technorad

[technorad]

The measure of my resilience

The transition to college has brought its own set of challenges, including academic pressure, time management, unfamiliar environments, and the internal drive to succeed. To better understand how I cope with these challenges, we were given a task by our professor in Technopreneuship to take an Adversity Quotient (AQ) test. My score came out to 158, which is higher than the average of 147.5, as what is stated in the website. At first, it didn’t seem like much, just another number. But as I reflected on it more, especially through the CORE aspects of determining my ability to bounce back and adapt. I realized how it reveals my approach to setbacks and stress and how it can help me grow as a student.

The AQ test evaluates four key components known as CORE: Control, Ownership, Reach, and Endurance. These areas give insight into how I perceive and handle adversity. My individual scores are as follows:

Each of these aspects highlights particular strengths and potential areas for growth. Here’s what each score means to me and how I relate them to my academic life.

A control score of 21 shows that I have a moderately strong sense of agency when facing difficulties. In an academic context, this means I usually believe that I can do something about the obstacles I encounter. For example, when I struggle to keep up with difficult topics or tight deadlines, my instinct isn’t to panic or give up—it’s to look for ways to manage the situation.

But being realistic, I also acknowledge that this sense of control fluctuates and I can't deny the truth that sometimes there are instances that I procrastinate. There are moments when I get overwhelmed—especially during exam season or group projects where team dynamics can be unpredictable. In those times, I might hesitate or feel stuck before I remember that taking small steps can shift the momentum.

Scoring 22 in Ownership suggests that I usually take responsibility for what happens in my academic journey. When I fail a quiz or perform below expectations, I don’t immediately blame the instructor or the environment (even though sometimes I do)—I ask myself what I could have done better. Did I study effectively? Was I paying attention in class? Did I manage my time well?

This level of ownership is both a strength and a burden. On one hand, it motivates me to constantly improve. On the other, it sometimes makes me hard on myself. There are moments when I internalize failures too much, forgetting that setbacks are also influenced by factors beyond my control. But overall, this high level of ownership keeps me grounded and helps me remain focused on long-term growth.

A score of 17 in Reach indicates a slightly lower ability to limit how much a problem in one area affects the rest of my life. In my case, I sometimes let academic struggles spill into other areas. For instance, if I receive a low grade in one subject, it can affect my motivation across all my classes for a short time. I begin to feel like I’m behind overall, even when the issue was isolated.

This is an area I know I need to work on. I recognize that just because I struggled with one subject or assignment, it doesn’t mean I’m failing everything. Learning how to compartmentalize challenges is crucial, especially in college where every subject demands a different set of skills and focus.

With a score of 19 in Endurance, I generally see setbacks as temporary rather than permanent. When things go wrong, I don’t think they’ll last forever. This helps me bounce back after a difficult week or a poor result. I can recognize that each semester, each module, and even each test is just one part of a bigger journey.

This mindset helps me maintain hope and motivation. I’ve noticed that I recover relatively quickly after experiencing disappointment. Instead of being stuck in negative thoughts, I start thinking about what’s next:

“How do I improve?”

“What can I do better next time?”

This forward-thinking approach, is a key trait of students who continue to perform well despite setbacks.

However, I still need to remind myself that recovery is a process. Sometimes I pretend I’m okay before I’ve really dealt with the emotional impact. While I believe things will get better, I’m learning that it’s okay to pause, process, and then move forward.

Looking at my AQ results alongside my experiences in college so far, I’ve begun to notice some clear patterns in how I respond to academic challenges. One pattern is that I tend to reflect before I react. Rather than responding impulsively, I take time to understand why something went wrong, which helps me approach problems more calmly and thoughtfully. I also don’t give up easily. Even when I feel discouraged, I usually come back with a new plan or a better mindset. However, I’ve noticed that I sometimes carry stress from one subject into another. A bad experience in a single class can affect my motivation in other areas, although I’m actively working on this. On a positive note, I’ve learned to bounce back by putting things into perspective, reminding myself that one mistake doesn’t define my whole journey. These patterns strongly connect to my CORE scores, especially Ownership and Endurance, which reflect my persistence and sense of responsibility. At the same time, my Reach score highlights an area where I can grow—learning how to separate setbacks so that one issue doesn’t affect my overall motivation.

College, I’ve come to realize, isn’t just about academics—it’s a resilience bootcamp. Every week presents new mini-adversities: surprise quizzes, conflicting deadlines, misunderstandings in group projects, or days when you feel completely disconnected. What matters most is how you react to them, and this is where AQ plays a significantly critical role.

Working in teams can be frustrating when not everyone contributes equally. There was one project where I ended up doing most of the work. Initially, I was angry, but instead of just complaining, I used my sense of ownership to make sure we still met the deadline. Then, I gave feedback to the instructor about what happened—not to blame, but to improve future group dynamics. That experience tested both my patience and my endurance. But I left that project with better communication skills and a clearer understanding of how I work under pressure. And to be honest, I prefer working alone.

Another thing I’ve realized through this AQ reflection is that adversity itself is a teacher. Every time I face a setback—whether it's failing a test, being unprepared for recitation, or missing a deadline—I’m not just being tested academically; I’m being tested emotionally and mentally. These moments push me to ask:

“What do I learn about myself here?”

My AQ gives structure to the lessons I’ve been learning throughout my academic journey.

Control has taught me to focus on what I can influence, rather than stressing over things beyond my power.

Ownership encourages me to take full responsibility for my actions and decisions instead of placing blame or making excuses.

Reach reminds me to keep setbacks in perspective and not allow one negative experience to affect everything else.

Endurance helps me stay hopeful and motivated by reminding me that challenges are temporary and that there is always a way forward.

This kind of reflection helps me move forward, stronger each time. I don’t just want to pass my subjects; I want to grow into someone who can face life’s bigger challenges with resilience. And I now realize that AQ is not fixed. It can be developed over time through intentional habits and self-awareness.

While I’m somehow proud of my AQ score, I know that there’s always room for growth. To build an even stronger Adversity Quotient, I’ve started adopting a few personal strategies. One approach is journaling my setbacks and the lessons I learn from them. Instead of simply moving on from a bad grade, I take time to write about what happened and what I took away from the experience. This practice helps me become more self-aware and transforms failure into meaningful feedback. I also use the “circle of control” technique when I feel overwhelmed. By breaking down situations into what I can and cannot control, I’m able to reduce anxiety and stay focused on what really matters. Talking to mentors and peers has also been helpful, as sharing experiences allows me to gain new perspectives and reminds me that I’m not alone in facing challenges. Finally, I try to balance responsibility with self-compassion. I hold myself accountable, but I also remind myself that making mistakes is a natural part of learning and growing.

Reflecting on my AQ score and the CORE breakdown has helped me understand myself in ways I hadn’t expected. More than just a psychological assessment, AQ has become a framework for how I process stress, failure, growth, and achievement. It doesn’t tell me whether I’m “good” or “bad” at handling adversity—it helps me ask the right questions and make better choices when life gets hard.

Now that I’ve explored how my Adversity Quotient (AQ) shapes my academic responses and decision-making, the final step is to project this understanding toward my future as a college student—and as a person. After all, AQ isn’t just a number; it’s a life skill. The way we handle adversity today lays the foundation for how we’ll handle more complex challenges later on—in our careers, relationships, and personal lives.

As a first-year student, I’ve already started experiencing how independence can be both empowering and overwhelming. There’s no high school teacher to chase after you for homework. No parents to remind you of deadlines. If I slack off, the consequences are mine to carry. In this environment, AQ becomes a powerful ally.

When I face confusing lessons or a messy calendar of deadlines, my Control and Ownership scores work together. I don’t wait to be told what to do—I figure out what needs to be done and do my best to organize myself. This doesn't mean I don’t fail sometimes; I still miss tasks and struggle with focus. But overall, my AQ pushes me toward a self-driven approach to learning. I actively look for ways to understand the material, and I reflect on my mistakes instead of brushing them off.

This proactive mindset is part of what makes learning autonomy possible. I realize that even when the academic system is flawed, or the professors are hard to reach, I can still move forward. The control is internal, and that belief has helped me stay motivated.

Looking back on my first few months of college, I can now see clear patterns in how I respond to academic setbacks. When something goes wrong, my initial reaction is usually frustration or disappointment, but those feelings don’t tend to last long. I allow myself to feel them, then shift into problem-solving mode. This is often followed by a period of reflection, where I replay the event in my head and try to figure out what I could have done differently. That reflection usually leads to small but important behavior changes, like starting assignments earlier or reaching out for help before things get worse. From there, I move into action. Whether it’s asking for feedback after a low score or adjusting my schedule to better manage my time, I focus on making deliberate steps to recover. What’s important is that I don’t let one failure turn into a bigger crisis. These patterns closely reflect the strengths highlighted in my CORE profile. Each component—Control, Ownership, Reach, and Endurance—acts like a personal trait that contributes to this recovery cycle. The one area I still find challenging is Reach, as I sometimes let academic problems feel bigger than they really are. However, simply being aware of this tendency helps me stop the spiral early. I’ve learned to pause and ask myself whether the problem is truly subject-specific or if I’m just overwhelmed. With practice, I’m slowly getting better at preventing one issue from taking over my entire mindset.

Before taking the AQ assessment, I thought resilience was just about “being tough” or “not giving up.” But now I understand that resilience is much more strategic and emotional than that. It’s about having the right tools to assess adversity, take responsibility, isolate the problem, and move forward—exactly what the CORE model emphasizes.

College has already tested me in so many ways. But because of my AQ and the insights it provides, I don’t feel helpless when those tests come. Instead, I feel like I’m building the emotional and cognitive strength to become the kind of person who can rise from failure—not just academically, but in all areas of life.

And perhaps most importantly, I now view setbacks not as roadblocks, but as part of the journey. The AQ framework reminds me that growth comes through adversity, not in spite of it. Each difficult moment is not proof of weakness, but an invitation to become stronger.

