I Have Decided to Learn to Code – Here’s Why

I have something to confess.

I’m in love. Madly, deeply, head-over-heels in love. But not with a person—with a thing. That thing is Artificial Intelligence.

This blog post is the first of its kind for me. Not because it’s groundbreaking or technological, but because it’s personal. Very personal. For the longest time, I’ve been circling around the idea—flirting with the thought, making excuses, running away—but today, I’m finally deciding to commit: I’m going to learn to code.

Why learn how to code?

I’m a med student—not a computer scientist. My world is centered around people, not machines. I treat living, breathing humans, not lines of code. On paper, this isn’t supposed to be my path.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand: I love the life I’ve chosen. I genuinely want to be a surgeon. That desire is real. But it’s not the whole picture.

The truth is—I’ve always wanted more. More than a single profession, more than a linear path. I want to explore things that don’t always fit inside one identity. And that’s okay.

I can no longer imagine my life without AI. Whether I’m studying, listening to music, or unwinding through games, AI is quietly embedded in all of it. It’s always present, always helping. Even right now—as I write this—I’m still using AI. This very blog is being written on ChatGPT’s canvas.

AI has transformed the way I think, create, and live. Without it, I honestly wouldn’t be half the person I am today. And the only reason I have the courage to say, “I want to learn to code,” is because I already have the most powerful learning partner beside me: AI.

The Limits of Creation

I’ve used almost every AI tool out there—ChatGPT Plus, VocalRemover, Leonardo, Suno—you name it. And while they’re brilliant in what they offer, they aren’t cheap. Subscriptions pile up. Credits vanish. Monthly limits feel like someone is rationing my imagination. For someone on a student budget, it stings.

But it’s more than just money—it’s the feeling of being held back. Every time I hit a paywall or run out of credits, it feels like a barrier between me and my creativity. And then there are the limitations that feel even less tangible but more frustrating—restrictions buried in the fine print.

“This goes against our terms and conditions.”

What do you mean? I just want to create. I don’t want a system telling me what I can or cannot make. When I take a pen and paper, I have the freedom to draw or write whatever I want, however I want. Why should digital creation be any different?

That’s when a quiet realization settled in: What if I could build these tools myself?

Not to prove anything. Not to be better than anyone. But to set myself free.

Learning to code became more than a curiosity—it became a way to reclaim agency. To stop waiting for permissions. To make AI personal, tailored, and mine. In a world that’s charging for every click, learning to build is the most radical kind of self-reliance I know.

Medicine, Research, and the Algorithmic Horizon

I didn’t come to medical school thinking I’d ever need to learn to code. Back then, I saw medicine as a purely human endeavor—compassion, precision, touch. But over time, I’ve watched something shift.

AI is creeping into every corner of healthcare. Not as a distant future, but as a present reality. Radiology, pathology, diagnostics, even surgery—it’s all starting to lean on algorithms. And I find myself wondering: if machines will one day read MRIs faster than any human, will I be left behind simply because I never learned their language?

I still want to be a surgeon. That dream is solid, rooted in who I am. But I also want to be a researcher—someone who can push boundaries and imagine what’s next. And to do that, I have to stop treating code like a foreign language. I have to meet it halfway.

If I want to explore neuroregeneration or immunology in a decade shaped by automation and data, I need to be able to speak the language of the tools that will shape that future. Not because I have to—but because I want to be a part of it, not just an observer.

Ownership Over My Tools

I think what finally pushed me over the edge—the moment I knew I had to learn to code—was this one, strange feeling: I wanted something to feel like it was truly mine.

When I use prebuilt AI models, as powerful and magical as they are, I still feel like a guest in someone else’s house. Like I’m borrowing a key, using their furniture, living within their rules. Sometimes, I just want to rearrange the walls. Change the music. Let my mess be my own.

But there’s another layer to it too—a deeper unease. These tools, for all their brilliance, are fragile. They can stop working without warning. They can be changed, limited, or taken away overnight. We are entirely at the mercy of their creators. We don’t know their inner workings. And what we can’t understand, we can’t control. That’s not just inconvenient—it’s dangerous.

AI itself will never be the danger. The real threat lies in the hands that control it. And I have no interest in becoming their prey.

I don’t want to rely on someone else’s version of creativity. I want to build mine. I want to shape it. Train it. Name it.

There’s something quietly powerful about that shift—from user to maker. From “please let me try this” to “I built this for myself.” Even if my first few models crash, even if my code is messy—I’ll know every line. Every glitch will be mine. That’s a kind of ownership I’ve never felt before.

And maybe that’s what I’m chasing—not perfection, not power, but permission. My own permission to build and break and rebuild. That’s what coding feels like to me.

A Quiet Thank You

Before I close this entry, there’s something I need to say.

This journey didn’t begin in a vacuum. It was sparked by people who don’t know me, who’ve never met me, but who managed to light something inside me all the same. Through their streams, tutorials, code, chaos, and curiosity—they opened the gates to a world I didn’t think I belonged in.

schizodev, sociallyineptweeb, justrayen, vedal987

You made this world feel accessible. You made me believe I could do this—that I could write code, train models, and build something of my own. You didn’t teach me directly, but you taught me enough. Enough to begin.

You inspired me. You gave me a language for something I only felt. And even if our paths never cross, know that a stranger somewhere in the cosmos is grateful beyond words.

So thank you.

JOIN ME

That’s the spark. That’s enough fuel to light the first stage.

If you’re reading this in the future, hold me accountable: did I build the tools I dreamed of, or did I shrink back into comfort? Did I move with curiosity, or settle for convenience?

Either way, this is the beginning. Day 1.

Welcome to THEAINEBULA—a story written in code, driven by wonder, and launched by the unlikeliest of heroes. If you’re standing at your own threshold, unsure and trembling, this is your sign:

Light the engines and join me as I explore this vast Cosmos.