Cybersecurity isn’t about plugging holes or defending against faceless threats. It’s about living in that exhilarating space where technology and humanity collide. Picture technology as a sheer cliff face — cold, unyielding, built on code and logic. And then there’s the ocean: humanity, surging, unpredictable, driven by desires and impulses that crash endlessly against the cliff.

But it’s not just a meeting point; it’s a violent collision. From that impact, the foam is born — a chaotic, ever-shifting space where the rigid structure of machines meets the fluid nature of human behavior. That’s where I live, where I thrive. Not as a gatekeeper, but as someone who senses both forces: the constant pulse of the sea and the sharp edges of the cliff. I don’t calm the ocean or dismantle the wall; I revel in the foam, in the tension between two opposing worlds.

This is where cybersecurity truly exists—not in rigid rules or fixed boundaries, but in that dynamic, adaptive zone where human interaction and technological precision intertwine. I don’t just manage risks; I feel the ebb and flow of this volatile ecosystem. It’s not about controlling the sea or changing the cliff — it’s about shaping the space where they meet, understanding how the waves break, and how the foam forms.

I live at the intersection of social norms and machine logic, and in that space, I find clarity. I don’t need to tame the ocean’s chaos or break the cliff’s resolve. Instead, I navigate both, letting the foam reveal the balance between human desires and technological structures. It’s not about defense; it’s about shaping that balance, about living in the tension where both worlds constantly reshape each other. That’s where cybersecurity happens, and that’s where I belong.