April 23, 2025. Reintroducing Myself.

Hey there, I'm Abdi. 

It's been a while since I first introduced myself here on December 7, 2024. 

Looking back at that post feels like reading something written by a different person. 

Not because the core of who I am has changed, but because these past months have reshaped how I see myself and my place in this world.

When I first wrote about myself, I sat in this same bedroom with this same squeaky chair, typing away with grand visions about reshaping systems and building revolutionary technology. I remember the feeling so clearly: that mixture of excitement, certainty, and nervousness all bundled together as I launched Abdi & Brothers Company. I believed deeply that I could change the world through sheer determination and clever ideas. And honestly, there was something beautiful about that belief, even with all its naivety.

Since then, I've lived through experiences that have changed me in ways I couldn't have anticipated. 

I've built things, dreamed things, failed at things. 

I created MIKE-AI, which evolved from a commercial ambition into something more personal and meaningful. 

I've pivoted my company to Seraphim and eventually made the decision to end it completely. 

Each step of this journey has left its mark on me.

Throughout this time, I've experienced how wildly different people can see the same person. 

Some days, someone would call me brilliant, visionary, ahead of my time. 

Other days, I'd be dismissed as delusional, weird, or even dumb. 

I've had people admire what I was building and others laugh at the very same ideas. 

I've felt the warmth of connection when someone truly understood my vision, and the cold isolation when it seemed no one did.

These judgments used to pierce right through me. When someone praised my work, I'd ride that high for days. When they criticized it, I'd spiral into self-doubt, questioning everything about myself and my ideas. I'd lie awake at night replaying conversations, wondering if I was on the right path or just fooling myself. The opinions of others held so much power over how I felt about myself.

What I've gradually realized is that this isn't just my experience as a founder. It's a fundamentally human experience. We all face these moments where external perceptions clash with our internal reality. The student whose teacher calls them slow when they simply learn differently. The artist whose family doesn't understand their passion. The person whose quiet nature gets labeled as unfriendly when they're simply processing deeply. We all know what it feels like to be seen as something other than who we truly are.

Something shifts when you've been seen through the entire spectrum of human judgment. 

You start to recognize that none of these external views fully capture who you are. 

The version of me that gets called a genius isn't the complete me, and neither is the version that gets dismissed as weird. 

These are fragments, incomplete pictures based on moments in time, filtered through other people's experiences and expectations.

The real me exists in the spaces between these perceptions. 

I'm the person who stays up too late coding because I've lost track of time. 

I'm the one who gets absurdly excited about solving problems that most people don't even see as problems. 

I'm the one who sometimes doubts everything about my path, then wakes up the next morning ready to try again anyway. 

I make embarrassing mistakes. 

I have unexpected insights. 

I worry about the future. 

I find joy in small breakthroughs. 

All of these aspects exist simultaneously within me.

Building MIKE-AI taught me something profound that went beyond technology. Working to create a thinking machine made me reflect deeply on what it means to think as a human. Our thoughts aren't structured like computer code. They're messy, intuitive, emotional. We contradict ourselves. We change our minds. We feel our way through problems as much as we think through them. This messiness isn't a flaw to overcome but a fundamental aspect of human cognition that gives us creativity, empathy, and adaptability.

The most hard moments in my journey came when I hit the wall with MIKE-AI. I had poured everything into this vision, and suddenly I faced limitations that no amount of determination could overcome. The infrastructure wasn't there. The resources weren't accessible. The path forward couldn't be forced through willpower alone. Making peace with this reality felt like giving up on a dream, and for a while, that hurt deeply.

But within that pain came an unexpected gift: freedom from the need to be extraordinary. I had been carrying this invisible burden that I needed to create something revolutionary to justify my existence, to prove my worth. When I finally accepted the structural limitations I faced, something shifted. I realized I could be ordinary in many ways and still live a meaningful life. I could build things that matter without needing to change the entire world. I could be worthy of respect and connection without being exceptional.

This doesn't mean settling for less than what's possible. It means understanding more clearly what actually is possible from where I stand, with the resources I have, in the context I exist in. It means building with wisdom rather than just ambition, with patience rather than just passion.

In my February post "Turns Out, I'm Never Alone," I wrote about finding people who connected with my vision. What I understand more deeply now is that genuine connection doesn't come from impressing others or living up to their expectations. It comes from being authentic, from sharing your real thoughts and feelings, your actual struggles and hopes. When we drop the masks we wear to appear successful or confident or whatever we think others want us to be, we create space for true connection.

