?”
I recovered slowly. Left that scene behind.
Then I finished high school. No college. I said to myself, “F**k it. I wanna be like Elon Musk.” Funny, right?
But instead of rockets and Teslas, I had stolen code, caffeine, and a brain I couldn’t mute.
I returned to hacking. But this time, I wanted to use what I know for something right. Or at least, something real.