When I was 13, my curiosity knew no bounds. My mind was a sponge, soaking up information about society, health, and technology. Little did I know, my thirst for knowledge would lead me into a situation that would shape my perspective for years to come.
I had recently discovered a hacking tool called Cain and Able while browsing online forums. The discussions around it captivated me. It was as if I had stumbled upon a magician’s handbook. My curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to test it out on the school’s computer system. I had heard the teachers complaining about how outdated and insecure our school network was. I thought maybe I could help, or at least learn something new in the process.
I fired up Cain and Able, and soon enough, I was looking at the school administrator’s login page. With trembling fingers, I typed in what the tool suggested would be the password—and there it was, I was in. The password was “FUBAR,” an acronym that’s… let’s say, less than educational.
The next day, I approached the school administrators to share my findings. “You know your password is FUBAR, right?” I offered, along with suggestions on how they could beef up their cybersecurity. I genuinely thought they would commend me for being proactive.
Boy, was I wrong.
Instead of tapping into my skills, they lashed out in fear and ignorance. They stripped me of my computer privileges for a whole year and threatened to blackball me from future employment opportunities in the community. That was my first taste of how the world often reacts to things it doesn’t understand: with punishment and isolation, instead of curiosity and engagement.
In an ideal world, they would have seen this as an educational moment for everyone. Maybe even let me guide a workshop for teachers, explaining how easy it was for their system to be compromised and how to prevent it. But instead, they squashed my curiosity like a bug under a boot.
It was then that I realized those in positions of authority were just as clueless as anyone else—maybe even more so. These were the adults I was supposed to respect and learn from, yet they had no idea how to handle a situation unless it fit into their predefined boxes. That experience set the stage for my lifelong quest to question the system, to probe its flaws and inadequacies.
Years later, I would reflect on this episode with a kind of bittersweet nostalgia. It fueled my passion to explore society, health, and culture—always questioning, always digging deeper. I turned that incident into a motivator, a lesson in why we should never stop asking questions, especially when it’s uncomfortable for those who think they have all the answers.
So here I am, years later, still exploring, still questioning, and still a firm believer that curiosity should be nurtured, not stifled. Because let’s face it, if the gatekeepers of knowledge are using passwords like FUBAR, then we’ve got bigger problems on our hands.