I fixed my gaze on the photo hanging beside me. The one where I stood leaning against my car, at the Piana di Castelluccio. Standing. I didn't have the courage to try. The moment had arrived - that moment. I wasn't ready. The whirlwind of thoughts continued to envelop me and, as I often do in these cases, my brain told my body to let the thoughts tangle among themselves while I acted. I turned and placed my feet on the ground. I felt the floor beneath me. I stood up. I felt no pain. I tried walking in various directions. I moved. Apart from the back pain, everything from the legs down was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was fine. I sat back on the bed and, finally, managed to cry.

It was a cool but sunny morning in March 2007. I had an appointment at the training center I collaborated with. The goal was to present new courses on Open Source operating systems, focused on Linux and BSDs. The attendees were system administrators expert in other OSs who wanted to approach the open-source world in a systematic, complete, and guided way. I liked it, I liked it a lot, so by 10:15 I was already in the saddle of my trusty Suzuki Burgman scooter. Bologna's traffic, at that hour, was decidedly less intense, but parking a car would have been impossible. Besides, it was a beautiful day; two wheels were undoubtedly the best way to move. I had time, so I planned to enjoy the ride calmly, already thinking about how to present my ideas to the organizers. Smiling, positive, optimistic.

I left the house and put all my documents under the seat, safely stowed. I opened the gate and edged the nose of the scooter out. No cars were coming, so I decided to set off slowly. The limit was 50 km/h, but I had just left, so I was advancing much, much slower. A few meters later, as I was proceeding, I saw something out of the corner of my left eye. Then I felt a blow and lost control of the Burgman. Instinctively, I threw myself off the vehicle, sliding on the asphalt. My gloves, helmet, and jacket completely cushioned the blow, and in a split second, I realized I had made the right choice, without yet understanding what had happened. I was going so slowly that I slid for very little distance; I was already stopped and ready to get up. Before I could even focus, I felt a very strong blow to my back, without feeling any pain. Again, I didn't understand, but I saw the handlebars of the Burgman coming closer right after. Instinctively I stood up, immediately, and turned around.

There was a car, a Fiat Punto, and my scooter near me. The car was trying to maneuver to get around the "obstacle", but I understood immediately, from the damage, that it was a car - that car - that had hit me. I planted myself in the middle of the road and immediately stopped the person behind the wheel, an elderly man - but not too elderly. Meanwhile, some people who had witnessed the scene or heard the noise rushed over. I wasn't alone. He got out of the car and looked at me and the scooter. He only said, "Well, I see you're standing and you haven't hurt yourself, I'd say I can go, right? I'm in a hurry." He wasn't confused. He wasn't trying to pull a fast one. He was just focused on his schedule.

I lost my temper. He only thought about the fact that he "had to leave", and not out of fear or a sense of responsibility. He was distracted. I lashed out, "But didn't you see me coming?" His response, calm and relaxed, froze me: "Of course, but I was in a hurry to get to the bar for my usual card game and I was late. I thought I could squeeze past, I was in a hurry. Anyway, you're standing and the damage seems minimal. I have to go."

No, he wasn't a confused elderly man. He was a person focused on his routine, and this had been just another hindrance. It was him, being himself. I shouted, with the support of the people who had gathered, "No, you're not going anywhere, we're waiting for the Carabinieri." In that moment, fueled by adrenaline, I lifted the Burgman and leaned it against the side of the road. Alone. Immediately after, my vision went almost black, and I had to sit down. A piercing pain in my back which - I realized only then - I had had since the beginning, but the adrenaline was making me ignore. Meanwhile, both the Carabinieri and the Ambulance arrived together. Someone had called them, and they had arrived with some speed.

I got into the ambulance on my own legs, and they examined me immediately. They decided to take me to the hospital for checks, especially for the back pain. Meanwhile, the Carabinieri took their measurements. One of them got into the ambulance. He must have been only a few years older than me and, looking me in the eyes, said words I will never forget: "So much damage, so much pain caused by small distractions, by small things. By our small lives. That man didn't do it on purpose. He is sorry, but he keeps repeating that he was convinced he could get through and keeps emphasizing that 'he couldn't be late'. So much damage, so much pain due to our vices and whims!" A venting from a man who, every day, saw all kinds of things. Yet they were words of comfort. Somehow, this man was bitter for me, sorry. And, probably, in the general confusion, amidst the professionalism of the medical staff and the voyeuristic interest of the passersby, I really needed a contact without barriers.

As soon as he got off, I called the Training Center: "I had a small accident, I won't be able to be there as agreed. Can we postpone by a few days?" They, of course, agreed.

Small accident. I downplayed it. Because, all things considered, I was back on my feet. Because I didn't want to show vulnerability to the client, risking losing this beautiful project. Because, perhaps, I was protecting myself from reality.

When I arrived at the hospital, everyone was extremely kind and diligent. They did all the necessary checks - including an X-ray. And it was precisely that X-ray, suggested by the type of impact and the tingling I felt in my legs and feet, that brought the doctor into my room. There had been a hairline fracture of two vertebrae and, for less than a millimeter, there hadn't been grave, very grave damage. That damage would have caused the total loss of sensation from the pelvis down. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the doctor continued: "We have to monitor the tingling. I believe the problem is linked to the impact, to the effort made immediately after to lift the scooter - suggested by the bruises on both legs - but we are not certain. We have to wait." Confused, I asked what that meant. What we had to wait for. He was vague. At that point, I was myself and went straight to the point: I asked him if I was still risking losing the use of part of my body. He lowered his gaze. He didn't answer. He stayed vague and said that within a few days we would better understand the situation. He focused on the tingling. "It will probably disappear - and at that point, we will understand. If you feel everything normally, it means everything went well. Otherwise..." He said no more. I asked no more. I didn't want to know, at that moment. I kept focusing on the probably. The rest of the sentence, instead, I metabolized in the following hours.

I was just going to present my ideas for my course, on a pleasant early March morning, calmly, on a road I had taken every day for years. With prudence. Building my life, my future. My projects. If I had left 30 seconds earlier - or later... or by car. In that instant, probably, I would have already been on my way back, maybe retrieving the car from a distant parking lot, regretting not having used the Burgman.

I was discharged in the afternoon, with the prescription to get out of bed as little as possible, exclusively to go to the bathroom. There was no way to sleep: I had pain everywhere, my legs had turned completely black. I took a photo in front of the mirror - then deleted it, in the terror of what I had seen. There was no position that didn't give me pain and pangs. I had continuous tingling and little sensitivity from the pelvis down. Problems going to the bathroom, problems doing everything.

They were terrible days, compounded by a further problem. Because of the false promises of a salesperson, I was also left without an Internet connection. But necessity is the mother of invention, and the discovery that a directional antenna pointed towards the end of the street, where there was an old router with an easily "guessable" WEP password, was like a lifeboat after a shipwreck.

The tingling went on for days, until that morning. The morning I realized I had managed to sleep because I no longer had pain. The "probably" had come true. And it had gone away giving me back, again, my sensitivity.

The doctor confirmed: it was an excellent sign, meaning the healing phase had begun. No serious permanent damage. It would take time, but I would heal.

That day I understood many things - many more than I thought - about myself, about the world around us, and, more specifically, about those around me.

