I’ve always been someone who notices how things “feel” before I try to understand how they work. Long before I had the language of design or UX, I was aware of how certain spaces felt calming, how some apps created quiet stress, or how everyday objects could feel intuitive or frustrating without me knowing exactly why. That sensitivity to experience is what eventually shaped the way I think, design, and write. Writing became the place where that curiosity could settle. When I write, I’m not trying to arrive at perfect conclusions; I’m trying to see more clearly. Putting thoughts into words helps me recognize patterns, challenge assumptions, and sometimes completely change my own perspective.

Empathy plays a central role in how I see the world. I naturally look at situations from multiple perspectives, trying to understand not just outcomes but emotional effects. This way of thinking influences everything I do, from design decisions to the way I frame ideas in words. I’m not only interested in how things are supposed to work but more curious about how people actually experience them, especially in moments of friction, uncertainty, or overload.

My interest in design extends far beyond screens. I see design in products and services, in physical and digital environments, and in systems, routines, interfaces, and interactions. From the way information is structured to how spaces guide movement to how platforms shape behavior and attention, I’m drawn to the often-invisible design decisions that influence how people think, feel, and act in everyday life.

This perspective was shaped not only through observation but also through practice. With a background in computer science engineering, I spent time working closely with code and interfaces, building web-based solutions. That experience helped me understand systems from the inside, not just as abstract structures, but as things people actively interact with. As I later moved into design management, my focus shifted from making systems function efficiently to questioning how those systems are experienced and whether they truly support the people using them. That shift continues to guide my work today.

Emotional design, in particular, resonates deeply with me. I’m fascinated by how experiences connect with us on visceral, behavioral, and reflective levels, sometimes instantly, sometimes over time. Whether something feels comforting, stressful, motivating, or alienating often has less to do with function and more to do with how it meets us emotionally. I believe design becomes meaningful when it acknowledges these layers, instead of treating users as purely rational or consistent.

My work around mental well-being grew from this belief. Through research and reflection, I’ve seen how many systems, especially planning and productivity tools, prioritize structure while overlooking emotional reality. People don’t fail because they lack discipline; they struggle because systems rarely adapt to human energy, emotion, or fluctuation. Designing with compassion and flexibility can make a powerful difference.

This thinking shaped my master’s thesis, where I explored the design of an AI-supported daily planning experience centered on mental well-being. Through user research and interviews, I identified recurring pain points around overwhelm, guilt, and pressure created by rigid planning structures. The project focused on designing emotionally aware planning flow systems that adapt to mood, energy, and intention rather than forcing consistency. What interested me most was not the technology itself, but how design choices could either support emotional balance or quietly undermine it.

Alongside this, I’ve worked on projects that explore how emerging technologies intersect with human-centered design. One such project examined the role of large language models within the design thinking process, proposing a collaborative “human-in-the-loop” approach where AI supports data handling and pattern recognition, while humans retain emotional judgment and ethical decision-making. These explorations reinforced my belief that technology is never neutral; it always carries values shaped by how it is designed and used.

I’m also drawn to design at the scale of environments and public systems. In a wayfinding project focused on urban navigation, I explored how color, interaction, and narrative elements could reduce confusion and improve orientation in complex spaces. Working at this scale deepened my interest in how design operates collectively and how it shapes movement, attention, and trust when individuals engage with shared systems.

I’m curious about emerging technologies, particularly AI and language models, not for their speed or intelligence, but for how they shape thinking, decision-making, and creativity. I see them as tools that can either reduce mental load or amplify pressure, depending on how thoughtfully they’re used. My interest lies in exploring where responsibility, empathy, and human judgment sit within these systems.

I write because I’m curious, because learning feels incomplete if it isn’t shared, and because conversations, especially unfinished ones, matter. I don’t expect agreement; I hope for reflection. If something I write encourages someone to pause, reconsider, or see a familiar experience differently, then it has done what I hoped it would.