Built on Dreams and Duct Tape

Someday Folder Energy ; Temporarily Archived Dreams

There’s something deeply humbling and oddly beautiful about working on creative tech projects with little to no budget. Over the years, I have found myself caught between big ideas and small means more times than I can count. The mind races ahead, dreaming of immersive experiences, responsive environments, data-driven interactions, and expressive systems that feel alive. But then reality sets in. I open my toolkit, check the project budget, glance at timelines, and realise I need to work with what I have and often, that’s not much. But that limitation doesn’t stop the ideation (with a heavy heart, it doesn’t). If anything, it pushes it in directions I might not have considered otherwise.

I have come to believe that there are many ways to deal with an idea once it’s born. Sometimes, I ideate and park it aside. This has become an honest part of my creative process. This honesty is pretty humbling, really! I allow myself to think big without immediately demanding a result. I write it down, sketch it, sometimes build a tiny element or storyboard it, and then I let it rest. Not discarded, just shelved. These parked ideas live in notebooks, in folders titled “Someday,” in conversations I have with myself when I’m walking alone. And they matter. I think of them as seeds that need different soil or seasons to grow. Some of the ideas I’m most proud of started out this way, dormant, waiting, slowly evolving in the background.

Other times, I push myself to ideate and show. These are the moments when I build something , however raw or scrappy , just to make the idea visible. It might be a simple prototype, a hacked-together video, or a basic interactive demo that only half works. I do this not because I want to understand how it lives outside my head. I want to see if it breathes, if it moves people, if it sparks questions. These small reveals have become a quiet ritual. They are reminders that an idea doesn’t have to be finished to be shared. And often, sharing it, showing someone, even just one person , creates ripples I could never have anticipated. Someone sees something I missed. Someone connects the dots. Sometimes, it ends there. Sometimes, it leads to collaboration, support, or simply encouragement , and that is enough to keep going.

Then there are moments when I revisit those old ideas, usually on a random evening when I feel like poking around past projects. I reopen files, reread notes, and rewatch half-baked demos. Some ideas have aged well. Others have not. But I always ask myself the same question; can this be done better now? Is there a cheaper tool, a new open-source library, a faster way to build it, or maybe someone I could reach out to for help? I’ve learned to treat the improvement phase not just as refinement, but as adaptation. The world changes, tech evolves, my skills grow, and suddenly something that felt impossible a year ago now feels within reach. This quiet form of iteration, done outside the pressure of a deadline or budget , has become a practice I value more than anything.

Of course, working like this has its weight. There are days when the lack of resources feels defeating. When I look at what others are building with full teams, cutting-edge hardware, and big funding, it’s easy to feel small. But then I remember why I started doing this in the first place. It was never about matching scale. It was always about creating something honest, something that could connect people in new ways. And strangely enough, constraints have helped keep that intention pure. When you can’t build everything, you’re forced to focus on what matters.

Over time, I’ve realised that this slow, iterative way of working, filled with parked ideas, scrappy experiments, and constant rethinking , is not a detour. It is the path itself. It teaches patience. It builds resilience. It allows space for ideas to grow on their own timeline. And underneath it all, there’s always this quiet belief that someday, the timing will be right. That the right project will come along, the right collaborator will appear, or the right opportunity will finally unlock everything I’ve been storing up. It’s not about waiting passively. It’s about staying ready. Staying curious. Staying open to when it all clicks.

Until that day comes, I will keep showing up. I will keep ideating. I will keep building what I can, improving what I already have, and gently shelving what isn’t ready yet. Because I know now that these fragments, these almosts, and these what-ifs are not failures. They are a speculated future, just waiting for their turn.