And about the importance of keeping one's access points updated, of course.

As is often the case, I found points where I agreed (at least partially) with the author, and others where I completely disagreed. And that’s perfectly fine.

There was one point, however, where my disagreement was total. I'll quote a part of the article here: “The FreeBSD community is...difficult. What I mean by this is that it feels much like the average Linux community in the early 2000s: it looks down on others (in this case Linux users), it appears rather unwelcoming and at times downright toxic. Any time you mention anything vaguely related to Linux you'll inevitably cause somebody to go on a massive rant about how FreeBSD is better than Linux.

It also seems there's a general dislike for change, even if said change is for the better. It feels like a form of "tech boomerism": change is bad because it's not what we're used to, even if the end result is in fact better.”

Frankly, my own experience has been the complete opposite. The communities around the BSD systems are open, friendly, and extremely approachable - though, of course, everyone has their own personality, and toxic people can exist within these communities as well. When I started becoming more active in the BSD community, I received a completely unexpected welcome. The BSD conferences I've attended have the atmosphere of a family, of close friends. No one shows up to boast, but to discuss, to dialogue. In a word: to build.

But I picked up on two details from the excerpt: “mention anything vaguely related to Linux” and “tech boomerism: change is bad because it’s not what we’re used to, even if the end result is in fact better”. This suggested something to me that was later confirmed when the author mentioned the “three firewalls competing with each other” within FreeBSD.

They don’t compete with each other. They coexist - and that’s a completely different thing. This gave me the key to understanding the previous part as well.

This isn't a battle. We aren't in a ruthless commercial arena where different solutions copy each other to get ahead, hoping to attract "users" (better: paying customers) from the other side. And unfortunately, this is something that has been happening in many "mainstream" Open Source communities for a while now. It's a loss of the Open Source philosophy - of doing something for the pleasure of it, to have something different, and to be open to contributions from others, as well as the idea of making what you create public and free. Whether it's with licenses like the GPL or like BSD, MIT, etc., the spirit is to say: “Here it is. If it’s useful to you, take it. If you want, contribute. Otherwise, you can move on; you have no constraints or obligations.”

I often see curious Linux users arriving in BSD communities, and that’s fantastic. The spirit is almost always positive, exploratory: “What can the BSDs do for me?” And sometimes, that turns into, “What can I do for the BSDs?”

But this isn't a religion - you don't need to choose one - and you can use different OSes based on your needs. I happily use Linux, in its various distributions, for some of my workloads. I'm writing this post on a mini PC running openSUSE Tumbleweed, on btrfs, and it works wonderfully. No BSD, at the moment, has adequate support for this machine. I use Linux, and I'm happy with it.

The purpose of the BSDs, like other Open Source operating systems less adopted than Linux and its distributions, isn't to "win" or to "emulate" but to be themselves. So, arriving in a BSD community and saying "but on Linux..." as if it were an example to be followed, has, over time, become an attitude that is not well-tolerated.

BSD communities value stability - and these communities are much, much smaller than those around projects like Linux and its distributions. It's therefore inevitable that some things will lag behind or that they won't want to embark on projects that might leave something unfinished and malfunctioning. Unfortunately, this sometimes happens anyway. It's better not to seek it out deliberately.

Desktop use for the BSDs has never been a primary focus, particularly for FreeBSD and NetBSD. To judge them on this metric alone is, therefore, extremely limiting and, in a sense, unfair.

So, coming back to the article I read - I understand some of the author's points of view, but calling the FreeBSD community a form of tech "boomers" or "toxic" because it doesn't want to follow Linux's example is, in my opinion, a flawed approach to an autonomous, different operating system.

Let's try to shake off the aggressive, competitive, and monopolistic dynamics when we approach the Open Source world. The plurality of completely autonomous choices is a richness for everyone. Monoculture is always harmful and, in the long run, destructive.

It reminds me of the time when all smartphone manufacturers were trying to copy the iPhone as much as possible. All the phones were the same: either originals or copies, but all extremely similar. How boring.

The first was about my decision not to name names. I understand the disappointment - a specific target can feel more satisfying. But naming the company would have helped no one.

Before publishing that piece (which had been in my drafts for over a year), I did my research and spoke with some of the people involved. They had already taken action by warning friends and colleagues, with good results. But they had no desire for public exposure. Many years have passed, and the company in question no longer has the relevance it once did.

Some readers understood my position, recognizing that naming them would have opened me up to legal trouble. But many others began citing US laws and constitutional amendments to prove that I could have named names without legal repercussions.

What many fail to grasp is that the world is not the United States. Not every country follows the same rules and laws. In some European countries, even true statements can be actionable if deemed harmful to a company's reputation. The burden of legal costs often falls on the defendant, regardless of the outcome. Truth is a defense, but it's an expensive one.

Furthermore, even if I were to win such a legal battle, it would represent an immense drain on my energy and resources. Cui prodest? Who benefits? Certainly not me.

There's a difference between being transparent and being a martyr. I share my experiences not to name and shame, but to illuminate patterns. If my story helps even one developer recognize red flags early, or encourages one entrepreneur to prioritize sustainability over a quick exit strategy, then the purpose is served. The goal isn't to destroy companies - it's to build better alternatives. Builders, not destroyers.

The Italian Problem That Never Was

The second recurring theme deserves a more careful response.

The assertion was that "stories like this can only happen in Italy because it's full of small, family-run businesses". This one, I admit, irritated me more - especially when it came from fellow Italians.

First: I have not only worked in Italy, and I never specified that the story was about an Italian company.

Second, and more importantly: the existence of small businesses is a strength, not a weakness.

Over my 20+ year career, I've worked with companies across different continents. The dynamics I described are universal. I've seen them in Silicon Valley startups obsessed with growth metrics, in European scale-ups playing the scalability game, and yes, in Italian SMEs. This isn't a geographic problem - it's a structural one, tied to how we measure business success.

Experience has taught me that large corporations create replaceable employees - mere cogs in a machine. In that model, the customer becomes a number, stripped of their essence. The company's relentless need for constant growth becomes a vise grip. The relationship is no longer about providing a service that enriches a person's life, but about becoming a kind of necessary evil.

The AI Generated Accusation

Then there was a third recurring comment: "AI Generated!"

It seems to be the fashion of the moment. Pointing at every text as AI generated, searching for details (even unfounded ones) in every corner of every sentence. This makes me smile. In one case, it was a person who instead regularly reshared videos and texts that were fake, obviously AI generated.

I write as I've always written. Being a non-native English speaker, my process often involves writing my notes or the full post in Italian first, and then translating it. The original Italian text is 100% mine. Of course, I use tools to check grammar and polish the final version. But the form, the thoughts, the experiences, the reflections? Those are mine. Earned through years of work, mistakes, and learning.

Perhaps the real issue is that we've become so accustomed to corporate speak, to sanitized PR language, to texts optimized for SEO rather than human readers, that when someone writes plainly about their actual, real life experiences, it feels somehow artificial. Real life is less realistic than the perfect, AI generated world.

That says more about what we've normalized than about my writing.

Back to What Matters

Let me offer some concrete examples of why small matters.