I'm still at the beginning of my college journey. There is so much I don't know yet and so much more I need to learn. One thing I know for sure is that self-awareness gives me strength. Through what I have learned from my AQ, I feel more prepared to grow. Whatever challenges come my way, I believe I can face them with purpose and resilience. As this chapter closes, I walk forward carrying the lessons, the growth, and a deeper understanding of what it means to know the measure of my resilience.

[technorad]

The fourth idiot

The first time I watched this masterpiece, I was in high school, wide-eyed and impressionable, completely unaware of how deeply this Bollywood gem would resonate with me. It was my father who recommended this film to me, which was a hilariously entertaining comedy, a heartfelt drama, and a sharp critique of the education system, all rolled into one. But more than that, the movie itself is a mirror—a mirror that reflects the anxieties, dreams, and struggles of every student who has ever questioned their place in the world.

As the story unfolded, I was drawn into the lives of three students whose personalities and experiences felt incredibly relatable. The film skillfully blends humor with serious critique, offering insight into how a student manages to survive in college. But what really stood out to me was how each character represented a different facet of the student experience. It was as though the movie held up a mirror to every student who has ever felt pressured to fit into a mold or feared that their dreams might never come true. Through the struggles and triumphs of the characters, 3 Idiots made me reflect on my own journey, as well as the journeys of so many other students around me.

What makes 3 Idiots so impactful is how it gives voice to different experiences and perspectives within the educational system. Each character, though facing similar challenges, approaches them in their own way, revealing how diverse the student experience can be. As I watched, I realized that we don’t all walk the same path—some of us push against the system, others try to fit in, and some are simply trying to survive. It’s through these three very different characters that the film shows the complexities of being a student, each one offering something new to consider. With that, let’s explore how Rancho, Farhan, and Raju represent three very distinct perspectives on education, life, and success.

Raju Rastogi, he was as poor as a church mouse, his life a constant struggle against the weight of circumstances he had no control over. His home was a reflection of his hardships—an unstable roof, water leaking down from cracks, a symbol of the fragility of the life he was desperately trying to build. His family, burdened with suffering, was a constant reminder of the stakes he had to face. His father, paralyzed and unable to work, left him with the responsibility of providing for the family. His mother, frail and sick, required constant care, while his sister, unmarried and uncertain of her future, added another layer of worry to an already difficult existence.

The first time we see Raju in a flashback, he is a silhouette of desperation. Farhan enters the dorm room and sees him with his hands clasped together and his eyes fixed ahead. His lips move in constant prayer, murmuring mantras with the fervor of a man bargaining with the universe. The walls around him tell the story of a soul seeking divine intervention—posters of gods paper over cracks in the plaster, tiny idols perch on makeshift altars, and strings of faded prayer beads dangle from rusted nails. Every inch of his space is a plea, a silent scream for mercy from forces beyond his control. He does not simply pray, he negotiates. If he fasts on Tuesdays, perhaps his mother's cough will ease. If he touches his father's feet before exams, maybe the answers will come to him. If he lights enough incense, just maybe, the universe will spare him from another humiliation.

For Raju, religion is not faith. It is insurance, a last-ditch effort to shield himself from a world that has shown him nothing but cruelty. While his classmates cram formulas into their notebooks, he memorizes mantras. While they debate problem sets in the library, his fingers work over rosary beads, counting each one as if the click of wood could ward off disaster. His superstitions are not quirks. They are survival tactics. Silver rings adorn his fingers—a Ganesh for wisdom, an iron band for strength, a red thread to deflect the evil eye. Each one is a whispered prayer. Let me pass. Let me survive. Let me not drown.

Yet for all his devotion, the gods remain silent. His grades linger in mediocrity. His voice wavers when he speaks, not from uncertainty but from the exhaustion of a man who has spent his life waiting for a miracle that never arrives. Even his posture confesses defeat—shoulders hunched forward as if carrying an invisible weight, his spine bending under the pressure of being the last hope for a family teetering on the edge.

But the tragedy and beauty of Raju is this. His prayers are not just for himself. They are for his father, who now cannot lift a spoon to his own lips. For his mother, who sold her wedding jewelry to pay his tuition. For his sister, whose future hinges on his success. Every whispered plea is a promise—I will not let you down. I cannot afford to.

When we first see him, Raju is not just a student. He is a man struggling in the deep end, holding onto faith as if it were his only lifeline because no one ever taught him how to swim.

Despite all of this, Raju dared to dream of a better life—a dream the movie shows him ultimately achieving through tremendous personal growth. After surviving his suicide attempt, we witness Raju's remarkable transformation during his job interview scene, where he boldly tells the interviewer,

"Sir, I'll take the job, but I won't lick boots. These broken legs taught me to stand on my own."

This powerful moment marks his shift from fearful desperation to hard-won self-respect. The film's closing montage confirms his success, showing Raju as a well-dressed corporate executive while still wearing his signature religious rings, a subtle nod to how he progressed without abandoning his roots. His journey was made possible through Rancho's crucial interventions, from carrying him to the hospital after his fall to helping reconstruct his resume to focus on skills rather than grades. While the movie doesn't show explicit scenes of his family's improved circumstances, Raju's professional success implies he could finally provide proper medical care for his parents, secure his sister's future, and repair their dilapidated home. Raju's arc delivers one of the film's most poignant messages: real change begins when we find the courage to value ourselves, not just when our external circumstances improve. His story remains the most emotionally resonant transformation in 3 Idiots, proving that even the most burdened among us can rewrite their futures.

Farhan Qureshi, his life had been mapped out long before he even knew who he was. Born into a middle-class family, Farhan was destined to become an engineer, not by choice, but by the firm decision of his father. His father, Mr. Qureshi, believed that engineering was the safest and most respectable profession, one that would guarantee a secure and stable future for his only son. Farhan never had the chance to argue. It was like from the moment he opened his eyes to the world, the path was drawn — school, college, engineering, a good job, and a settled life.

At first, Farhan never questioned this plan. He obeyed, he studied, and he tried his best to meet the expectations placed on him. Yet deep inside, Farhan harbored a dream he dared not speak aloud. His heart beat not for machines or circuits, but for the wilderness. Photography, especially wildlife photography, captured his imagination like nothing else ever could. In secret, he nurtured this love, flipping through magazines, watching nature documentaries, and dreaming of a life spent behind the lens. But dreams had no place in the tightly controlled world his father had built for him. Dreams, to his father, were a luxury their family could not afford.

At Imperial College of Engineering, Farhan struggled silently. He was not a failure by academic standards, but he was not exceptional either. His mind was never truly invested in engineering, and it showed. He sat through lectures on machines and dynamics, but his mind wandered to the jungles, to animals in their natural habitat, to capturing moments no classroom could ever teach him about. Every day in college was a quiet battle between obligation and desire.

It was in this setting that Farhan met Rancho and Raju, two friends who would change the course of his life. Rancho, especially, became a guiding light. Rancho questioned everything Farhan had accepted without thought. He laughed in the face of mindless pressure and pushed Farhan to ask himself what he truly wanted from life. For the first time, Farhan saw that it was not wrong to dream. It was not wrong to want a life different from the one others had written for him.

Even though Rancho encouraged him, Farhan’s fear remained strong. The thought of confronting his father, the man who had worked so hard to provide for him, filled him with guilt and dread. It was not just about choosing a career. It was about rejecting everything his father believed was best for him. And so Farhan stayed silent, living two lives — the obedient engineering student by day, and the secret dreamer by night.

Farhan’s passion for photography was not a passing fancy. His skills were real, shaped by years of quiet practice and deep love for the craft. He kept a collection of photographs, each frame a piece of the world he longed to be part of. But he never showed them to anyone, too afraid of being dismissed or ridiculed. In a world where success was measured by grades and salaries, his love for photography felt like a weakness he had to hide.

It is only later in the film, during a tense moment in the hospital after Raju’s accident, that Farhan gathers the courage to confront his father. Shaken by the possibility of losing a friend, and realizing the fragility of life, Farhan finally speaks. In a trembling voice filled with emotion, he tells his father that he does not want to be an engineer. He wants to be a photographer. The words, once locked inside him for so long, come pouring out in a rush of desperation and honesty.

His father, at first, reacts with anger and disbelief. He cannot understand how Farhan could throw away a stable future for a "hobby." But when Farhan stands firm, when he tells his father that for once he wants to live his own life, Mr. Qureshi slowly, painfully, lets go of his rigid plans. It is a small but monumental victory. Farhan’s father’s reluctant blessing is a turning point not just in Farhan’s life, but in their relationship. It is a moment of understanding, built not on anger, but on love.

After gaining his father’s permission, Farhan writes a heartfelt letter to his idol, a famous wildlife photographer. His work is recognized, and he is offered a position as an assistant photographer. This opportunity, small as it might seem to others, is the world to Farhan. It is the first real step toward a life of purpose and joy.

Throughout the movie, Farhan remains the voice of reflection and memory. He looks back at their college days with a mixture of fondness and regret, recognizing how much he and his friends grew during that time. His perspective gives the story a layer of warmth and sadness, a reminder that youth is fleeting, and the choices we make during those years shape the rest of our lives.

In the final moments of the film, we see a new Farhan. He is no longer the timid boy afraid to speak his mind. He is a man who dared to change the story written for him. Farhan becomes a successful wildlife photographer, traveling the world and capturing the beauty of nature through his lens. His smile is wider, his voice stronger. The boy who once sat silently in class, dreaming of another life, finally lives the dream he once thought was impossible.

Farhan’s story is not dramatic or filled with grand gestures. It is a quiet revolution, the kind that happens inside a person’s heart. It is about finding the courage to admit what you really want, even when the world expects something else from you. His transformation is not just about career choice. It is about reclaiming his life, about choosing happiness over fear, passion over obligation.

Among the three friends, Farhan's journey is perhaps the most relatable for college students—even for me. I understand all too well the experience of not getting into your first-choice or preferred course, as that's exactly what happened to me in college. Like Farhan, many people find themselves torn between duty and desire, between love and expectation. His story proves it's never too late to choose yourself, to honor the dreams that define who you truly are. Farhan's journey serves as a gentle but powerful reminder that success isn't measured solely by money or status. True success means living a life that feels authentic to your heart.

