The First Time My Code Worked

I still remember the first time I wrote code that actually worked.

But before that, I was just trying to understand English.

When I moved to the U.S. from Bangladesh in 2011, I didn’t speak English fluently. I was eight years old, trying to navigate a new country, a new school system, and a new language — all at once. My way in? YouTube.

I started watching videos to learn how people talked — basic grammar lessons, cartoons, game walkthroughs. One day, I clicked on a language video, and when it ended, the algorithm queued up the next one:
“Intro to Java Programming”

I didn’t fully understand the title. But I clicked play anyway. And I watched it.

That video — probably made for college students — was where it all started. I didn’t know what Java was, or what “object-oriented” meant, or why someone would need a compiler. But something about it pulled me in. The mix of logic, structure, and creativity felt familiar — even when the words didn’t.

So I followed along. Paused constantly. Googled every error message. Had no idea what a class or method was, but I tried to recreate what I saw. Then one day, I typed this:

System.out.println("Hello, world!");

And it worked.

The terminal echoed back exactly what I told it to. That was it — just a message on a screen. But to me, it felt like the first time the machine talked back.

Language, Loops, and Control

In a way, I was learning two languages at the same time: English and code.
I didn’t fully understand either — but I learned both through repetition, trial, and a willingness to look dumb until I didn’t. Coding, in particular, gave me something powerful: instant feedback.

I’d type something. Run it. Break it. Fix it. Try again. I didn’t need permission or perfection — just curiosity. And every time something ran the way I intended, I felt a kind of control I didn’t feel anywhere else yet.

Over time, I went deeper — from print() statements to calculators, loops, games. I started watching college lectures from Harvard, even if I only understood fragments. I filled in the gaps with forums, tutorials, and constant experimentation. What I lacked in formal instruction, I made up for in iteration.

That process — typing, testing, thinking, retrying — became a habit. A way of learning. A way of thinking.

From Feedback to Behavior

Eventually, I stopped asking “did it work?” and started asking “why does it work?”
What happens when it doesn’t? Can this adapt to someone else’s use case? What breaks in a different environment?

Years later, those same questions would shape how I built Kodezi.

Kodezi wasn’t built to autocomplete code or generate fancy snippets. It was built to understand what’s going on beneath the surface — to listen to your codebase, track its behavior over time, and fix issues before you even ask. It’s not just automation. It’s autonomous memory and evolution. It learns the way I used to: through watching, failing, adapting — and doing it again.

Same Loop. Bigger System.

The first time my code worked, it printed a message.
Now, I build systems that help millions of lines of code stay alive — by listening to them the way I once learned to listen to a machine.

And funny enough — the same platform that helped me learn English…
also gave me the reason to build a language of my own.