Last year, a small hosting provider I work with noticed unusual activity on a client's server at 2 and called them directly. A large provider's automated system would have simply shut it down (or worse, kept it running and sent a bill for the attack traffic). The small provider knew their clients by name, understood their business patterns, and acted with judgment - not just policy.

When a craftsman repaired my roof, as I wrote about a few months ago, he installed a permanent lifeline. Not because the contract required it, but because he cared about anyone who might climb up there in the future. An antenna installer, maybe. Someone we'd never meet. A large contractor would have done exactly what the contract specified. Nothing more, nothing less.

Consider my own field. I could recommend a managed Kubernetes cluster from a major cloud provider. It would be "scalable", "enterprise-grade", buzzword-compliant. Or I could set up a simple FreeBSD system on a modest VPS that the client actually understands and controls. The first option makes me look sophisticated. The second option actually serves the client.

The Myth

We've been conditioned to believe that scale equals quality. That "enterprise solutions" are inherently superior to "small business" ones. That a local craftsperson or a small firm can't possibly match the capabilities of a multinational corporation.

Often, it's the very opposite.

Scale brings standardization - which means one-size-fits-all solutions that actually fit no one perfectly. Scale brings layers of bureaucracy, where decisions pass through committees and approval chains, each step removing you further from the person who actually understands your problem. Scale brings quarterly earnings pressures, where every interaction is optimized for extraction rather than service.

Small brings accountability. When there are only three people in the company, and one of them is talking to you, that person cares about your satisfaction in a way no call center agent ever can. Their reputation is on the line with every interaction. Their business lives or dies by word of mouth, not by marketing budget.

Small brings flexibility. Without layers of approval, a small business can say "yes, we can try that" in ways that are literally impossible in larger organizations with rigid policies.

Small brings knowledge. The person who answers your call is often the same person who will do the work. Or at least knows them personally and can walk down the hall to discuss your specific situation.

I've seen this pattern repeated across industries. The barista who knows the exact temperature and length that his "friend of the bar" prefers. The small bakery that remembers you prefer less sugar. The independent bookstore that special-orders obscure titles. The local mechanic who tells you honestly that you don't need that expensive repair yet. The solo developer who maintains software for twenty years because users depend on it, not because there's a business case.

These aren't romantic exceptions. They're the backbone of genuine service.

Where Trust Lives

So no, I won't be naming names. And yes, I'll continue to champion small businesses - not out of nostalgia, but because I've seen, time and again, where real quality and accountability actually live. Not in the quarterly earnings report. Not in the hockey-stick growth chart. Not in the "enterprise solution" that requires tons of (expensive) certifications to configure.

It lives in the direct relationship between maker and user, service provider and client. That's where trust is built. And trust, unlike scale, cannot be automated.

It's earned, one interaction at a time, by people who know your name.

Just like in the IT world, I am convinced that you can usually solve much more with a direct conversation than with a thousand intermediate steps. Too many layers, even if theoretically sound, just complicate things.

And this is one of the reasons I've always tried, as much as possible, to avoid overcomplicating the relationship with my clients. It's why I have always sought, as much as possible, to engage with businesses where I can speak with people, not "offices" or "departments".

Take the example of the roof repairs on my house: I spoke with the people who did the work. They did an excellent job and even fixed things I hadn't mentioned because, in their words, "a satisfied customer is a customer who will call back". A few days earlier, "large, structured" companies had sent completely different quotes without even looking at our roof. "The people we send will assess it then, but we'll instruct them to do what's in the quote". It was schematic, inflexible. Probably efficient from their point of view, but not from mine. Replaceable by AI? Of course: X square meters of roof, Y job, Z per square meter -> cost is €W. Without anyone truly caring about what my roof might actually need.

For this very reason, I dislike talking to salespeople. It's one thing when I'm buying a product (with verifiable features, etc.), but it's different when I'm buying a service or a consultation. Salespeople do their job, which is to sell. And they try to sell what they don't have, what they don't know, and what I don't need. The better they are, the more they sell me things I don't need. And, frankly, I don't like that very much.

This is why I prefer to talk to the person who actually provides the service. The one who gets their hands "dirty". But many people love to create a structure, an abstraction. Even when it's not necessary.

A few days ago, I identified an open-source software solution with two versions, a "community" and an "enterprise" one, but it still seemed approachable. I quietly started running some tests and realized that this solution might be suitable for offering some new services to both current and new clients. Something new and innovative, yet consistent with my philosophy. As I often do, I did some research on the company behind it. I discovered it was a tiny company with extremely low revenue - so low that my contribution could, at least in part, help it grow. Not because my business would be huge, but because it could provide visibility in a market where they currently have no presence. Noticing how few people were in the company, I decided to contact the dev/founder/CEO directly.

A human connection, to understand the project's direction, to see if it was the right fit for my needs, and to potentially fund the development of features I was interested in. I would also explain that, given the cost and my trust in the product, I would use the "enterprise" licenses for my clients, bringing further revenue to their business.

As I often do in these cases, I proceeded on two fronts: I opened a support ticket asking about the status of support for a specific operating system, and I sent a private message to the dev/founder/CEO on one of the platforms where the company is active, briefly explaining my idea.

After a few minutes, the private message was declined (I'm not even sure if it was read), and the ticket received a terse reply, something like "that OS is not officially supported". Period. They didn't even get to the next part, the one where I would have funded development and provided my clients with the enterprise version.

This kind of shutdown is disheartening. Of course, not every startup thinks this way, and the search for a scalable business model is perfectly legitimate. But when exponential growth becomes the only metric for success, the value of the customer and the product gets lost in the process.

It's not the first time, and in different forms, I notice a fairly common pattern nowadays: a certain market just isn't of interest. They want massive clients - or they'd rather shut down the project. It's not a mindset of "hey, I have an idea and I want to build it", but rather "how can I make mountains of money in a short time? Let me find an idea that might work". Why does everyone dream of being the multi-million-dollar startup with a product that "disrupts the market", while giving up on a healthy, organic, clean path of gradual growth?

It’s as if success has been reduced to a single metric: financial gain, where the ultimate satisfaction is purely economic. Betraying your own principles - or the trust of the customers who got you there - doesn't matter. Building a business has become a kind of checklist. The original idea, the founder's spirit, the unique tenacity - none of it matters as much as just following the steps: chase the current hype, promise the world, and do whatever it takes to get to the next stage.

All or nothing. Either you're Elon, or you're a nobody. I recently witnessed a similar situation with one of my clients. Their business was doing well, growing linearly and steadily. They were well-regarded in their market, competent, and valuable. But at a certain point, I saw their best developers leaving due to "disagreements over company policy". I've stayed in touch with many of them, and they explained that they were becoming mere cogs in a machine. In my next meeting with the owners, they told me that their business would be winding down, potentially even closing. "Why? It seems like things are going well!" Their response: "Yes, but we didn't dominate the market. The profits and growth are good, but not exponential. We need to find a new idea, hoping this time it's the game-changer".

Going back to the software, I simply wrote it off. I realized I can't trust the product or the company. They lost a good opportunity, but maybe they don't care. Their primary goal isn't to sustain their product and their idea. They are just developing something to make a lot of money. If they succeed, they'll sell it to the highest bidder (who will then likely perform an enshittification on it just to monetize as much as possible). If they fail, they'll abandon it and move on to something else.