Farhan Qureshi’s journey in 3 Idiots is simple, sincere, and powerful. It teaches us that even in a world full of expectations, the bravest thing you can do is listen to your own voice.

Ranchoddas Shamaldas Chanchad, he was not like anyone else at Imperial College of Engineering. From the very first day, it was clear that he was different. While other students buried themselves in heavy books and chased high grades with fear in their hearts, Rancho moved through life with a smile and a spirit that could not be broken. He asked questions that no one else dared to ask. He wanted to understand, not just memorize. In a world where success was measured by ranks and percentages, Rancho believed that true learning came from curiosity, creativity, and passion.

Most students at ICE lived in fear of the system. They obeyed the strict rules set by Virus, the college director, because they thought that was the only way to survive. Rancho, however, did not believe in living life out of fear. He challenged traditions that made no sense. He questioned teachers when the lessons were mechanical. He encouraged his classmates to think beyond textbooks. While others recited definitions to get good marks, Rancho tried to understand how things actually worked. It made him unpopular with the faculty, but it also made him unforgettable.

Despite the constant scoldings and punishments, Rancho never lost his kindness. He treated everyone equally, whether they were students, staff, or strangers. His friendship with Farhan and Raju was proof of his deep loyalty and compassion. Rancho was the first person to see the hidden dreams and fears inside his friends. He saw that Farhan loved photography but was too scared to admit it. He saw that Raju lived under the crushing weight of expectations and fear. Rancho did not just notice these things. He helped them find the courage to change.

Rancho’s way of living was simple yet powerful. He always said, "Pursue excellence, and success will follow." He believed that if you loved what you did and worked hard at it, the rewards would come naturally. This was a lesson that changed Farhan’s and Raju’s lives forever. It was not easy. Both of them struggled against years of fear and pressure. But Rancho stood by them with patience, laughter, and unwavering belief.

While Rancho’s life at college seemed lighthearted and full of jokes, there was a hidden sadness behind his cheerful face. What no one knew at first was that he was living under a false name. The real Ranchoddas Shamaldas Chanchad was a rich man’s son who cared only about racing and luxury. The Rancho everyone knew and loved was actually the son of the gardener who worked for the Chanchad family. Because of his incredible intelligence, the real Ranchoddas’ father allowed him to study in his son’s place. In return, he asked for nothing. Not fame, not fortune. He studied because he loved learning, not because he needed a degree.

This truth about Rancho’s identity comes much later in the story, but it explains so much about him. Unlike others, Rancho had no hunger for medals or titles. He had no desperate need to impress. His only wish was to learn and to invent. His passion was pure, untouched by the pressures that weighed down the other students. Rancho’s freedom of spirit came from the fact that he had nothing to prove to anyone. He studied because it made him happy, and that happiness lit up everything he did.

One of the most touching moments in Rancho’s story is his bond with Pia, Virus’ daughter. Pia is strong-willed but trapped in the same world of expectations and pressure. Rancho treats her with respect, humor, and honesty. Their love is quiet and natural, growing from friendship and understanding. Rancho teaches Pia, just like he teaches everyone around him, to listen to her own heart.

Rancho’s greatest test comes when Raju faces an impossible situation. After being forced to choose between betraying a friend or losing his future, Raju chooses honor and tries to end his life. It is Rancho’s love and determination that helps bring Raju back. In the hospital, Rancho and Farhan stay by Raju’s side, refusing to give up hope. Rancho’s belief in his friend’s strength never wavers, and it is that unwavering support that pulls Raju through.

Even after college, Rancho’s influence remains strong. Farhan and Raju remember him not just as a brilliant student but as the person who taught them how to live. Years later, they set out on a journey to find him, longing to thank him for the way he changed their lives. Their search leads them back to the truth about Rancho’s real identity. When they finally find him, he is living a simple life in Ladakh under his real name, Phunsukh Wangdu.

Phunsukh Wangdu is a scientist and inventor, creating technologies to help ordinary people. He works with children, encouraging them to think freely and to love learning. He has hundreds of patents, but he has not changed a bit. He is still the same Rancho who believes in excellence over success, who believes that learning should be joyful, not fearful. His life is not one of luxury, but it is rich with meaning and purpose.

In the end, Rancho’s story is not about being the smartest student or getting the highest salary. It is about staying true to yourself in a world that constantly tries to change you. It is about living with kindness, chasing passion, and lifting others up along the way. Rancho’s success is measured not in awards but in the lives he touched.

For Farhan, Rancho was the push that helped him become a wildlife photographer. For Raju, he was the support that helped him overcome fear and stand tall. For Pia, he was the partner who believed in her worth beyond the traditions forced on her. And for every person who crossed paths with him, Rancho was a reminder that life is not a race to the finish line. It is a journey meant to be lived with love, laughter, and courage.

Rancho’s character and story in 3 Idiots is a celebration of the human spirit. It teaches us that true success is not measured by trophies or paychecks. It is measured by the happiness you find, the dreams you dare to chase, and the kindness you show to others. Rancho lived this truth every day, and through him, so did everyone who loved him.

Raju, Farhan, and Rancho—three idiots, three different characters.

But the real question is,

Whose character would you want to be? Why?

As I rewatch the movie now, years later, I realize something profound, a revelation that strikes deeper than before.

I am the fourth idiot.

Not in the sense of foolishness, but as another lost soul trying to find my way through the chaos of expectations, failures, and self-discovery. The three protagonists, Raju, Farhan, and Rancho, each embody a different part of the student experience. In each of them, I see fragments of myself.

When I think about which character from 3 Idiots mirrors my reality the most, Raju Rastogi comes to mind almost immediately. His story feels so close to mine that sometimes it feels like parts of his struggle are scenes taken directly from my own life. Raju’s life was never easy. He came from a background of hardship, where every step forward required enormous effort, and the burden of responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders. I see myself clearly in him because, like Raju, I grew up with financial struggles and family issues that shaped how I see the world and my place in it.

Raju’s family situation was full of tension and sadness. His father was paralyzed and unable to work, his mother was sick and frail, and his sister's future depended entirely on him getting a stable job. Every decision he made was under the weight of knowing that it was not just about him—it was about the survival of his entire family. I share that same kind of burden. Growing up, my parents had conflicts throughout my life, and the household was often filled with tension and uncertainty. There was no stable foundation that allowed me to feel fully supported or free. Financially, we were never in a place of comfort either. We were not rich enough to afford prestigious or expensive schools, and sometimes it felt like even basic needs were a struggle.

When it came to education, it was a fight from the very beginning. I had to find my own ways to enroll in my current university. No one paved the way for me. There were no safety nets if I failed. Every scholarship, every application, every piece of paperwork—I had to figure it out on my own. Like Raju, I knew that the stakes were high. If I failed, it would not just be a personal setback; it would be a setback for my whole family. That pressure can be overwhelming, and it shapes the way you view success. Success stops being about dreams or passions; it becomes purely about survival.

Raju’s deep reliance on religion and superstition also resonates with me. It is not just about believing in a higher power. It is about clinging to something when you feel you have no control over your circumstances. Raju fasted, prayed, and clung to rituals because it was his way of trying to gain some control over a life that constantly threatened to collapse around him. I have often found myself in similar moments—moments where logic and hard work did not seem enough, and where I turned to faith, hope, or sheer wishing for things to work out.

Moreover, Raju’s fear and anxiety about the future reflect my own. He was terrified of failing, not just for himself but for the people who depended on him. I know that feeling all too well. Every exam, every semester, every grade feels like a life-or-death situation. It is not simply about personal pride; it is about feeling like you are the last line of defense for your family's well-being.

Another part of Raju that mirrors my experience is his deep sense of guilt whenever he feels he is not doing enough. In the movie, we see Raju constantly doubting himself, constantly wondering if he is good enough, if he is worthy of the opportunities he fought so hard to get. I wrestle with those same feelings. Even when I achieve something, a small part of me questions whether it is enough, whether I have done justice to the sacrifices made by my family.

The emotional toll of carrying these burdens is something I understand deeply. Like Raju, I have felt moments of desperation, moments where giving up seemed easier than fighting another day. His suicide attempt, while extreme, symbolizes the crushing pressure many students like us face. Sometimes the future feels so overwhelming, and the fear of failure so paralyzing, that it becomes hard to see any hope ahead. Thankfully, I have never gone to that extreme, but I understand the depth of pain that can push someone to that edge.

Despite all his struggles, what I admire most about Raju—and what I try to hold onto in myself—is his resilience. He did not have the luxury of being the smartest or the most talented. He succeeded because he kept going, even when every part of him wanted to stop. When he finally stands up for himself during his job interview, refusing to compromise his integrity, it is one of the most powerful moments of the film. That moment is not just about getting a job; it is about reclaiming his self-worth.

I aspire to find that same strength within myself. I want to believe that even though I come from less privileged circumstances, and even though my journey is harder, I can still succeed with my head held high. Like Raju, I am trying to build a future where I do not have to compromise who I am just to survive. I want to reach a point where my success is not just measured by my grades or my career but by the fact that I stayed true to myself even when it was hard.

In many ways, Raju represents hope. He shows that even the most burdened, even those starting with the least, can carve out a place for themselves in the world through resilience, courage, and faith—not blind faith in rituals, but faith in themselves. As I continue my own journey, I hold onto that lesson tightly. I am still a work in progress, but Raju’s story reminds me that it is okay to struggle, it is okay to stumble, and it is okay to move forward at my own pace, as long as I keep moving.

While Raju’s life and struggles echo the hardships I face, Farhan Qureshi’s story speaks to another deep part of me—the part that questions if I am on the right path at all. Farhan was someone who went along with what was expected of him. His heart wanted to chase something else entirely, but he found himself trapped in the course his parents decided for him. Watching Farhan struggle with this inner conflict reminds me of my own journey. I too ended up in a course that was not my first choice, and for a long time, I wondered if I was simply living someone else’s dream instead of my own.

