This is my portfolio's blog, it should be tech inclined, every thing i post here should drive towards helping boost my career, and yeah, potential employers might read this…. I do not care. This is my space. I’m not proofreading, so expect typos, rubbish sentences, and zero apologies. This isn’t written for any audience. I’m just screaming into the void.

What does a man do, Walter?

"…A man provides for his family … When you have children, you always have family. They will always be your priority, your responsibility. And a man… a man provides. And he does it even when he’s not appreciated, or respected, or even loved. He simply bears up and he does it… because he’s a man."

If you’ve seen BB, you know these are Gus Fring's words. the cold, calculated chicken man, delivered with that chilling calm by Giancarlo Esposito. And damn, he was cooking with that one. For a real family man, that speech lands like truth nine times out of ten (no stats, just life). But here’s the raw part: I’m not a family man. Not yet. So why the hell am I haunted by this?

Well, because I’m terrified. Sometimes I already slip into the role of "the provider." A friend’s in deep shit? I fix it. Money, time, energy… if I can snap my fingers and make the problem disappear, I do. The closer you are to me, the less I care about the cost to myself. I’d like to believe it's because I'm decent. Generous or a nice guy, even.

But for some people… it stops being a gift. It becomes expectation. Baseline. Normal. And when that shift happens, it’s suffocating. The weight settles in quietly, then suddenly it’s crushing.

And the worst part? Half the time, the second the storm passes, the deeds vanish. Forgotten. Erased like they never happened. You pulled them out of the fire, bled for it time, sleep, money, sanity and the moment they’re safe on dry ground, they turn around, smile, and walk away like it was nothing. No “thank you” that lingers. No memory of the nights you stayed up. No acknowledgment that you carried what they couldn’t. It’s just… gone. You become the invisible scaffolding again, only remembered when something else breaks. And that silence? It cuts deeper than any ingratitude ever could.

That’s not even the deepest fear, though. That part I’ve already lived with for years and I’ll keep living it. What truly scares me is the future. The day i have my own family and after a few years of love, laughter and bliss, i become only "the one who provides." The day the warmth fades, the appreciation dries up, the love evaporates, and all that’s left is me as the fixer, the silent engine keeping everyone else’s life running.

Just the means. Never the man, it scares me.

The Annoying reality of "It's Okay to Cry"

We’ve all heard it a million times, men (and some women too) are being told it’s okay to cry. To open up. To stop being the unbreakable wall. And yeah… it is okay. In theory.

We’re raised as granite.. never cracking, never buckling, no matter how much pressure’s put on. People see that stoicism and say "toxic masculinity!" And they’re not entirely wrong. Bottling everything up poisons you from the inside. When the dam finally breaks, the flood comes out as ugly rage, silence, destruction .. or it never comes out at all.

But here's the cruel twist nobody wants to say out loud...

The same people chanting "it's okay to cry" are often the first to run when the tears actually fall. They want vulnerability… until they see how hideous the real darkness is. Until they realize the "toxic" masculinity they hate is the only thing holding back something far uglier underneath.

They beg you to pour it out, right up until they witness what’s really in the bottle. Then they vanish. Or worse: they judge. They recoil. They leave you standing there, exposed, feeling like a monster for finally doing what they demanded.

So what happens when everyone else is crying? When the whole room is falling apart? Who carries the fear then? Who stays steady when the rest are crumbling? You can’t break down when everyone else is already shattered. You can’t scream when the people you love are already screaming. You swallow it. Again. Because someone has to.

And suddenly "it's okay to cry" starts sounding like a luxury. A privilege for those who aren’t holding the line.

At that point, the tears don’t even try to come out anymore. They crawl back inside where they belong locked up, silent, waiting for the next crisis that demands you stay unfazed.

Because that’s what a man does.

He bears it.

Even when it’s killing him.

Even when no one sees.

Even when no one cares.

Because he’s a man.