I'll move on to something else - perhaps less suitable, but something that gives me more guarantees of continuity. Because in my mind, there are still figures like Federico Faggin - who left Intel to found his own company, Zilog, because he wanted to continue working on processors when, for Intel, they were just a tool to sell more memory. And there are countless examples like that, of people who had an idea and wanted to extend it, expand it, and then, why not, make money from it. When I witness the opposite - the idea that the goal is a huge, quick profit and the idea itself is secondary... well, I move on.

Not my cup of tea.

Gradually, things changed. Over time, minimalism took hold. "Less is more" became the mantra in many sectors. We saw it in electronics (a philosophy Apple rode to great success), in interior design, in construction, and in architecture. We got low-impact homes and devices that were ever more powerful yet consumed less and less energy. And yet, in the one field that should embody efficiency and logic more than any other - computing - the exact opposite seems to have happened. We've progressively made things more complicated. Simple tasks, like hosting a website, have become, in the eyes of many, jobs that require complex and heavy stacks - stacks that consume resources and electricity just to get the base system running.

Operating systems are becoming increasingly complex, bloated, and packed with features that are useless to most people. Even the Linux world, which was often born under the banner of modularity and lightness, has in many cases followed the same trend. Just think of modern web stacks that, even on Linux, require containers, orchestrators, and complex build systems merely to serve a static page.

And that's why I've decided that my blogs, at least for now, will be hosted entirely on a VM that costs 1 Euro per month. By using efficient operating systems (like NetBSD, in this case), it's possible to run the whole setup with excellent performance on very few resources.

This isn't a matter of necessity - I have powerful, underutilized servers at my disposal - but a matter of choice. It's a small act of computational minimalism. I want to demonstrate, just as I have done and am still doing with FediMeteo, that you don't need to invest in extreme resources, powerful (and expensive) hardware, and complicated stacks to perform simple tasks. Tasks that today, for whatever reason (that's a rhetorical question, and the answers range from commercial interests pushing new solutions for already-solved problems to curriculum-driven development), are instead handled on oversized infrastructures.

As I like to say, it's like needing to buy some salad from the shop down the street, but instead of walking, cycling, or, at most, taking your car, you take a semi-truck.

Sure, it works.

But it makes no sense.

Like OpenBSD from NetBSD, DragonflyBSD from FreeBSD, or Nextcloud from Owncloud - the examples are endless. It was about freedom, the chance to be part of something or, in some cases, at the very center of something: its development.

To me, Open Source meant having the chance to develop an idea and find other people who shared it, turning what was just a project in my mind into a reality. All without needing big funding, a business plan, or having to risk anything. Just the pleasure of doing it and the joy of seeing it come to life. A waking dream.

Over time, I witnessed many exchanges of opinion - some of them quite heated - that led to hard forks or uncomfortable situations within development teams. People leaving, others taking over - you name it. But, in the end, the software was always at the center. It was an ideological battle over how to implement something (or how NOT to implement it).

This led to some fantastic pairings: Linux, a kernel without an operating system, and GNU, an operating system without a stable and complete kernel. Together, they revolutionized the world, changed the concept of computing, and proved that yes, Open Source works and produces quality software - often of a far greater quality than many of its closed-source, commercial counterparts.

And yet, there were the "distro wars" - and I didn't understand them. And if I didn't understand the distro wars back then, the situation today seems even more extreme. I appreciated the variety, the different ideas, and the different approaches, but never the fanaticism. I was a strong supporter of Debian, but I couldn't understand those who openly attacked alternatives (like Red Hat, at the time, or Suse). I thought: use what you like, contribute if you want but... hey, it's Open Source, you don't pay for it, you're not forced, just choose what you like best! If you're happy, tell the world. If you're dissatisfied, switch (to different software) or change THE software (meaning, implement what you think is necessary). But why wage war on others, on those with different ideas who made different choices? Is it the general polarization fueled by social media? Is it because Open Source has become more mainstream, bringing with it users who have a "consumer" mindset rather than a "collaborator" one?

And yet, there are still positive examples out there — quiet, solid, and often overlooked. The BSD projects, for instance, show us that it's still possible to diverge in philosophy and approach without descending into hostility. FreeBSD, OpenBSD, and NetBSD took different paths. And yet, there are no "wars" between them. Their communities may disagree on technical choices, but they coexist with mutual respect. You rarely see a FreeBSD user shouting "OpenBSD must die!" or a NetBSD developer trolling others on social media. The tone is sober, the work is steady, and the focus remains on the code and its quality - not on brand wars or personal egos.

This is the spirit I fell in love with: different ideas, mutual respect, and the shared goal of building something useful and free. We may not all agree on everything, but we can still build in parallel, learn from each other, and avoid turning diversity into division.

Lately, all of this is becoming truly extreme. I read, for example, sharp and violent opinions from Wayland users against X11 (Xorg, etc.) - "it must die!" But, I wonder, why this violence?

I use Wayland on Linux and X11 on FreeBSD - both on the same computer, both with satisfaction. Why should I hate one of them? If I don't like it... I simply don't use it.

The world is becoming increasingly polarized and bitter, making people less and less inclined towards dialogue or tolerance for those with different ideas or positions. But, I ask myself, why should this be happening in the world of Open Source?

We are all in the same boat. We have the tools, the freedom of choice, and it costs us nothing. If we don't like a solution, we can say so and choose something else. Why this violence? Cui prodest? Who benefits?

When we fight violently over Open Source software, when we lash out with intolerance against a solution we dislike, the entire Open Source world loses an opportunity. The opportunity to reduce the chances of ending up in a computing monoculture, the opportunity to have a choice, the opportunity for someone to listen to our well-reasoned observations and learn from them.

It's up to us, every day, with every comment and contribution, to decide whether we want to build bridges or raise walls.

Prices have skyrocketed in recent years. There have been many excuses, but after the COVID emergency and everything that followed, everything has at least doubled in this sector.

Since it's a reinforced concrete roof from the early 80s, we have no intention of redoing it. The concrete tiles are excellent and durable, and we have many spare ones. So we tried to get some quotes.

The whole thing was bewildering: many contractors said the roof needed to be completely redone (without even seeing it) because of its age, with quotes equal to the cost of a small apartment. Too bad that some technicians, just a few years ago, found it in perfect condition, with only a few tiles to reposition and some foam sealing to refresh.

Others were more conservative, making quotes equal to the cost of a small car. Without redoing it, just to check it thoroughly and fix the broken tiles. And all this without installing a "lifeline", which today is fortunately mandatory for all major work to ensure the safety of the people doing the job.

These companies all had one thing in common: medium to large size, with various employees, administrative staff, etc.

A few days ago we saw a man and a younger boy (we later discovered he was his son) working at our neighbors' house, and as my wife suggested, we went to talk to them.

Small business, active for many years (founded by the gentleman's father), specialized in this type of work. They do the work themselves, directly, and the first thing they install is the lifeline, which will obviously remain on the roof to protect anyone who, for any reason, will have to climb up there. And here's a detail I truly appreciated: he explained that his concern wasn't so much for himself - he said he's used to being on roofs - but for anyone who would climb up after them, perhaps an antenna installer or another technician in the future. A consideration that went beyond simply complying with regulations, demonstrating that 'human touch' often lost with larger companies. In the latter, sometimes, adherence to regulations seems more a way to protect the company than a genuine concern for the individual worker, who is sadly, often considered replaceable - to use a strong image, almost 'like a sock'.