Farhan’s passion was photography. It was clear from the way he talked about it, from the way his face lit up at the mere mention of it, that it was what he was born to do. Yet, because of the pressure from his father and the weight of expectations, he pursued engineering—a course that promised stability, prestige, and financial security. I know that feeling too well. There was a time when I took an exam in university, and I got enrolled in a program that I did not feel connected to and was not my first choice. It was not my dream; it was not even my second choice, but at the time, it seemed like the only logical decision. It was what people around me said was "practical" and "safe," and I, too, wanted to make my family proud.

But as the months went by, just like Farhan, I started feeling empty. I kept asking myself,

"Is this what I am meant to do for the rest of my life?"

Every assignment, every lecture, every exam felt heavier because my heart was not in it. There were days when I would stare blankly at my notes, wondering why I felt so disconnected while everyone else seemed so sure of themselves. That confusion, that gnawing sense of being out of place, is something I saw reflected so clearly in Farhan’s eyes.

Farhan’s courage to finally confront his father and pursue his passion is something I admire deeply. It takes incredible bravery to go against the expectations set upon you, especially when those expectations come from people you love and respect. In my own journey, I was lucky to find an opportunity to shift to my desired program, but even then, doubts continued to haunt me. Am I making the right decision? What if I fail? What if I disappoint everyone? These questions swirled endlessly in my mind, just as they did in Farhan’s.

Farhan also represents the struggle between passion and practicality. Society often tells us to prioritize the practical, to chase degrees and careers that guarantee financial security over personal fulfillment. But what Farhan teaches us is that true success is not about living up to other people’s standards. True success is waking up every day excited about what you do, feeling alive and passionate about the life you are building for yourself. That lesson hits close to home for me because even today, there are moments when I wonder if the practical choices I have made are worth the cost of abandoning some of my own dreams.

Moreover, Farhan's relationship with his friends, especially Rancho, taught him how important it is to have people who push you towards your true self. Rancho constantly encouraged Farhan to chase his passion, reminding him that life is not meant to be lived in regret. I am grateful that in my own life, there have been a few people—friends, mentors, even strangers—who have encouraged me to listen to my heart. Without those people, I might have stayed stuck in a life that was never really mine to live.

Another thing that makes me relate to Farhan is his quiet nature. Among the trio, he was the least confrontational, the most hesitant. He was not bold like Rancho or desperate like Raju. He was someone who kept a lot of his battles inside. I relate to that deeply. Most of my struggles are internal. I do not always express them outwardly, but they are always there, simmering under the surface. It is hard to fight battles that no one else sees, and it is even harder to explain to people why you feel so lost when, on the outside, it looks like you are doing just fine.

When Farhan finally mustered the courage to talk to his father, it was one of the most emotional scenes in the movie for me. His voice trembled, his heart was pounding, but he spoke his truth. He acknowledged his love and respect for his father, but he also asked for the freedom to live his own life. That moment taught me that it is possible to honor where you come from without sacrificing where you want to go. You do not have to be disrespectful to be firm about your dreams. You do not have to abandon your roots to grow in the direction you choose.

I often think about what my life would look like if I had stayed on the path that was expected of me. Would I have been successful? Maybe. Would I have been happy? Probably not. Farhan’s journey reminds me that happiness is not a luxury; it is a necessity. Living a life that feels authentic and meaningful is not selfish—it is what gives our lives true value.

Lastly, Farhan’s story is a reminder that it is never too late to change direction. Even if you have already spent years walking a path that does not feel right, you can still turn around and find your own way. The fear of being "too late" often paralyzes people, but Farhan shows that the only real mistake is staying in a life that is not truly yours.

I am still figuring things out, just like Farhan. I still have doubts, and there are days when the future feels overwhelming. But seeing how Farhan found the courage to choose himself, to pursue his passion despite everything, gives me hope that I can do the same. His story is a reminder that we all deserve to live a life that feels real and joyful, even if it means taking risks, even if it means disappointing some people along the way.

In Farhan, I see the version of myself that is learning to be brave—not just brave enough to dream, but brave enough to fight for those dreams. And that, I think, is one of the hardest and most beautiful lessons life can teach us.

As I think about trying to relate to all of the characters in the movie based on my life experiences, all I can say is that each of them resonates with a different part of my life. But when it comes to answering the real question of whom I would want to become, I realize there is only one answer, it is Rancho.

Rancho is the person I wish I could become. He is the ideal. He is the genius I admire from afar while I feel like the idiot struggling just to keep up. While Raju reflects my circumstances and Farhan mirrors my confusion, Rancho represents who I aspire to be. He is the vision of the student, the learner, and the human being that I hope I could someday resemble, even if right now it feels so far away.

What makes Rancho so different is not just his intelligence but his attitude towards life. He's like a lazy genius, someone who does not study just for grades but for understanding. He approaches learning with curiosity and passion, not fear and pressure. He does not memorize books; he questions them. He does not follow the herd; he creates his own path. Watching him navigate the rigid world of the Imperial College of Engineering with humor, creativity, and calmness, I saw everything that I lack but desperately want to have.

The truth is, I am not Rancho. Not even close. I am not the type of person who can top the class effortlessly like he does. I am not the one who always has the right answer, who always stays calm under pressure, who knows how to make even the most complicated problems seem simple. If Rancho is a rocket flying freely into the sky, I often feel like a broken kite being battered by the wind, trying to stay afloat.

Rancho embodies a confidence that I have always envied. He moves through life with a certainty that whatever happens, things will be okay. "All is well," he says, not because he believes everything is perfect, but because he knows worrying will not help. Meanwhile, I tend to get easily overwhelmed and sensitive. I let failures consume me. I let doubts paralyze me. I find it hard to move forward when things go wrong. In Rancho, I see the strength to smile even in the face of uncertainty, a strength I desperately wish I had.

More than just being a genius, Rancho is also a genuinely good person. He is kind. He helps others without expecting anything in return. He stands up against unfairness, whether it is a brutal education system or a friend’s personal fear. He is not interested in fame or money or titles. His life is about learning, helping, loving, and living fully. That simplicity, that honesty, that purity of heart—it’s something rare and beautiful, and it is something I hope to find within myself someday.

Rancho's genius is effortless, but what I admire even more is his freedom. He is free from the chains that bind most of us—fear of failure, obsession with grades, hunger for approval. I am not free like that. Most of my decisions have been shaped by fear. Fear of disappointing my family. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being left behind. I chase grades, validation, and security, even when my heart wants something else. Rancho reminds me that the greatest success is not about being better than others; it’s about being better than who you were yesterday. It is about following your passion with courage and trust.

I also see in Rancho a kind of joy that I rarely experience. He laughs easily. He makes jokes in the middle of serious moments. He plays pranks on his strict professors. Even when he is being scolded, he finds a way to smile. Meanwhile, I often carry a heavy weight on my shoulders. The stress of expectations, the fear of the future, the burden of not feeling "enough"—it drags me down. Rancho reminds me that life is not meant to be taken so seriously all the time. That there is power in laughter, even during tough times. That humor can be a shield and a sword.

But at the same time, I know Rancho is not perfect. He hides his real identity to escape the pressures placed on him. He runs away from his past. In many ways, even he is vulnerable. And maybe that is why I admire him even more—because even in his vulnerability, he chose to live bravely. He chose to build a life on his own terms. I wish I had that kind of bravery, that kind of belief in myself.

In the end, Rancho is the answer to the question. He is the person I want to be. He is the dream, the goal, the hope. I am the fourth idiot, standing in the middle of confusion and fear, while he is the genius I look up to—the beacon guiding me towards a better version of myself.

Even though I am not a lazy genius like Rancho, even though I am not naturally gifted or endlessly confident, even though I stumble and fall much more often than I would like, there is a small piece of Rancho inside me. It is the piece that believes in learning for the sake of learning. It is the piece that dreams of being free. It is the piece that refuses to give up completely, even when things get hard.

I may not be Rancho, but maybe, just maybe, if I keep moving forward, keep learning, and keep believing, I can find a little more of him in myself every day.

And that is why, out of the three, it is Rancho whose character I would choose.

Not because I am already like him.

But because he is everything I hope I can become.

[technorad]

Am I a Jobs or a Gates? Or just a lost college student?

Ever feel like you're wandering without a map? As a first-year student unsure if I’ve chosen the right direction, watching Pirates of the Silicon Valley struck me like a revelation. This gripping film isn’t just about the birth of Apple and Microsoft, it’s a wild, high-stakes showdown between Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, packed with rebellion, genius, and cutthroat ambition. More than a tech history lesson, it’s a raw look at what it really takes to change the world. By the end, I wasn’t just entertained, I was questioning everything I thought I knew about success, passion, and whether I have what it takes to leave my own mark.

The movie resonated with me because, like Jobs and Gates, I’m at a point where I’m questioning my future. Will I succeed? Will I fail? Am I even cut out for this? The film doesn’t just show the glory of innovation; it exposes the struggles, the egos, and the sacrifices behind biggest names.

What are the factors that contributed to the success and failure of Steve Jobs as a Technopreneur?

Steve Jobs is one of the most iconic figures in tech history, but Pirates of the Silicon Valley doesn’t glorify him. It humanizes him. The film shows both his brilliance and his flaws, making his journey a compelling case study in technopreneurship.

Factors Behind His Success

Steve Jobs did not simply build computers. He changed how people experienced technology. Where others saw machines as tools, Jobs saw them as extensions of human thought. His focus on design went beyond looks. He wanted products to feel natural, like they belonged in people's hands. The Macintosh made computers approachable. The iPhone made technology disappear into instinct. While Microsoft spread Windows everywhere, Jobs insisted every piece of Apple's ecosystem had to work perfectly together. The hardware, software and even the box it came in all mattered equally.

This complete vision had consequences. Gates built software that adapted to any computer. Jobs demanded control over everything. This nearly destroyed Apple in the 1990s. Yet that same stubborn commitment later saved the company. The iPod succeeded because the music player, the software and the store worked as one system. Jobs showed technology could be both useful and beautiful, but only through absolute focus. That lesson still guides Apple today, proving his methods worked even if they were extreme.

