Long Journey for being an IT man: Being Independent

In 2024, I enrolled in the computer science major at Korea National Open University. Looking back now, that decision feels less like the start of a simple academic program and more like the first step into a long transformation. I did not enter this field as someone naturally raised inside coding culture. I was not one of those people who had built websites as a teenager, joined programming clubs, interned at startups, or spent years surrounded by developers. I came from another world. Because of that, I began in a humble way, practicing beginner tutorials in C, C++, Java, and Python through Programiz. I needed to touch the foundations one by one. Syntax, variables, loops, functions, logic—things many others had learned years earlier were still new enough to demand patience from me.

Yet even those small tutorials carried emotional weight. They represented movement. They meant I had stopped standing outside the technical world merely admiring it or fearing it. I had begun to enter it, however awkwardly.

The deeper force behind that decision was the arrival of ChatGPT and the wider shock of artificial intelligence. AI did not feel to me like one more fashionable technology trend that would briefly excite the media and then fade. It felt like a historical turning point. Suddenly, many fields that once seemed stable looked vulnerable to rapid change. Writing, translation, design, customer service, coding, education, planning, research, administration—everything seemed touched by the new wave. I felt that I was witnessing one of those moments when history changes direction in public view.

That feeling unsettled me, but it also energized me. I did not want to remain a passive observer while the structure of the world was changing. I did not want to be someone who only uses tools built by others while lacking any understanding of the forces reshaping society. So I made up my mind to begin studying computer science seriously. I knew I was late. I knew I was inexperienced. I knew I was stepping into a field where many others were already far ahead. But I also knew that refusing to begin would be worse than beginning late.

In 2025, I experienced one of the most encouraging moments of this journey. As a member of Team Chat Braille, I received both the best prize and the popularity award in the software contest held at KNOU. That meant a great deal to me. It did not magically turn me into an engineer, but it proved that I was not wandering meaninglessly. Team Chat Braille was a real project with real value, and people recognized it. For someone who had entered the field from outside, that recognition mattered deeply.

Still, I must be honest with myself. Even after that achievement, I cannot say that I am already an IT man. I am still on the road. I have never actually worked in the IT field. I have no job experience as a developer. I have never lived the daily life of software teams, production deadlines, debugging under pressure, code reviews, deployment problems, or professional collaboration inside technical organizations. Those experiences belong to others, not yet to me.

I also do not have a strong portfolio. Outside of Team ChatBraille, there is little I can point to with confidence and say, “This represents me as a builder.” That reality makes me anxious. In a field where proof often matters more than intention, I sometimes feel exposed. Others may have internships, GitHub histories, freelance projects, startup stories, or years of accumulated technical evidence. I often feel that I have only one major symbol—ChatBraille—and that one symbol cannot carry my entire future forever.

This anxiety is real. I do not want to hide it behind motivational slogans. There are moments when I wonder whether I entered too late, whether I am too far behind, whether formal study alone is enough, whether others will always be more credible because they began earlier and accumulated more practical experience. There are moments when I fear being trapped between identities: no longer satisfied with my old limits, but not yet established in the new world I seek.

But perhaps anxiety itself is part of crossing worlds.

Anyone who changes direction seriously must endure a season of uncertainty. The old identity becomes less sufficient, yet the new identity has not solidified. That is where I am now. I am no longer merely an outsider to technology, yet I cannot honestly claim insider status either. I live in the in-between stage, where ambition is ahead of credentials.

Even so, I try to remember that progress is not always visible in résumé language. Beginner tutorials may look small, but they matter. Formal study matters. Contest victories matter. Learning how to think computationally matters. Building courage to enter an unfamiliar domain matters. Persistence matters. The world often counts only finished products, but inner transformation begins long before the market notices it.

The age of AI also gives this journey a special shape. Civilization seems to be moving toward lighter structures. Old-fashioned large organizations no longer look like the only path to power or relevance. Smaller groups—and sometimes even individuals—can now create systems with global reach. Telegram is one symbol of this possibility. With only about 30 employees, it became one of the largest messenger corporations in the world. That fact remains in my mind because it reveals something important: scale today is not only measured by headcount. Leverage, code, architecture, and intelligent systems can outweigh bureaucracy.

That vision attracts me deeply. I do not simply want a technical job inside an old rigid structure. I want independence. I want to become an AI-agent commander—someone who can direct tools, systems, and intelligent agents with autonomy rather than living under the permanent pressure of traditional organizations. There is something in me that resists the old model of life in which one must endlessly wait for permission, rank, approval, or institutional mercy. The new age seems to offer another route.

But to walk that route, I must first face reality. I need more skill. I need more projects. I need more evidence. I need more experience. I need to transform anxiety into work.

That may mean building personal projects one by one. It may mean studying harder than younger students who started earlier. It may mean using AI tools not as entertainment but as force multipliers for learning and creation. It may mean accepting embarrassment, slow progress, and repeated beginnerhood. It may mean treating Team Chat Braille not as the final proof of my ability, but as the first chapter.

Sometimes I think the long distance itself is what gives the road dignity. If becoming an IT man were easy, it would not mean much. To cross from one professional world into another later in life requires effort, humility, and stubbornness. It requires enduring seasons when one looks unimpressive from the outside. It requires faith that identity can be rebuilt.

So yes, I am anxious. I have never been in the IT field. I have no developer job experience. My portfolio is thin. I still feel incomplete. But anxiety is not the whole truth.

The whole truth is that I saw the historical change and responded. I entered the road instead of remaining still. I began learning instead of only envying. I won something real with Team ChatBraille. I now understand that the future may belong not only to those who entered early, but also to those who adapt with seriousness.

I am not yet the IT man I want to become. But I am no longer merely someone who dreams about becoming one. I am already in motion, and motion matters more than fear.