The quote? Definitely honest. Less than a MacBook Pro. And it wasn't just about the final price; he explained he consciously chose a minimal profit margin - lower, in fact, than standard rates I've found online for such work - driven by a genuine desire to make the roof truly safe for the long term. This commitment went far beyond mere regulatory compliance; for that, temporary parapets installed only for the duration of the job would have sufficed. But, as became abundantly clear, he willingly sacrificed a portion of his potential earnings to provide this more robust and lasting safety solution. And the certainty of knowing who's doing the work for us - real people we can talk to directly.

This experience made me wonder: when did we start assuming bigger companies automatically mean better service?

This rush to expand businesses as much as possible has undoubtedly brought advantages (more hiring, possibility of greater investments in machinery and personnel, etc.), but are we really sure that for the end consumer it's always really an advantage?

I see the same thing in tech: not all big vendors provide better support. Sometimes that solo developer on IRC knows more - and cares more - than a whole outsourced helpdesk.

Sometimes I think we need to talk to people, not to companies. Because people make business, not the other way around.

Long live the craftsmen, who solve problems every day, putting their hands on tiles, bricks, computer keyboards, flour, and so much more!

The harshest critics weren't senior developers or security experts. They were junior developers - often the exact ones most at risk of being replaced by the tools they were defending so passionately. Kids fresh out of bootcamps telling me I was "stuck in the past" for suggesting they should actually understand the code they're shipping to production.

The pushback wasn't just in the comments. Someone I don't know shared my original post, "Vibe Coding Will Rob Us of Our Freedom" on Reddit's r/programming. It was removed by moderators for being "clickbait" title and an "unpopular topic". It seems I'd touched a nerve. Some of the feedback I got elsewhere made me think even more.

It reminded me of something, and it took me a while to put my finger on what. Then it hit me: Stockholm syndrome.

Here were people defending - almost evangelizing - the very thing that could make them obsolete. And not just defending it quietly, but attacking anyone who dared suggest there might be risks worth considering.

I've been thinking about this pattern a lot lately, and once you see it, you can't unsee it. It's everywhere.

There's the gig economy worker who gets aggressive if you criticize the platform that pays them below minimum wage and offers no benefits. "It's freedom!" they'll insist, while working 70-hour weeks just to pay rent. The open office enthusiast who swears the noise and lack of privacy make them "more collaborative", even as their productivity tanks and stress levels soar.

Hell, I see it in tech all the time. The developer who defends the surveillance capitalism of their favorite platform. The startup employee who brags about their "unlimited PTO" policy - you know, the one where nobody actually takes vacation because there's no clear boundary between work and life.

But why does this happen? Why do we become cheerleaders for our own demise?

I think it's because recognizing a threat means admitting vulnerability, and that's terrifying. It's much easier to reframe yourself as an "early adopter" or a "forward thinker" than to face the possibility that you might be getting screwed.

There's also the sunk cost thing. Once you've publicly embraced something - especially if you've built part of your identity around it - backing down feels like admitting you were an idiot. Better to double down than face that uncomfortable truth.

And then there's the illusion of control. When you're using a powerful tool, you feel powerful, even if you're actually giving up agency. The junior dev cranking out AI-generated code feels like a wizard, even though they couldn't debug a simple loop if their life depended on it.

But here's the thing that really gets me: every time we choose the comfortable lie over the uncomfortable truth, we pay a price. The programmer who never learns to actually program. The worker who accepts worse and worse conditions because they've convinced themselves it's "flexibility". The person who trades privacy for convenience without really understanding what they're losing.

It's not just about individual careers or rights. It's about collective autonomy. Every time a generation stops understanding the tools they use, they become dependent on whoever controls those tools.

I'm not saying we should reject all new technology or that change is always bad. But there's a difference between tools that empower us and tools that replace us. Between systems that make us more capable and systems that make us more dependent.

The trick is having the guts to look honestly at which is which.

Last week I was talking to a friend who runs a small construction company. He was telling me about how all the big contractors in town are pushing "smart" building systems that require constant cloud connectivity and subscription services. Meanwhile, he's still using techniques that have worked for decades, tools he can fix himself, materials he understands completely.

"They keep telling me I'm behind the times" he said. "But when their fancy systems go down, who do they call?"

Maybe being "behind the times" isn't always a bad thing. Maybe sometimes it means you still own your tools instead of renting them.

The next time you catch yourself getting defensive about something - really defensive, like you're personally offended that someone would dare question it - maybe pause for a second. Ask yourself: am I defending this because it's actually good for me, or because I'm scared to imagine alternatives?

Because the first step toward freedom is always the same: admitting you might be wearing chains.

Me and Apple: The Early Days

I've always liked Apple products, and even in light of recent events, I continue to like them. I still have a green iMac G3, 400 MHz, purchased (used) in 2001, which I keep as a decorative item.

My iBook G4, which arrived in December 2003, served me well, later replaced by a "normal" x86 laptop for compatibility reasons with the virtual machine systems I was already using back then.

I've had two iPhones, a 3G and a 4, a MacBook Pro from 2009, which I'm actually using to write this update, and in November 2013, I thought it was time to accompany the "old" Pro with a new machine to use mainly at home: a MacBook Pro Retina 15" Late 2013. i7 processor, 16 GB of RAM, 512 GB SSD. A beautiful machine. I'd also add to the list an iPod Nano (first version), a more recent iPod Nano, and an iPod Touch.

Me and Apple: The Devices and Their Problems

I've owned a lot of electronics, and like everyone, I've had some problems over the years. However, my personal statistics show that Apple products are beautiful but not exempt from both design flaws and reliability issues. I'll recount all the problems I've had with my Apple devices, ending with what perhaps was, at the time of the original writing, my last device from the Cupertino company. I'm still convinced they are nice products, but they cost too much and are not as reliable as they should be. Everyone will have their own experiences; I'm sharing mine.

Note: Sections on devices 1 through 5, and section 7 ("The iPods"), are largely based on my experiences and writings from 2015, translated and with minor updates. Section 6 details a more recent issue.

1. iMac G3

The first Macintosh I owned was an iMac G3, purchased used but in good condition, which I used for a few years. It came with MacOS 9 and supported MacOS X (and simultaneously 9, thanks to Classic Environment). A machine that performed well, apart from some known issues:

• The CD-ROM was very picky, and refused many CDs and DVDs, even original ones. It was a known problem, unfortunately solvable only by using an external USB device.
• The mouse was something unusable. Nicknamed the "hockey puck" mouse, it was round, and it was common to pick it up the wrong way. Being USB, it could be replaced with any mouse, but the whole machine lost part of its charm.
• It overheated. Complemented by the CRT screen and no ventilation fan (a fantastic piece of engineering for its time), there was a problem: as soon as the machine started working intensively, a slight burning smell pervaded the room. I never had shutdowns or particular problems, but its smell was unmistakable.

Overall, an excellent machine, despite showing its limits. Replacing a disk was possible but very unpleasant, RAM was more easily accessible but sometimes, for no apparent reason, it would "lose" one of the two banks and see only one. A known problem at the time, and apparently unsolvable.

