Well, there I was at HTL Mödling, a renowned institute for higher education in Austria. It wasn’t my dream to be there, but life has a way of steering us into unexpected paths. My father, an electrician and a hobby electronics enthusiast, was adamant that I follow a technical route. He saw no other option for me but to learn about electronics.
To be perfectly honest, I had other interests—ones I held dear and hoped might lead to a different future. One of them was cooking. During secondary school, I had loved the cooking sessions, and I wasn’t just enthusiastic; I was good at it. Then there was technical drawing, which also captivated me. Back in the early ’90s, most technical drawings were still done by hand at the school level. Computers and the programs used for drafting existed but were not widely available in secondary schools in Austria. And finally, there was woodworking. I loved the idea of working with my hands, shaping wood into something functional or beautiful.
Yet, as life often goes, each of these dreams was picked apart and dismissed by people around me—with arguments that, at the time, seemed valid.
Take technical drawing, for instance. My parents once hosted a family dinner with one of my father’s work colleagues. Over the meal, I shared my interest in becoming a technical draftsman. His response was blunt: “I wouldn’t bother learning to draw by hand. In a few years, everything will be done on computers. You won’t need pencils or ink pens anymore.” That single comment extinguished my enthusiasm. I didn’t like computers much back then, and the idea of spending hours in front of a screen drained my excitement. So, I crossed technical drawing off my list.
Then came woodworking. I had a knack for it and even considered training to become a carpenter, which was an option at the same school. But a family friend—a practical, hands-on man with lots of DIY experience—convinced me otherwise. He argued, “The world is moving forward with electronics. That’s where the future lies. You’d be better off pursuing that. Plus, your dad can guide and support you if you go into electronics.” Though I respected his opinion, it felt like another door closing.
Finally, there was my love for cooking. This one met the harshest resistance of all—straight from my father. He was unrelenting, even brutal in his opposition. “I cannot believe my son wants to be a chef!” he declared. “Every time there’s a party, a celebration, a weekend gathering—Christmas, Easter, New Year—when everyone else is having fun, you’d be working. That’s unacceptable.” He didn’t stop there. “My father was a tailor, my mother a seamstress, and now my son wants to be a chef? I don’t understand this at all. I am extremely disappointed.”
In hindsight, I understand his perspective. This was the late ’80s and early ’90s. Chefs weren’t the celebrities they are today. There was no social media showcasing their success, no widespread admiration for culinary arts. To my father, the idea of being a chef was less about creativity and passion and more about grueling hours and missed celebrations.
To seal the deal, my father dragged me into his world. He made me sit with him in the garage to build electronic circuits, trying to show me how fun and rewarding it could be. I wouldn’t say he succeeded in convincing me electronics were fun, but his determination left little room for argument. I eventually enrolled in HTL Mödling. There were two options: a four-year program without A-levels or a five-year program with A-levels. My entry exam results weren’t strong enough for the five-year program, so the four-year path was chosen for me by default.
Looking back now, I can say it was the right decision. My father, our guests, and those family friends were all correct in their advice. At the time, it felt like my dreams were being crushed, one by one. But now, I see it differently. Their guidance, though forceful and sometimes painful, set me on a path that ultimately worked out for the best.