A key moment in the film is when Jobs visits Xerox PARC and sees the graphical user interface (GUI) for the first time. While Xerox failed to capitalize on it, Jobs immediately recognized its potential and integrated it into the Macintosh. This demonstrates his ability to see opportunities where others didn’t.

According to a Harvard Business Review article on Jobs’ leadership, his success stemmed from his ability to "connect creativity with technology in ways that competitors couldn’t foresee" (Isaacson, 2012). This aligns with the film’s portrayal of Jobs as someone who didn’t just follow trends, he created them.

Jobs’ infamous demand for excellence is both a strength and a weakness. In the film, he berates engineers for minor flaws, delays product launches for perfection, and insists on sleek, intuitive designs. This obsession led to groundbreaking products like the Macintosh.

However, the film also shows how this trait alienated his team. His refusal to compromise often caused internal conflicts, but it also ensured Apple’s reputation for quality.

Jobs possessed an extraordinary persuasive ability that bordered on the supernatural, what colleagues called his "reality distortion field." This wasn't just charisma, but an almost hypnotic capacity to reshape people's perceptions of what could be achieved. He could convince engineers that impossible deadlines were reasonable, make investors believe in unproven concepts, and persuade consumers that they needed products they'd never imagined before. The film vividly portrays this trait through scenes where skeptical team members find themselves inexplicably agreeing to Jobs' demands against their better judgment, caught up in the intensity of his vision.

This power came from Jobs' unique combination of unwavering conviction and theatrical showmanship. He didn't just present ideas, he performed them with such certainty that doubts seemed irrelevant. Whether dramatically unveiling prototypes or reframing failures as necessary steps, Jobs made people believe in his version of reality. However, the film also reveals the darker side of this gift, the exhaustion of employees pushed beyond limits, the resentment when promises collided with practical constraints. His reality distortion field was both Apple's secret weapon and its cultural liability, demonstrating how transformative leadership can inspire breakthroughs while risking burnout and disillusionment.

Jobs somehow inspired people to surpass their own expectations. Early in his career, he demonstrated this ability by convincing his closest collaborators to take on seemingly impossible challenges under extreme deadlines. While others focused solely on technical execution, Jobs recognized how to motivate people to achieve more than they thought possible. This talent for pushing boundaries would later enable him to rally entire companies behind world-changing visions. His greatest skill wasn't technical expertise, but rather the ability to make engineers, designers and entire teams believe they could accomplish the extraordinary. What began as motivating individuals eventually transformed into inspiring entire industries to reimagine what technology could be.

Factors Behind His Failures

Jobs' leadership approach during his early years was marked by an intense, often destructive perfectionism that prioritized results over relationships. He was known for creating a high-pressure environment where team members faced harsh criticism and public humiliation when their work didn't meet his impossible standards. This management style extended to taking personal credit for collective innovations while assigning blame for failures to others. The work culture became so toxic that it ultimately led to his removal from operational leadership, demonstrating how even brilliant visionaries can undermine their own success through poor people management.

The fallout from this leadership style proved professionally devastating at the time. Being forced out of the company he helped create served as a pivotal moment that exposed the limitations of his early approach. While the relentless drive for excellence produced innovative creations, the human cost became unsustainable. This experience appeared to fundamentally change his perspective on leadership. Later reflections suggest this period of professional exile helped reshape his understanding of how to motivate teams without burning them out. The transformation following this setback highlights how even the most talented leaders must balance vision with empathy to achieve lasting success.

A Stanford case study on Apple’s early years notes that Jobs’ inability to collaborate was a major weakness (Yoffie & Slind, 2008). While his vision was unmatched, his people skills were lacking, a critical flaw in entrepreneurship.

Jobs believed so strongly in his ideas that he dismissed market realities. The film shows him insisting on a closed ecosystem for Apple, refusing to license software (unlike Microsoft). This rigidity allowed Microsoft to dominate the PC market.

A revealing contrast emerges when examining their fundamental approaches. Both Jobs and Gates possessed extraordinary foresight, recognizing possibilities in technology that others couldn't imagine. However, their paths diverged in implementation, where one pragmatically evolved with the industry's shifting landscape, the other remained uncompromising in his philosophy, even when this rigidity created significant challenges for his company. This difference in adaptability ultimately shaped their respective legacies, with one building ubiquitous solutions through flexibility while the other created revolutionary products through unyielding conviction. Their opposing strategies highlight how similar visionary beginnings can lead to dramatically different outcomes based on willingness to adapt.

Jobs was a visionary, but not always a businessman. The film contrasts him with Gates, who focused on scalability and profits. Jobs’ neglect of cost efficiency and partnerships (like his refusal to work with IBM) hurt Apple in its early years.

Jobs achieved success through his unique talent for anticipating what users wanted before they knew it themselves. His ability to reimagine entire product categories, taking computers from specialized tools to personal devices, phones from communication gadgets to lifestyle companions that set Apple apart in the technology landscape. He pushed teams to achieve what seemed impossible through sheer force of will and attention to detail. Yet these very qualities also created significant challenges. His unwillingness to accept anything less than perfection strained relationships with colleagues, while his rigid adherence to certain ideals sometimes put Apple at a competitive disadvantage during critical moments in the company's history.

The film presents these contradictions honestly, offering important lessons for future technology leaders. It shows that vision and determination, while essential for innovation, must be balanced with flexibility and emotional intelligence. Jobs' return to Apple marked an important evolution in his leadership, he maintained his high standards while demonstrating greater willingness to listen and adapt. This more mature approach enabled Apple's most successful era. For those building technology companies today, the lesson is clear, transformative ideas require not just technical brilliance and bold thinking, but also the ability to work with others, make practical compromises when needed, and create an environment where people can do their best work without fear of unreasonable demands.

How Do I See Myself as a Future Technopreneur?

The film Pirates of the Silicon Valley didn’t just tell a story, it held up a mirror. Still searching for my place in this industry, I couldn’t help but wonder,

"Do I have the vision, the resilience, and the spark to make an impact?"

Watching Jobs and Gates rise from uncertainty to greatness made me question not just where I’m headed, but whether I have what it takes to get there. The glow of my PC screen was the only light in my room as the credits rolled, my fingers hovering motionless above the keyboard, caught in that peculiar silence that follows something truly thought-provoking. The movie had ended, but the questions were just beginning to take root in my mind, spreading like vines through every assumption I'd ever made about my future in tech. This is more than just a career path it’s an identity, a calling, a relentless pursuit of something greater than myself. But what does it mean to be a technopreneur in a world that constantly redefines the rules? How do I see myself not just as a participant in this industry, but as someone who might one day help shape it?

There’s a scene in the film where Jobs, played compellingly by Noah Wyle, stands in a garage, soldering components with an almost manic focus. His eyes burn with the kind of intensity usually reserved for cult leaders or mad scientists. Watching him, I felt something unsettling, a sense of recognition. I’ve assembled hardware before, experienced the thrill of bringing circuits to life, but I know that obsessive state goes beyond just building. It’s in the late-night coding sessions where hours disappear, the euphoria of finally solving a stubborn bug, the rush of discovering an elegant solution to a complex problem. Like Jobs, I don’t just want to use technology. I crave the chance to reshape it, to leave my mark on how people interact with machines. But even as this ambition excites me, a quieter voice asks whether I have the resolve to do what it truly takes. The life of a technopreneur isn’t just about brilliant ideas it’s about surviving the grind, the failures, the moments when everything seems to be falling apart. It’s about waking up every morning with that same fire, even when the world tells you to quit.

I’ve always demanded perfection from myself, as if everything was a draft and needs to be rewritten all the time until it felt flawless. I’d stay up late redoing work that was already ‘good enough,’ dismissing my own exhaustion as weakness. To me, anything less than perfect was failure.

Then one night, my mother found me at my desk for the third straight hour, reworking notes from my notebook that was already detailed. She watched me erase and rewrite the same sentence repeatedly before finally saying, 

"You can’t just keep make something perfect when it’s already more than enough."

That line lodged itself in my mind like a splinter because I understand that obsessive drive all too well. When working on school projects, I’ll agonize over every detail, revising essays long past the deadline, refining code until it’s as efficient as possible, reworking presentations to make sure every slide flows perfectly. My friends laugh when I stress over formatting or get frustrated by unclear instructions, but to me, sloppy work feels almost like a personal failure. Yet the movie forces me to confront the human cost of this mentality. Jobs’ perfectionism gave birth to revolutionary products, but it also burned bridges and destroyed relationships. I always think the if everything goes perfectly as planned, I will attain success. Is that the price of greatness? Could I even survive paying it? As a future technopreneur, I need to ask myself where to draw the line between healthy ambition and self-destruction. The tech world celebrates the myth of the lone genius, but no one builds the future alone. Collaboration, empathy, and the ability to listen might matter just as much as raw technical skill.

Then there's Gates, the pragmatic strategist who outmaneuvered everyone by focusing on what would sell rather than chasing perfection. In one of the film’s most striking moments, he says,

"Success is a menace. It fools smart people into thinking they can't lose."

That line makes me pause. If Jobs represents the restless drive pushing me to create something significantly impactful, Gates is the voice of caution reminding me that ambition alone isn’t enough. And now, when I obsess over perfecting every detail, his words echo in my mind, warning me that confidence can easily turn into blind arrogance.

At 2 AM, staring at my half-finished side project, I finally confront the core of my anxiety. I'm terrified of choosing wrong. What if I pour my soul into a startup only to realize I lack the ruthlessness needed to succeed? What if I take a safe corporate job and spend decades haunted by "what ifs"? The film's portrayal of Jobs' exile from Apple hits particularly hard because it is not just a career setback. It is the complete unraveling of his identity. When he returns years later, he is both hardened and humbled. The film suggests this experience was necessary for his growth. But here in my room, growth does not feel like an inspiring montage. It feels like walking blindfolded through a minefield, each step potentially catastrophic. This is the reality of being a technopreneur it’s not just about the victories, but about how you survive the defeats. It’s about learning to pick yourself up when the world has written you off, when your own doubts threaten to consume you.