2. iBook G4 933MHz

Second purchase, a very important one, a beautiful iBook G4 933MHz. One of the first delivered in Bologna, very expensive, but it was my parents' graduation gift, so they were very happy to give something that would certainly be useful for future work. It was, and very much so. As soon as I got it, I immediately appreciated the design, the PowerPC architecture, the general speed of the system, andrenalinehe quality of MacOS, although I immediately installed Debian on a second partition.

After a few weeks, however, I started to notice a problem: during charging, sometimes, the power adapter's LED would turn off and the computer would continue to run only on battery, until it completely discharged. To get it going again, I had to unplug and replug the power cord. After various tests, I realized that the problem occurred only when the computer was under heavy load, for example, if it was processing video files from the camera (under MacOS) and, both under MacOS and any Linux distribution, during compilation.

Searches on all sorts of forums, until I discovered that many, like me, had noticed the same problem. The supplied power adapter was 45W, while the computer, at full load, required significantly more. This sent it into overload and overheating, activating the protection to prevent it from breaking. In short, Apple supplied a power adapter that was clearly undersized for the iBook's consumption at full load.

So I went to the service center (which was also the same store where I had bought the laptop) and the answer was almost more absurd than the problem itself:

"We know, it's undersized, and the problem exists. Apple does not provide for a replacement of the power adapter with a more powerful one, as for them it is sufficient for the average user. Besides, we're talking about an iBook, not a Powerbook, so if you need intensive use, you should change computers. Or spend 100 euros and buy the more powerful power adapter."

Speechless, I said goodbye, showing my disapproval, and left. I was "just" a recent Computer Science graduate, young, not a big industrialist, so I wasn't treated with the respect any customer deserved, but rather like a "kid-who-wants-to-scrounge-something". Needless to say, I never set foot in that store again.

I used my iBook daily until March 2008, when it was replaced by an Acer laptop (a shopping center offer), alongside an ever-present desktop computer, as I needed Linux and the BSDs more than MacOS, and the iBook had its little problems with it. I didn't sell it, for both sentimental and practical reasons.

However, I didn't lose heart, and I still believed that Apple was a valid company. So I postponed the purchase of the next Apple device, but didn't rule it out.

3. iPhone 4 (after a brief stint with 3G)

After thoroughly criticizing it, I had the opportunity to experience the iPhone. In an era when Android was still nascent, the iPhone 3G seemed far ahead. As soon as my mobile operator made it available, and after a few months with an iPhone 3G (also slowed down by the device's age relative to current OS versions), I rushed to get a beautiful new iPhone 4.

I still remember the moment I opened the box, on the top floor of my old house. It was August 2010, and I couldn't wait to connect it to my MacBook Pro (which I'll talk about in the next point) to activate it. Excellent materials, excellent feelings of quality, too bad it actually lost signal if held in a certain way, but I never considered it a major problem.

Same for multitasking: iOS doesn't manage true multitasking, or at least not at the individual application level. The situation, over the years, has improved anyway.

After about a year and a half of honorable service, I noticed that the central button ("Home") started to not work well anymore. You had to press it very hard for it to work, and it didn't always register the command given. I decided to take it for service, also because the problem was quite widespread and entire conversations about it could be found online.

Here's my conversation with the employee at the Apple Store in Bologna:

ME: Hi, I have this iPhone 4, here's the receipt, bought through the mobile operator. The central button doesn't work, you can try it yourself. What can be done?

AS: Hello. Known problem, but our policy does not provide for button replacement. We'll give you a new phone (refurbished, Ed.) instead of yours. Shall we proceed?

ME: Sure! Here's the receipt.

AS: Oh, but we don't need that. From the serial number, we know your phone is 20 months old. For us, it's out of warranty. For the replacement, it's 200 Euros. Shall I proceed?

ME: Wait... doesn't Italian law provide for a two-year warranty on products sold?

AS: Apple provides only one year. If you don't like it, go to the consumer association. Or go to your mobile operator and they will handle it, at your expense. For us, your phone is out of warranty, and it's 200 Euros for the replacement. Shall I proceed?

I didn't let him proceed, and I went to my operator. Who, without making a fuss, took the iPhone and after two weeks returned a new (refurbished, Ed.) phone to me without batting an eye. I sold it immediately, as I had already returned to Android with an LG Optimus Black (excellent device, but I never talked about it here), for a good sum. I later found out that the phone ended up in water, dying about a year later.

If I had bought the iPhone at the Apple Store, I would have had to pay for the replacement or start a legal battle. This story that they provide only one year of warranty doesn't seem to denote much confidence in their own products, and it's not the only time it has caused me problems (next point).

4. MacBook PRO 15" Mid 2009

After moving to the (then) new house and discovering that I wouldn't have a decent ADSL connection in the short term, given the space constraints, I decided to give up the desktop computer. During that period, I had also started traveling a lot for work, and I had already begun to get involved in some interesting international projects. The choice was simple: "a single laptop, but good and stable, that doesn't require constant security updates and lasts over time". After a brief investigation, the choice fell on the just-released MacBook Pro 15" Mid 2009. Impossible to find, after visiting all the official Apple dealers in three provinces, they still had one in a shopping center in Bologna. I went to pick it up immediately, on a very hot August day, arrived home, and unboxed it. I'm writing this article on it right now, although the original disk has been replaced by an SSD and then by a hybrid, the RAM was upgraded to 8 GB in 2012, otherwise it's intact, despite having survived a couple of (recent) fairly significant falls.

So it seems this MacBook PRO is perfect... but it's not!

After about 14 months, I noticed that the touchpad button started to become unreliable. Like the iPhone 4 from the previous point. To make it click, you had to press very hard, and it didn't always work. As a temporary remedy, I set tap as click, but given the machine's young age, I decided to take it to Apple service.

Same old story, the same as the iPhone 4:

"We see the problem and confirm that others have come in with it. Unfortunately, you don't have 'Apple Care', so for us, the product is no longer under warranty. If you want, you can leave it, we'll give you a quote, and then you can decide whether to repair it."

I decided to take it away, for the simple reason that having chosen to have ONE valid computer (and other little things, but not enough to manage my usual work virtual machines), I couldn't accept downtime of more than 48 hours.

In short, once again a situation where it seems Apple made a design mistake and the user has to bear the cost. Many companies do it, but I didn't expect it from Apple.

Since then, I haven't had any other particular problems, so overall I've been very satisfied. The battery, after 6 and a half years (at the time of original writing, 2015), still lasts almost two hours, keeping the promises Apple made back then.

Currently (2015), it has two operating systems: Arch Linux as the main OS, which I use every day, and MacOS on an external drive, which I insert as needed.

5. MacBook Pro Retina 15" Late 2013

In light of the experience with the old MacBook Pro and its age (I can't stop part of my work just because a computer stops, so I always need one more powerful and one sufficiently powerful to cover, even slowly, all needs), in November 2013 I decided to buy a new MacBook Pro Retina 15". A wonderful computer, with an endless battery, very fast, with a screen capable of not tiring the eyes even after many hours of work. Silent, with the excellent PowerNap function that allows me to always have recent backups on a Banana Pro via Time Machine.

