When I began studying programming, I was extremely thrilled. Writing a few lines and getting the computer to behave as I wished was like magic to me. I recall the joy that I had the first time I executed my first program and actually saw it work. It was as if opening a new world.
But reality soon caught up with me. Programming was not as simple as I imagined. I encountered gazillions of problems—minute errors, logical flaws, and sometimes I could not even trace what was wrong. There were days when I would get stuck on a single bug for hours. It was infuriating, and to be honest, there were times when I wanted to quit.
Dealing with logical errors was one of the toughest aspects for me. The code would execute, but it just wouldn't provide the output I anticipated. That feeling of being lost was bad. And the more I worked on fixing it, the more misleading it became. I can remember sitting in front of the screen for hours, thinking, "Perhaps programming isn't my thing."
But gradually, with time, I knew that the frustration is also part of the process. Each mistake I corrected taught me something. Each bug I resolved provided me with a small victory. Gradually, I began to improve. I came to know that everyone makes mistakes and no programmer ever writes bug-free code in the first attempt.
Now, when I look back, I realize how far I've traveled. I'm not an expert yet, but I've certainly grown. The same mistakes that used to intimidate me don't seem that huge anymore. Rather, I view them as challenges. I've learned to be patient, keep on trying, and not give up.
Programming to me is no longer just coding—it's problem-solving, patience, and learning from mistakes. And I'm sure that every programmer out there can attest to this process of excitement, frustration, and ultimately, improvement.