I rather enjoy writing articles, trying to bring a different perspective to the hobby of computer enthusiasm. My last one was a rather
unpolished piece about barriers and such, and this second one (well, the second one I am not sufficiently embarrassed about to not post) tackles another avenue.
I hope you enjoy the read. Any pointers are, of course, appreciated.
My Switch
We all have our switches, buried deep down somewhere on a solely subconscious level. The switches flick, and we become obsessed, devoted and perhaps even blinded, the lines of judgement blurred by the childish enthusiasm derived from the flicking of these switches.
For some, it is cars and for others, stamps. For me, it was computers. It was a switch that flicked as soon as I saw the insides of a computer. It was a switch that flicked as soon as I discovered high-end graphics. It was a switch that flicked, lighting a bulb that has not since dimmed, a filament of lifetime proportions, one I expect never to break, always to shine.
My family had invested in a computer, an old thing which ran Windows 95. I am unsure of the exact specifications, but I believe it was a Pentium III processor. One day, it refused to turn on, and being just a child with a silly enthusiasm for a game some of you may know named Descent: Destination Saturn, I ran to my mother demanding we get a new one, one we couldn’t afford.
She said to me, “Darling, if the computer is broken, then you broke it because you’re the only one that uses it. If you want a new one, buy it yourself.” I was flabbergasted, stunned and confused at the implication that I, an eight year old at the time, should be expected to buy a computer. I hadn’t the slightest idea where to get one, and once I had overcome that colossal problem, the other would be the cold hard cash, or rather, lack thereof.
Wailing in disbelief, I begged her for a new computer, or at least to get our broken one fixed, but for reasons I couldn’t understand at that age, prioritisation meant I was not to get a new computer for years to come.
So, determined to play Descent again (as I was nearing the final stages, one could tell by the rapidly increasing difficulty), I got out a screwdriver, and began to unscrew the case in various places. I hadn’t the slightest idea the side panel would slide off easily, or that it was meant to, so buy the time I had unscrewed every possible screw, the old steel case was practically falling apart, perhaps a sign of things to come.
Finally, after much deliberation, I figured out the side panel, opened up the case and saw, what was at the time, an intimidating, confusing fortress of green plastic, copper tracing and a mess of wiring, not to mention a thick, caking layer of dust that had settled onto the floor of the case. It was at this moment, something inside me was triggered and I knew that I would love computers, knew that I would do everything in my power to ensure I had one to tinker with, one to play around with, one to break so I could learn how to fix it.
It was perhaps at this point (in retrospect), that evidence of fate presented itself, in the form of mental predestination. I don’t believe that where we walk, for example, or where we go on holiday in the summer is predetermined. In some strangely romantic sense, though, the idea of a young boy falling in love with that he does not understand, it reminds me of a path once shadowed becoming brilliantly illuminated by a new and shining sun, as if a switch was flicked. An interest was born, likely to live as long as, in this case, myself, an avenue I was destined to explore because of one curious day with a screwdriver and a childish enthusiasm.
Eleven years down the line (after the mysterious revival of that old PIII), I can still remember that day, and the struggles to come with trying to understand a computer. Yet that light has not dimmed, if anything it has grown stronger, and my interest in computers has not waned. By the age of twelve I was assembling my own computers from their base parts, and by the age of fifteen I was dabbling into water cooling and, in retrospect, foolish overclocking. Now, I’m thinking about phase change and liquid nitrogen, but those old barriers still exist, and one must still prioritise.
I suppose at some point in my life computers may take a backseat, but this is not for diminishing interest, but as mentioned previously, the need to prioritise and accept responsibility. Working now to pay for my university education next year, I have come to realise that I spend much of my day thinking about computers, about what new thing may be posted on one of the various forums I frequent, about what I’ll do with what I have, about the kind of life I aspire to have, one certainly not devoid of computers (and how can they be in this day and age?).
New interests have come and gone, and I can honestly say that only two switches have been flicked for me, the love of writing and the love of computers. I hope that someday another switch flicks, and a new love emerges bringing new avenues, and more childlike enthusiasm into my life, but that is a waiting game and only when the moment is right will it happen. But until that time, I will remain content with my two obsessions, almost criminal in their intensity.
Linear Mode