Everything went extraordinarily well from 26 November 2013 - date of purchase - to 16 November 16 2015. While I was working on a remote server via ssh, the (local) terminal started spitting out a series of disturbing errors. It no longer recognized any commands and gave I/O errors. I immediately understood that something was wrong and started doing some tests. Needless to say, my bad feelings were confirmed by reality: the 512 GB SSD was gone.

I was incredulous. The computer was used very little, had 23 battery charge cycles, and had left the house twice, for as many moves. For the rest, I always carry the old MBP, as its value is now low and a possible theft and/or failure wouldn't be so terrible.

I took it for service, knowing that, even in this case, the valid warranty was one year. The aggravating factor, then, was having bought it with a VAT number, so the warranty becomes one year anyway. Fortunately, however, I had subscribed to one of those supplementary insurances that they offer for a few tens of Euros.

After a few days, the phone call arrived. The damage is the SSD, and since there is no third-party part available, it has to be replaced with an original Apple one. The cost? 1,200 Euros. The insurance, however, has a maximum limit of 800. So I'll have to pay the difference.

I was speechless. Again. 1,200 Euros of damage on a machine paid almost 2,800 Euros less than two years ago? I've never had failures on SSDs costing a few tens of Euros, stressed and battered in every way, and the super-mega-awesome Apple SSD dies after less than two years??

I was (and still am, regarding that specific incident) uncertain about what to do back then. Take it back and use it with an external USB 3 drive or pay the difference and have it repaired? Meanwhile, discussions were read online from people who had purchased the same machine around the same time and were having the same problem. Who knows if Apple would decide that the caseload was sufficiently large and that those who had spent all that money shouldn't have to spend further for damage that, undoubtedly, indicated a not insignificant problem.

6. The 2021 MacBook Pro 16-inch: A New Chapter of Frustration

Fast forward to early 2024. You'd think after all these years, things might have improved. And for some products, they have. But then, my wife's pre-Silicon MacBook Pro 16-inch, purchased new in 2021, decided to join the hall of fame of Apple disappointments. From one day to the next, its battery completely died. No warning, just... gone. This wasn't a machine abused or heavily used in terms of battery cycles; it had just over 100 charge cycles on it. Barely broken in, you might say.

The diagnosis? A dead battery. The Apple response? "It's out of warranty". Just over two years old, a premium laptop with a premium price tag, and we're looking at a costly battery replacement. This incident is what truly spurred me to translate and update this old post. It felt like a painful echo of past frustrations, reminding me that for all the gloss and performance, the specter of unexpected hardware failure and rigid warranty policies still looms large over the Apple ownership experience.

7. The iPods

I won't write much about the three iPods I've had, as the experience was pretty much in line with everything else. The first iPod Nano (first model) I put in a drawer because of its poor audio quality. I didn't like it; it was metallic and had low volume. I eventually sold it, as (like all Apple products) the brand's desirability contributed to a good sale.

The second iPod Nano I had, a very welcome gift, was instead the only iPod that fully satisfied me. Good audio, fast, sufficiently streamlined music loading (via iTunes, of course), excellent battery life, it spent years in my car's armrest and as a travel companion. It still works, but now I mainly use Spotify for music, so it's less stressed.

The last iPod I had was a Touch 3g. Unfortunately, I didn't get to use it much; it was a mistaken purchase. When I decided to sell it, there was a problem: due to the violent earthquake that hit Emilia Romagna and which I experienced fully, as my house was a few kilometers from the epicenter, the iPod got irreparably scratched. It was on the table and the tremor made it fall to the ground, ruining part of the front glass and completely scratching the beautiful silver back. It works, but in its condition, it's hardly desirable. So I didn't have any real problems, apart from being disappointed by the fragility of the back.

Final Thoughts (2025)

So, after all these experiences, what do I think of Apple products? They are beautiful and generally well-engineered, but they are not of such superior quality compared to the rest. Or, at least, the price difference is not proportional to the difference in the general quality of the products. This isn't to say all Apple products are flawed. As I mentioned, my current M1 Pro MacBook Pro, iPad Pro, and the iPhone 13 Pro Max (now used by my wife) have been excellent, living up to the Apple promise.

However, the litany of issues I've personally encountered over two decades – from undersized power adapters and faulty buttons to prematurely dying SSDs and now, a suddenly deceased battery in a relatively new, lightly used premium laptop – paints a picture of inconsistency. It's this inconsistency that's particularly galling for a brand that positions itself (and prices its products) at the premium end of the market. One expects a higher baseline of reliability and longevity, and perhaps a more understanding approach when expensive hardware fails unexpectedly just outside a often too-short warranty period.

As of now, I remain cautious. While I appreciate the Apple devices that work well, the repeated stings of significant hardware failures make me hesitant. I've learned that one should never say never, especially in the fast-paced, impatient world of consumer electronics, but my enthusiasm for automatically choosing Apple has certainly been tempered by these experiences. For a premium brand, I simply expect more consistent, long-term reliability.

And the old saying comes to mind, "Nobody ever got fired for buying IBM".

This is a mature person who has already experienced the problems associated with closed platforms. They've already gone through experiences like, "Starting next month, we're shutting down, and you need to find a new solution", panicking because they were unable to identify and manage a quick, specific action plan.

I bring these things up, but the answers are always the same: "But all the business/marketing/sales courses say..." or "It's common practice in sales today...". And they're right, it's true. They are a good salesperson; they close good contracts and also sell "optional" services - they know how to do their job well. And, like a good salesperson, they deliver the final line: "It doesn't matter how good a solution is, what matters is that it sells. And what sells is what people know, offering a sense of security, of belonging to a group, because for the masses, the prevailing motto is: if everyone's doing it, it must be right".

And I realize that I am a terrible salesperson. Because this person is right - selling those services is the best way to make money with less effort, less responsibility, fewer headaches. You take an external service, add your consulting markup, and provide it. From that moment on, all problems are related to the service. And if the service has issues, it's a Service (with a capital S because... hey, everyone uses it, if they're down, it must have been inevitable!), so no one can accuse you of not having done enough.

I open LinkedIn and take a look. Thousands of profiles waving MBAs, courses, and sales certifications. Words, words, words... but, I wonder, how many of them truly understand what they are selling. Almost none, I suspect – as a skilled salesperson once told me: "It doesn't matter what you sell, the important thing is knowing how to sell it the right way".

Therefore, I am and always will be a terrible salesperson. Some clients appreciate the enthusiasm and passion, but fundamentally, I can't sell what I don't understand, what I don't know how to do, what I'm not completely convinced of. And clients are happy precisely because they appreciate this alternative approach, less focused on profit and more on a considered choice of solutions based on solving a problem, not just balancing the books.

Some don't understand it. Others tell me I could sell myself much better. But that's who I am, and when I turn off the light at night and go to sleep, I know in my conscience that I did what I could to provide a good service.

Having managed a couple of similar facilities, I immediately understood what had happened. I saw the staff panicking and calling the technicians, but they quickly reorganized within 10 minutes. They managed to process everyone who already had a number and then proceeded with the others in the order of their arrival. Despite the ten-minute delay (even though people started complaining right away), they were extremely efficient.