What Pirates of the Silicon Valley ultimately gave me wasn’t just inspiration. It was permission to be conflicted. Jobs and Gates weren’t born icons. They were college dropouts fumbling toward greatness. Their genius was not in having all the answers, but in persisting despite the overwhelming questions. So tonight, I will take a small but meaningful step. I will resist the urge to endlessly polish my current project and finally release something flawed but functional. I will stop obsessing over crafting a perfect "personal brand" and focus instead on continuous learning. And when doubt creeps in, as it inevitably will, I will remember that even the legendary pirates of Silicon Valley started as lost kids staring at screens, wondering if they truly belonged in the world they would eventually transform.

The credits may have rolled on the film, but my own story is still loading. Maybe this uncertain, questioning place is exactly where I need to be right now. The film didn’t just tell me a story about the past, it forced me to interrogate my own future. It made me realize that the tech industry isn’t just about code or products, it’s about the people behind them, the ones who wrestle with doubt and ambition in equal measure. It’s about the late nights when the glow of the screen is the only companion, the moments of frustration when a bug seems unsolvable, the exhilaration when it finally works. It’s about the tension between idealism and pragmatism, between wanting to change the world and needing to pay the bills.

I think about the scene where Jobs, in his early days, is so convinced of his vision that he refuses to compromise, even when it means alienating those around him. There’s something admirable in that level of conviction, but also something terrifying. Because what if the vision is wrong? What if the stubbornness leads not to revolution but to ruin? The film doesn’t shy away from showing Jobs’ flaws, his arrogance, his temper, his inability to see beyond his own perspective. And yet, it also shows how those very traits, when channeled into something greater, can change the world. It’s a paradox that keeps me up at night. Can you be driven without being destructive? Can you be ambitious without being ruthless?

Gates, on the other hand, represents a different kind of genius. His brilliance lies not in aesthetic perfection but in strategic dominance. He sees the chessboard when others are still learning the rules. In the film, he’s portrayed as someone who understands the game of business in a way Jobs never could. And that’s where my own conflict deepens. Because part of me admires the purity of Jobs’ vision, the way he believed so fiercely in the artistry of technology. But another part of me recognizes the cold, hard truth of Gates’ approach, that innovation means nothing if it doesn’t reach people, if it doesn’t sell.

This duality is what makes the film so resonant. It doesn’t offer a clear hero or villain, just two flawed, brilliant men who shaped the world in very different ways. And in doing so, it holds up a mirror to anyone who dreams of making their mark in tech. Because the question isn’t just whether you have the skills or the ideas, it’s who you’re willing to become in the process. Are you a Jobs, relentless in your pursuit of perfection, even at the cost of everything else? Or are you a Gates, pragmatic to the point of cynicism, willing to bend the rules if it means winning the game? Or are you something in between, still figuring out where you stand?

For me, the answer isn’t clear. Maybe it never will be. But what the film taught me is that uncertainty isn’t weakness, it’s honesty. The path isn’t predetermined, and the choices aren’t binary. The tech industry is full of people who don’t fit neatly into either category, who navigate the tension between passion and pragmatism every day. And perhaps that’s where I’ll find my place, not as a Jobs or a Gates, but as someone who learns from both, who takes the best of each without losing themselves in the process.

So as I sit here, the glow of the screen still the only light in the room, I let myself sit with the questions. I don’t need to have all the answers yet. The film reminded me that even the giants of Silicon Valley started with doubts, with failures, with moments of sheer panic. What mattered wasn’t that they knew exactly where they were going, but that they kept going anyway. And maybe, for now, that’s enough. Maybe the most important thing isn’t having a perfect plan, but having the courage to take the next step, even when the path isn’t clear.

The credits may have rolled, but the story isn’t over. Mine is just beginning. And if Pirates of the Silicon Valley taught me anything, it’s that the journey is messy, complicated, and utterly unpredictable. But it’s also the only way to find out what you’re truly capable of. So I’ll keep coding, keep questioning, keep wrestling with the contradictions. Because somewhere in that struggle, in that space between vision and reality, between idealism and pragmatism, is where the future gets built. And who knows? Maybe one day, my name will be part of that story too.

To see myself as a future technopreneur means embracing this complexity. It means understanding that there is no single blueprint for success, no guaranteed formula. The path will be mine to carve, shaped by my strengths, my weaknesses, and the lessons I choose to take from those who came before me. It will require not just technical expertise, but emotional resilience, the ability to adapt, and the wisdom to know when to stand firm and when to pivot. Most of all, it will demand an unwavering belief in the value of the journey itself, with all its twists and turns, its triumphs and setbacks. This is what it means to be a technopreneur not just to build things, but to build yourself in the process.

The film ends, but the questions remain. The screen goes dark, but the glow of possibility lingers. Somewhere between the ghosts of Silicon Valley’s past and the uncharted territory of its future, there’s a place for me. I may not know exactly where it is yet, but I know I’m getting closer with every line of code, every late-night brainstorming session, every moment of doubt overcome. That’s how I see myself as a future technopreneur not as a finished product, but as a work in progress, constantly evolving, always learning, forever chasing the next breakthrough. The road ahead is long and uncertain, but for the first time, that doesn’t scare me. It excites me. Because the greatest innovations rarely come from those who have all the answers, but from those who aren’t afraid to live the questions.

Would you take the same career path that Steve Jobs took? Why or Why Not?

"Would I really want to be Steve Jobs?"

Not the legend. Not the genius on stage. But the man, who is driven, relentless, sacrificing everything for his vision. The one who burned bridges, pushed people too hard, and still changed the world.

I’m just starting in IT as a freshman. The future is wide open. But that question won’t leave me, 

"How far would I go? How much would I give up? Success like that doesn’t come clean, as it comes with scars."

Maybe the real question isn’t whether I can do it, but what it would cost. And honestly, I don’t know yet. But I think about it every day.

What makes this question so profoundly complex is how the film presents Jobs' story with unflinching honesty. There's no sugarcoating, no Hollywood gloss to soften the harder edges of his personality or the consequences of his choices. When Jobs stands in that Xerox PARC laboratory, his face illuminated by the glow of the first graphical user interface, I feel that same spark of recognition. That moment when technology transcends mere functionality and becomes something magical, something revolutionary. I've experienced flickers of this feeling during my own coding sessions, those rare instances when everything clicks into place and I can suddenly see how a piece of software could genuinely improve people's lives. Jobs' famous declaration that "we're here to put a dent in the universe" resonates with me on a visceral level because it articulates what I've often felt but never been able to express. The desire to create something that matters, that lasts, that changes the fundamental way people interact with technology.

Yet the film immediately complicates this idealism by showing the human cost of such uncompromising vision. There's a particularly brutal scene where Jobs reduces an engineer to tears over what seems like a minor imperfection in the Macintosh's design. The camera lingers on the engineer's face, capturing not just the humiliation but the exhaustion, the gradual erosion of passion under constant criticism. I think about my own experiences working in group projects, the tension between maintaining high standards and preserving team morale. There was a time in high school when I pushed so hard for a particular design approach that I ended up alienating some of my teammates. Although we ultimately implemented my solution, the victory felt hollow. The film forces me to confront an uncomfortable truth that perfectionism at all costs extracts a heavy toll not just from ourselves but from those around us. Jobs' path suggests that impactful innovation requires this kind of relentless pressure, but I'm no longer certain the trade-off is worth it.

The isolation that comes with Jobs' approach to leadership is another aspect that gives me pause. The film depicts with painful clarity how his single-minded focus gradually alienated nearly everyone who cared about him. As I've mentioned previously, a quiet but devastating moment when Wozniak, after years of patience and loyalty, finally walks away. The scene is understated, but the weight of Woz's simple statement,

"Steve, goodbye. I'm quitting Apple."

And the devastating follow-up,

"All I'm doing now is being a brake pedal for you as you're heading for the wall."

This moment haunts me more than any of Jobs' famous outbursts. Here was the man who built Apple's beating heart saying, I can't save you from yourself anymore.

Failure is another specter that looms large in my considerations. The film doesn't sanitize Jobs' professional setbacks into tidy learning experiences. The Lisa computer debacle is portrayed as what it truly was, a humiliating, career-threatening disaster. The scene where Jobs watches the dismal sales figures come in, his face slowly hardening into a mask of disbelief and rage, is particularly difficult to watch. I've experienced small failures of course, a rejected app submission, a programming activity where my solution failed spectacularly, but nothing approaching that magnitude. The film makes me question whether I possess the resilience to recover from that kind of public, significant catastrophe. Jobs seemed to feed on adversity, using each failure as fuel to push harder, but I'm not sure I'm built that way. When things go wrong, my first instinct is to question my fundamental competence, to wonder if I belong in technology at all. The gap between my reaction to failure and Jobs' seems vast, and it makes me wonder if following his path would ultimately break me rather than forge me into something stronger.

Perhaps most troubling are the personal costs depicted in the film. In one brief but haunting scene, Jobs' daughter Lisa stares at a closed office door while employees whisper about yet another canceled visit. The film doesn't dwell on the moment or milk it for melodrama. It simply shows the reality, allowing the audience to sit with the quiet devastation of a child who knows she'll always come second to her father's work. This hits uncomfortably close to home. I think about the family gatherings I've missed due to exams, the weekends spent making projects of my own benefit instead of visiting friends, the relationships that have frayed under the weight of my academic commitments. These are small sacrifices compared to what Jobs made, but they point in the same direction. The film forces me to ask how much further I'd be willing to go down that road. Is any product, any innovation, any professional achievement worth that level of personal cost? The dilemma about it remains, carrying beyond the scene with an unsettling weight.

Yet despite all these doubts, there's something undeniably powerful about Jobs' second act at Apple. His return wasn't about redemption, it was about reinvention. The man who came back wasn't the same brash visionary who got fired; he was someone who'd been tempered by failure and clarity.

This transformation crystallizes for me in his 2005 Stanford address, when he said. 

"The only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work."