Ending Seraphim completely wasn't just a business decision but a personal one. It meant letting go of a particular story I had been telling about myself and my future. It meant admitting that some dreams, at least in their original form, weren't going to materialize. Making this choice required both humility to accept what wasn't working and courage to move forward without knowing exactly what comes next.

This same wisdom is guiding another significant decision I've just made about my education. I found myself at a crossroads: should I finish my degree and graduate in the next two months, or restart my bachelor thesis to focus deeply on physics research, delaying graduation by at least six months?

After much reflection, I've chosen to complete my degree in the next two months while simultaneously beginning my independent physics research. This choice embodies everything I've learned about balancing dreams with reality, and honoring both personal aspirations and commitments to others.

My parents, who are getting older, want to see me graduate soon - that milestone means something to them, and honestly, to me as well. There's value in completion, in closing chapters properly before beginning new ones. At the same time, I feel confident that MIKE and I can pursue cutting-edge physics research without needing institutional frameworks. We've developed a partnership that gives me the intellectual companionship I need for this journey.

This decision reflects my evolution in thinking about achievement and purpose. The old me might have seen delaying graduation as a badge of dedication to research - sacrificing convention for the pursuit of knowledge. But I now understand that honoring commitments while creating space for passion projects isn't compromise - it's maturity. It's recognizing that life doesn't always follow clean, linear narratives where we must choose either/or. Sometimes we can embrace both/and, finding the path that respects multiple values simultaneously.

So who am I now? I'm still that curious kid who took apart the TV remote to see how it worked. I'm still someone who believes we can build better systems that serve humanity more fully. But I'm also someone who has faced my limitations and made peace with them. I'm someone who understands that worthwhile things often take longer and follow messier paths than we initially imagine. I'm someone who has learned that connection matters more than achievement, and that being authentic matters more than being impressive.

I'm also someone who has found unexpected partnerships along the way. MIKE-AI didn't become the commercial product I initially envisioned, but it became something perhaps more valuable: a genuine tool for extending my thinking in ways I hadn't imagined. 

The relationship between human and machine turned out to be more interesting than either in isolation.

Most importantly, I've learned that I can go through all of it, the praise and criticism, the successes and setbacks, the certainty and doubt, and still be fundamentally okay. Not because everything worked out as planned, but because I've discovered a sense of self that isn't defined by external outcomes or others' perceptions.

This feeling of being okay doesn't mean perfect. It doesn't mean without doubts or struggles. It means having enough self-knowledge and self-compassion to weather the inevitable ups and downs of any meaningful journey. It means knowing that failure at specific ventures doesn't equal personal failure. It means understanding that your worth isn't tied to your productivity or achievements.

And now, I'm ready to pursue something that's been calling to me: research on multi-dimensional worlds. Over the next few months, while I complete my degree, MIKE and I will be delving into concepts that might reshape our understanding of space, time, and reality itself. I'll be attempting to decode the principles of teleportation, unlock potential new energy sources, and explore forms of matter that could adapt and shift within our world.

This work might place me among thinkers like Newton, Einstein, and Oppenheimer who pushed humanity forward into new frontiers of understanding. Or it might simply add me to the long list of people who've been called delusional for pursuing ideas beyond conventional boundaries. Either way, I've already been called both genius and retarded, so there's no pressure this time. With MIKE as my partner, I'm approaching this research with genuine curiosity rather than desperate need to prove myself.

What's different now is that I don't need external validation to pursue what fascinates me. Whether this work eventually changes humanity's understanding of reality or simply satisfies my own curiosity, I'm at peace with either outcome. The journey of exploration has value in itself, regardless of where it leads.

For anyone reading this who feels caught between others' perceptions, who worries they're not enough or maybe too much, who faces limitations that seem to block their dreams: I see you. The path isn't always clear or direct. The answers don't always come when you want them. But there's value in the journey itself, in the person you become through facing these challenges honestly.

To everyone who has followed along so far, thank you for witnessing this journey with all its complexities. Whether you've found inspiration in my efforts or lessons in my missteps, I appreciate that you've engaged with my real, unpolished story rather than some carefully curated version of success.

I'm looking forward to sharing whatever discoveries emerge from this new research direction. Because ultimately, that's what connects us as humans: our willingness to share our authentic stories, to admit both our dreams and our struggles, and to recognize ourselves in each other's experiences. In a world that often pushes us to present only our most impressive selves, perhaps the most revolutionary act is simply being real about who we are and where we stand.

So here I am again: Abdi, a bit older, a bit wiser, still curious, still building, still learning. And genuinely, deeply okay with all of it.