I later confirmed that the entire booking, check-in, and queue system is “in the cloud”. The hospital experienced a connectivity interruption, and all related services stopped. The staff no longer had access to anything, so a technician sent the lists to a manager via another channel, and everything resumed manually.

For years, I’ve insisted that certain things MUST be local. The healthcare facilities I manage have all the necessary systems for the operation of the facility internally, including patient records. External services like websites, emails, etc., are secondary.

Everything essential must always be accessible locally and, in special cases, it should be possible to physically access the servers and connect directly to them, bypassing any network/switch failures.

There has been only one interruption in the past, due to human error. Today, we have redundant servers (not HA on virtualizers, but two physical machines running the same software with replicated databases - on separate power lines) so such an issue shouldn’t happen anymore.

Not everything can be anticipated, but history is a great teacher. The Internet connection will eventually be interrupted; it's only a matter of time.

When it comes to the health and survival of people, there are no compromises.

Classical Style

Typical Reaction:

"Too ornate! So outdated! Nobody wants this old-fashioned stuff full of frills anymore!"

"Look at all these useless objects! It's so... maximalist!"

"Impossible to keep clean! Who has time to dust all those details?"

Minimalist Style

Typical Reaction:

"So elegant! Modern and functional!"

"True beauty lies in simplicity!"

"Finally a space where the mind can breathe!"

WEB ARCHITECTURE

Simple Traditional Stack

┌───────────────┐
│    Browser    │
└───────┬───────┘
        │
        ▼
┌───────────────┐
│    Firewall   │
└───────┬───────┘
        │
        ▼
┌───────────────┐
│   Web server  │
└───────┬───────┘
        │
        ▼
┌───────────────┐
│   HTML/CSS    │
│     Files     │
└───────────────┘

Typical Reaction:

"Too simple! That's so 2010!"

"Not scalable! How do you handle thousands of users?"

"Where's the DevOps? And CI/CD? What about serverless?"

"It's not resilient/reliable/cloud-native enough!"

Complex Modern Stack

┌─────────────────┐    ┌─────────────┐    ┌──────────────────┐
│    CDN Edge     │◄───┤ DNS Manager ├────┤ DDOS Protection  │
└────────┬────────┘    └─────────────┘    └──────────────────┘
         │
         ▼
┌────────────────┐    ┌──────────────┐
│  Load Balancer ├────┤ Auto-scaling │
└────────┬───────┘    └──────────────┘
         │
         ▼
┌────────────────┐
│     Proxy      │
└────────┬───────┘
         │
         ▼
┌────────────────┐    ┌──────────────┐    ┌──────────────────┐
│   Kubernetes   ├────┤ Service Mesh ├────┤ Circuit Breaker  │
└────────┬───────┘    └──────────────┘    └──────────────────┘
         │
         ▼
┌────────────────┐    ┌──────────────┐    ┌──────────────────┐
│  Microservices ├────┤Message Queue ├────┤   Redis Cache    │
└────────┬───────┘    └──────────────┘    └──────────────────┘
         │
         ▼
┌────────────────┐    ┌──────────────┐    ┌──────────────────┐
│      API       ├────┤ Auth Service ├────┤  User Service    │
└────────┬───────┘    └──────────────┘    └──────────────────┘
         │
         ▼
┌────────────────┐    ┌──────────────┐    ┌──────────────────┐
│    Database    ├────┤   Sharding   ├────┤  Backup System   │
└────────┬───────┘    └──────────────┘    └──────────────────┘
         │
         ▼
┌────────────────┐    ┌──────────────┐    ┌──────────────────┐
│   Monitoring   ├────┤   Logging    ├────┤    Alerting      │
└────────────────┘    └──────────────┘    └──────────────────┘

                * To serve a text page with 5 users per day *

Typical Reaction:

"Such an elegant architecture! So professional!"

"Finally a modern, well-designed approach!"

"This is the right way to do things today!"

"Excellent cloud-native implementation! Beautiful diagram!"

The Contradiction

• In interior design: "Less is more! Simplify!"

• In web development: "More is better! Complicate!"

Does a simple landing page really need Kubernetes?

Conclusion

Perhaps it's time to reassess what "modernity" truly means and consider the real purpose of what we're creating.

As I got deeper into my search, I stumbled upon a blog that provided a valid solution to the issue at hand. The post was informative and clear, which made it easy for me to understand and implement. However, what struck me was that this particular blog didn't just stop there. It also referred me to another blog, which is where I discovered yet another solution that helped me solve a different problem altogether!

Upon reflection, I believe a significant portion of web knowledge comes from blogs written by individuals who have a passion for sharing their discoveries and solutions with others. This sense of community and willingness to help each other out is what makes the web such an incredible resource. It's not uncommon for someone to stumble upon a blog post that not only answers one question but also provides insights into related issues.

This is the web I love, where people come together to share their knowledge and help others. It's a testament to the power of collaboration and the willingness of individuals to contribute to a shared pool of information. So the next time you find yourself stuck with a technical issue or simply want to learn more about a particular topic, don't hesitate to explore the wealth of information available on blogs. You never know what you might discover along the way!

In the digital age where technology advances at a breakneck speed, consumers find themselves caught in a cycle of continuous upgrades. However, amidst this relentless push for the new and improved, there lies a trove of still-functional, albeit outdated, electronic devices. These relics of past technology cycles, from old cell phones to tablets, often end up relegated to the dark corners of drawers, gathering dust but still holding potential. Through my own experiences and reflections, I've come to see these devices not as obsolete but as underutilized resources that could still serve valuable purposes.

Consider, for example, the old Motorola phone that once belonged to my mother. Discarded due to its lack of security updates, it sits idle, despite its capabilities that are on par with an old Raspberry Pi. Equipped with a screen, robust built-in WiFi, an array of sensors, and a camera, this Android terminal, abandoned since 2018, encapsulates the paradox of modern technology: highly functional yet prematurely obsolete. The insecurity of running software on such an outdated device is palpable, yet it's hard not to think about the wasted potential.

The European Union, often criticized for its bureaucratic leanings, has shown that progress is possible, as seen in its mandate for USB-C standardization. This begs the question: why not take it a step further? Imagine if manufacturers were required to unlock their devices for consumer use after official support ends. This would open the door for the installation of updated OpenSource operating systems, detached from the original Android ecosystem, or at the very least, an AOSP version of Android. This approach would empower users to breathe new life into their devices, adhering to a principle of "You've bought my device; I won’t update it anymore, but you can keep it running since the hardware still works."

My own drawers are filled with such high-quality, yet abandoned devices. For instance, I'd prefer to repurpose my old Huawei as a surveillance camera rather than rely on a new device that might compromise my privacy by sending images to obscure clouds hosted in jurisdictions with questionable laws. This sentiment underscores a broader desire for autonomy and security in how we manage our technology.

However, the road to this ideal state is fraught with challenges. I'm contemplating starting a petition to address this issue, although I'm aware of the potential hurdles. The concept of planned obsolescence is deeply ingrained in the fabric of today's technology landscape, supported by a complex web of interests that resist change. Despite this, the conversation around the lifespan of our devices and the potential for a more sustainable approach to technology use is one that needs to be had. It's time to reconsider our relationship with technology, to envision a future where devices are not just disposable commodities but lasting tools that evolve with us.