Here, at last, was the lesson that took Jobs decades to learn, where passion without purpose is just obsession, and vision without humanity isn't wisdom. His later success at Apple proved something profound, that our greatest growth often comes after our hardest falls.

This is the version of Jobs I choose to learn from, not the young tyrant, but the man who discovered that real innovation requires both loving your work and remembering why you do it.

The statement carries weight because we've seen the journey that brought him to this understanding. This tempered version of Jobs, still driven but less destructive, gives me hope that there might be a middle path between blind ambition and complacent mediocrity. Not abandoning high standards altogether, but pursuing them in a way that doesn't leave emotional wreckage in its wake.

What becomes increasingly clear through the film's nuanced storytelling is that Jobs' path wasn't some predetermined destiny. It was the cumulative result of countless choices, each with consequences that compounded over time. The film's brilliance lies in showing both the triumphs and costs without judgment, allowing viewers to weigh them for themselves. As I consider my own future in tech industry, I realize the question isn't really whether I should follow Jobs' path in its entirety. That would be impossible, just as it would be impossible to perfectly replicate Gates' path or anyone else's. The real question is which aspects of his journey resonate with me, which lessons I can adapt to my own values and circumstances.

This realization brings both relief and new uncertainty. Relief because I don't have to become Steve Jobs to make meaningful contributions to technology. Uncertainty because it means I'll need to forge my own way, making choices that align with who I am rather than trying to mimic someone else's success. The film ends with Jobs standing in front of a large screen showing Bill Gates, a clear sign that power has shifted. Microsoft’s investment has kept Apple afloat, but the relationship between the two has changed. Jobs’ expression is hard to read. Is he proud? Does he regret anything? Maybe he feels both. That uncertainty feels more real than a simple success story, and it stays with me as I think about my own path forward.

The movie ended, but it left me thinking. Not about how to become like Steve Jobs, or follow his career path, but about what kind of tech person I want to be. Not just about making big changes, but about what I'd have to give up to make them happen.

These aren't thoughts I can figure out quickly. Maybe not ever completely. They're the kind that stick with you, making you look at your choices differently.

Pirates of the Silicon Valley has given me the framework to ask myself properly, to approach my career with eyes open to both the possibilities and the costs. That feels like meaningful progress. The screen may be dark now, but the real work of building a meaningful career, one that honors both ambition and personal values, is just beginning. And perhaps that's the most valuable lesson of all, that our paths aren't set in stone but are ours to shape with each decision we make, each standard we set, each relationship we nurture along the way.

The real question isn't whether you can be the next Steve Jobs, it's whether you can be the first you.

And I don't wanna be Steve Jobs or follow his career path completely, because changing the world matters, but so does staying human while you do it.

[technorad]

Life only makes sense in reverse

If there's one thing I've come to understand about life, it's that its meaning only reveals itself when we dare to look back. We move forward, but we understand backward. We make choices, take risks, and stumble through the chaos, only to look back years later and see how every moment, every decision, shaped the path we’ve taken.

This isn’t just a philosophical thought, it’s a truth I’ve come to live by, one that Steve Jobs expressed meaningfully in his commencement speech. As I sit here, reflecting on my journey through college, love, and the fragility of life, I realize what he meant when he said you can only connect the dots looking backward. The dots are only beginning to connect for me, and yet, even in the uncertainty, there’s a strange comfort in knowing that one day, it will all make sense.

When I first stepped into college, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew what I wanted, or at least I thought I did. My passion was clear. I wanted to pursue Bachelor of Science in Information Technology. But life, as it often does, had other plans. Unfortunately, I was placed in a different program, one that was interesting but didn’t ignite the fire within me. It took me a year of persistence, paperwork, and countless conversations to finally shift to my desired program. I fought for it because I believed it was where I belonged. But now, as I sit in my first-year classes, I find myself asking a question I never thought I would.

Was this the right choice?

It’s not that I don’t love what I’m studying. It’s more about whether I’m capable of surviving this journey. The program is challenging, and there are moments when I feel overwhelmed. I question if I have what it takes to excel and to become the best version of myself in this field.

This feeling reminds me of something Steve Jobs once said,

"You can’t connect the dots looking forward, you can only connect them looking backward."

And right now, I can’t see the full picture. All I see are fragments, late-night study sessions, moments of self-doubt, and the occasional spark of inspiration. But I’m learning to trust the process. I’m learning to embrace the uncertainty and believe that these fragments will one day reveal a greater purpose.

I've realized that college is not just about acquiring knowledge, it’s about discovering who you are. It’s about asking the hard questions and being okay with not having all the answers. It’s about realizing that purpose is not something you find, but it’s something you create, one step at a time.

In the midst of my academic journey, I found love. My girlfriend has been my companion through the ups and downs of college. She’s a year ahead of me in the same program, which means she’s already navigated the challenges I’m facing now. You’d think that would make things easier, but it doesn’t. Sometimes, it’s hard to get along. We have different perspectives, different ways of handling different kinds of things, and different expectations.

But love, like life, is a mirror. It reflects our insecurities, our fears, and our vulnerabilities. It forces us to confront the parts of ourselves we’d rather ignore. And in doing so, it helps us grow. Love is not just about finding someone who completes you, it’s about finding someone who challenges you to become the best version of yourself.

Looking back, I see how love has been a constant in my unfinished journey, not always smooth but always meaningful. It has taught me patience, empathy, and the importance of communication. It has shown me that growth is not something we do alone, but something we experience together, even through challenges. My girlfriend has been a source of inspiration, reminding me of what Steve Jobs believed,

“The only way to do great work is to love what you do.”

Through her, I’ve come to realize that love isn’t just about relationships, that love is also about passion, dedication, and finding joy in the process. She’s shown me that when you pour your heart into something, whether it’s a relationship, a dream, or a goal, it transforms the ordinary into something extraordinary. Perhaps one day, I’ll look back and see how this relationship shaped me in ways I never could have imagined. For now, I’m learning to trust the journey, even when the destination is still unknown.

Moving on, life always has a way of reminding us of its fragility. During the pandemic, I was diagnosed with dengue. At first, they thought it was COVID-19 because the symptoms were similar. I remember lying in bed, feeling weak and scared, wondering if I would make it through. It was a wake-up call, a reminder of how precious life is. I had thought about ending my life before, but for the first time, I realized, I didn’t really want to die. In that moment of uncertainty, I found a newfound desire to keep going, to hold on to life in a way I never had before.

Steve Jobs spoke about death in his Stanford speech. He said,

“Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose.”

That moment in the hospital made me realize how much I take for granted. It made me question what I was doing with my life and whether I was truly living or just going through the motions.

That experience changed me. It made me more intentional about my choices, more aware of the time I have. It reminded me that life is short, and I want to make it count. I want to do something that impacts not just my life but the lives of others, no matter how small that impact is. But death is not just an end, it’s also a beginning. It’s a reminder that every moment is a gift, every breath a chance to start anew. It’s a call to live authentically, to pursue what truly matters, and to let go of what doesn’t.

As I reflect on these experiences, such as questioning my purpose in college, finding a mirror of growth in love, and facing a wake-up call in life, I somehow see how they are all connected. Each experience shapes me in ways I don’t fully understand yet, like pieces of a puzzle slowly falling into place. And I believe that there is still more to come and that the future will tell me everything I have to know.

Steve Jobs’ story of being fired from Apple and starting anew with Pixar deeply inspires me. It reminds me that failure is not the end, but it is an opportunity to begin again. It is a chance to grow, to learn, and to create something even greater. I’ve always been a procrastinator, but I’m learning to take small steps toward improvement. I’m learning to stay hungry for knowledge, for growth, for life. And I’m learning to stay foolish, to embrace the unknown, to take risks, and to believe in the impossible.

One of my favourite quotes from Steve Jobs’ speech is,

“Stay hungry, stay foolish.”

I first heard it from my professor in programming, and it aligns with my belief that the more I understand, the more I realize how much I don’t know. It’s a humbling thought, but it’s also empowering. It reminds me that there’s always more to learn, more to explore, and more to achieve.

Life is not a straight line. It is a collection of intertwined moments, filled with highs and lows, triumphs and failures. It is about discovering meaning in our experiences and purpose in our journey. Sometimes, the path ahead feels unclear, and we question whether we are making the right choices. But as Steve Jobs said, we have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in the future.

I have experienced this firsthand. There are moments when I doubt my path, questioning whether I have made the right decisions. There are times when I struggle to keep up, times when I feel like I am not good enough, and times when I wonder if I truly belong. But looking back, I realize that every struggle, every challenge, and every unexpected turn is shaping me into who I am meant to become.

One moment that stands out was an activity in my Technopreneurship class. My professor challenged us to connect nine dots using four strokes without lifting the pen. Fortunately, I was the one who figured it out. The lesson behind it was clear enough to make me understand that I just have to think outside the box. That lesson applies to more than just problem-solving, it also applies to life itself. Steve Jobs embraced this mindset when he was forced to leave Apple, and got fired with the company he co-founded. Instead of letting failure define him, he used it as an opportunity to start over, establishing Pixar and eventually returning to Apple when it acquired his company, NeXT. His story is a reminder that setbacks are not the end, they are just redirections toward something greater.

To anyone reading this, I want to leave you with this realization I had while watching Steve Jobs’ commencement address.

Life only makes sense in reverse.

We move forward, but we understand backward. So, take risks. Make mistakes. Follow your curiosity. And trust that one day, you’ll look back and see how it all fits together.

Stay hungry. Stay foolish. And most importantly, stay curious. Because the journey is not about finding the answers, it’s about discovering the questions that truly matter.

[technorad]

Day One

It all started with an email that I received last January 20, just a few days before the first meeting of my Technopreneurship class. An email, sent by my professor, that felt like the first step into something new and exciting. The content of the email started off with an introductory description about him, introducing himself as the facilitator for the course and sharing a Facebook group link to jumpstart our class interaction. I remember thinking,

"Mao na ni, mag sugod na ang tinuod na hustle, pero diskarte ang puhunan"

as I clicked on the link to join the group, I knew this was the start of something different. An experience that would test not just my knowledge but also my resourcefulness. I had heard stories from my seniors about him, some inspiring and some intimidating. Even my professor in another class, who had once been his student, shared insights about how challenging yet rewarding his teaching style was. I realized that this class would not just be about memorizing concepts. It would be about strategy, adaptability, and learning how to think like a real technopreneur.

