Online, I go by diminished. Tense, unresolved, wanting to go somewhere.

I've played classical guitar for 18+ years — a quiet, intimate instrument that can't be rushed. What lies beyond the instrument always drew me in, too: the science of music, harmony, why a piece lands on exactly that chord, right there. Being able to play something was never enough for me; I wanted to know how it was built.

I studied to become a music teacher at Uludağ, so I learned not just to play, but to explain. Explaining something is learning it a second time. Classical guitar teaches you that anyway. You practice alone, no one hears you, you repeat the same four bars for weeks. The result comes one day, or it doesn't. That's where I learned patience; I've yet to find a place it doesn't work.

I've also been writing code for a while now — still fairly new at it. That's why I call myself a coder; I'm not a developer yet. But the instinct doesn't change: it's not enough for me that it works, I want to know how it works, too.

My room: sitting at my desk at the computer; a classical guitar and
an electric guitar on the wall, night in the window.

Karamel

Computers were always in the background. Games, computers that broke down, bugs that kept me up until I'd solved them. For years I learned — and made nothing. A voice assistant that lives on my computer, speaks Turkish, and teaches itself. This garden is its face — not a screenshot, but the real thing, running.

Karamel = the person in the background, making something for the first time.

Rotate Your Phone

Day or night, following the real clock. You can change it with the button at the top right. You can grab and swing Karamelcik, click the night sky to make a wish, and much more…