What stood out to me, though, wasn’t just the details or the introduction. As I scanned the email, I noticed it was sent to the whole class, and I could see the email addresses of my classmates rather than receiving a personalized message. Then, I saw the professor’s request for us to use our full names, no aliases. It felt like a small but important reminder that this was a professional environment, one where we were expected to take things seriously, especially in a course about technology and entrepreneurship.

He also mentioned that we’d be enrolled in the USeP Virtual Environment after completing a survey, which I later found out was posted in the Facebook group.

It was a quick task, but the idea of a virtual space as a Facebook group felt unusual, especially since most instructors use Messenger for announcements and other communications. What caught my attention was that the course was being organized in such an informal and open platform, which felt different from the more structured environments I had expected, such as the UVE. Still, it seemed to fit the digital world we were about to explore, and most of the time, most of us students are more active on Facebook.

The excitement built up as he wrapped up the email, mentioning that we’d be meeting face-to-face on January 28. With every detail, I started to feel more ready, more involved, and more excited for what was to come in this course. Little did I know, that first meeting would mark the start of a journey that would push me to think in new ways and challenge what I thought I knew about entrepreneurship, especially with the implementation of technology in it.

The day arrived, Tuesday, January 28, and the anticipation was real. I arrived early, knowing that my professor would most likely be there before our class started. As I was waiting outside the classroom, my professor soon arrived, unlocking and preparing the lecture room with a cold, almost distant aura. He turned on the air conditioning, and made sure everything was set up. After a moment, he stepped out of the front door and saw me. Without saying a word, he simply pointed at me with his hand, signaling for me that I can now enter the classroom. There were no words, just the gesture, silent and clear. I was one of the early students because it was the only class I had in the afternoon on Tuesdays, as I am a shiftee. Most of my classmates, who are first years, had their PE class in the morning. It was a small moment, but it added to the feeling of formality and discipline that seemed to surround the class. I walked in, unsure of what to expect, somewhere between ready and not.

As soon as I sat down, the room began to fill up with my classmates, one by one, all arriving and entering the classroom. There was some talking here and there, with everyone trying to figure out what our professor was going to be like. A lot of talk was about him, what kind of teacher he was, how tough or chill he might be, and what we’d get ourselves into. It was all casual at first, but then, just when we were getting comfortable, he came back, entering through the back door. Just like that, the loudness of the room faded away. It got quiet, and you could feel the switch from casual to formal as we all straightened up, waiting for class to actually begin.

Before the discussion began, the professor asked us to arrange the chairs in a U-shape, leaving the center open. It felt a bit like a setup for something more interactive, as if he wanted to make sure there was enough space for him to move around while he talks. I wasn’t really surprised by this since I also knew he preferred this kind of arrangement. He also wanted the class to start with a prayer and asked for someone to lead. Our class mayor was then chosen to lead, and we prayed the Our Father. The professor didn’t interrupt, but after the prayer, he asked the prayer leader to pray again, this time something more personal, not the usual or well-known prayers such as the Our Father. It was a quiet moment, but it set a tone of reflection for the class.

In the middle of the discussion, a classmate of mine, who was also a shiftee, arrived late to class. However, the professor didn’t just let him in and have him take a seat like any other latecomer. Instead, he made him do a talent exhibition right in front of the class, where he said that if he wants to be part of the class, he needs to impress us first. The professor made it clear that it was our approval that was required, not his. If we were satisfied with the talent he showed, then he could stay in class. It was a bit unexpected, but it was a fun idea and not that deep of a concern. It felt like a moment where everyone had to judge for themselves, which made things more interesting.

I wasn’t too surprised by this, though. My girlfriend, who is now a sophomore and was his student before, had already told me about this. She shared stories of how he did things like this in the past, and I guess it was just part of his way of keeping things in check. Of course, we all approved of the talent that our classmate exhibited, no one wanted to make a scene just for that on the first day.

The topic then shifted to the survey we had answered before, the one that was posted in the Facebook group, specifically the part where we were asked about our expectations for this course. We took a look at our responses, reading through our own comments and thoughts. Some were about hoping for hands-on experience, others wanted a clear structure, and a few just wrote vague or unsure answers. It felt like a normal discussion at first, but then he started making things clear for us.

He told us outright that he is not a teacher, nor a professor, but only a facilitator. He emphasized that we wouldn't just sit and absorb information from him like in a traditional lecture. Instead, it would be us who would find things on our own, he was simply there to guide us. Then he said something which I also believe in. Most of our learning wouldn’t even happen inside the classroom. We wouldn’t just sit there, take notes, and listen to lectures. Instead, we’d be out there, dealing with real situations, figuring things out for ourselves. No boring, repetitive discussions, no mindless memorization just for the sake of passing tests. This class was going to be different. It was going to be hands-on, something we could actually use, something more interactive, and something we could actually apply.

As the class went on, we moved to discussing the USeP Briefer for Students, which was expected for the first day of class. It was something professors always go over as a routine. It wasn’t exactly exciting, but it had to be done. Somewhere in the middle of the discussion, we got to the university’s vision statement: "A premier research university transforming communities in the ASEAN and beyond." That was when the conversation took a turn, shifting its focus toward our program.

Out of nowhere, the professor asked me a simple question, which was, “What is 1 plus 1?” Without hesitation, I answered “2”, an instinctive response. But the moment I said it, I realized I was wrong. He wasn’t asking in the usual sense but he was referring to binary addition. The actual answer should have been “10” in binary. It hit me instantly, and I felt embarrassed. I had studied this before, even did advanced computations back in my previous program when I took Digital Electronics, yet I still walked straight into the trick question.

Before moving on, he brought up something specific about uniforms. Since, as I mentioned earlier, most of my first-year classmates had PE in the morning, a lot of them came to class still wearing their PE uniforms. He made it clear that he didn’t want that. For his class, he expected everyone to wear their proper school uniforms. It wasn’t up for debate, just something he wanted to be followed.

After that, he discussed the course syllabus and what we would be working on throughout the semester. He went over the Learning Evidences we needed to comply with by the end of the semester. The way he talked about it, the main focus seemed to be the pitching of ideas, which felt like the core of this class, making sense since it was a Technopreneurship course. It was clear that this wasn’t just about learning theories, but actually creating something, even if it’s a prototype, and making ideas work. Additionally, he mentioned that blogging would be part of the course, where we’d need to share our insights and reflections, making it even more interactive.

While the discussion went on, I came to understand that the course wasn’t completely different from entrepreneurship, but it focused more on implementing technology to create, innovate, and improve. I realized that this was really important, especially with how fast the world is changing. This made me even more eager and interested to know more about the course, and its applications that I can use in the future. To further inspire us, he shared success stories of his former students who had won national competitions, even defeating competitors from prestigious universities. These stories highlighted how his teaching extended beyond academics and into real-world success. With that, I also understood that he was expecting something from us. I was right, since part of the grading system involves competing in pitching competitions where we’ll showcase our innovative ideas in context to Technopreneurship. It felt like pressure, especially when he shared a memory where the university president had obtained awards and USeP had taken home the championship, with the runner-ups still being from USeP, indicating that at that time, USeP was “hakot” awards. This made us realize that we needed to achieve something significant under his guidance.

As the class carried on, I watched time pass by and realized that the topics being discussed started to feel more like a conversation. It wasn’t just a regular lecture, it had a certain flow to it that made it feel engaging. I noticed that the way he talked was entertaining, with a touch of sarcasm that made the class feel less stiff and more casual. It wasn’t all about the course either, as he threw in topics from outside the subject that added a whole new layer to the conversation. It made me realize that this wasn’t just going to be a class where we only focus on theory. It was going to be a place where we could talk, learn from one another, and hear stories and insights that went beyond textbooks.

With the discussion slowly coming to an end, we were given a few films and videos to review and give an analysis with, which are Pirates of Silicon Valley, 3 Idiots, and Steve Jobs’ graduation speech. We were expected to reflect on these and share our insights, which would be posted on our blogs. I had watched 3 Idiots years ago, and I can say without a doubt that it’s an inspiring film that I would highly recommend. Reflecting on these films felt like more than just an academic activity to be complied, it was an opportunity to think deeply about the concepts we were about to explore in the course. He also mentioned Dado Banatao, referring to him as the "Bill Gates of the Philippines," and left us to discover his contributions to technology. The way he connected the upcoming lessons to real-world innovators really got me excited about the course. Hearing about other films and topics he planned to cover just made me even more curious about how they’d all tie into the bigger picture of Technopreneurship. It was clear this wasn’t just some dry theory, it made me realize there’s a lot to learn about this course, and I’m looking forward to uncover what’s next. It’s like the more we learn, the more we realize how much is still out there to discover.

And as the discussion wrapped up, tasks with a sense of adventure were challenges given to us for after class. There wouldn’t be a meeting next Tuesday, February 4, and we had to explore three areas, which was shopping malls, schools, and fast food chains. We need to come up with ideas that are innovative and useful, three for each category. We’d pitch these ideas in the next class, trying to convince the rest of the class our ideas to be considered implementing. It wasn’t just about creating something cool, but it was about showing we could think creatively and practically about how technology could improve everyday life. The more I thought about it, the more excited yet nervous I became, especially with the thought of pitching our ideas in front of the class. It’s one thing to come up with a cool idea, but standing up and selling it to everyone? That’s a whole other level of pressure. It hit me that this wasn’t just another assignment, but a step toward something bigger, it was a chance to take what we’ve been introduced to and turn it into something that could really make an impact. As I stepped out of the classroom, I couldn’t help but ask myself, will I have what it takes to not only pass this course but to build something meaningful and become the technopreneur I aspire to be? Only time will tell. There's one thing I'm sure of, this journey is far from its end, and I know it’s just the beginning of something bigger.