A look back at how I got here — and why this exists.
My first real exposure to a computer was at my cousin's place — a Windows XP machine with a 30GB hard drive, 128MB of RAM, and a steady diet of Road Rash, Midtown Madness, Age of Empires, and a hundred Flash games. I was a kid, glued to it whenever I got the chance.
Somewhere along the way I started being the friend everyone called when something stopped working. Slow PCs, weird error messages, a printer that refused to cooperate. I'd take a look. Usually I'd figure it out.
I realized I actually liked doing it. Not just the fixing — the moment when someone went from frustrated to "oh, that's all it was?" That moment never got old.
In 7th grade I got my first own machine — Core 2 Duo, 4GB RAM, an Intel G41 chipset that absolutely had no business running modern games. So I learned to make it run them anyway.
That's where the real learning started. I'd Google for hours on a slow netsetter connection, recharging coupons just to stay online. I learned about 3D Analyzer, windowed mode tweaks, editing .ini files, dropping textures, faking shaders. There's a specific kind of joy in watching a game limp along at 18 FPS on integrated graphics that was never meant to play it. It looked terrible. I loved it.
Years later I finally got an Acer Predator with a real GPU and started catching up on every AAA game I'd queued up through the lean years. Then in 2021 I moved to Canada. In 2022 — using my own money, after years of wanting one — I built a budget gaming PC for myself. Casually, the way you do when you finally get the chance. Felt like a milestone.
I upgraded the same machine in 2026 — 32GB RAM and an RTX 3060 12GB. Time for gaming is shorter now, but walking into the gaming room still hits different.
What started as something I did for free, just because I loved it, somehow turned into the job that pays my bills. I never imagined it would.
I moved to Canada and started working in IT support. Different country, same instinct — sit with people, listen to their problem, help them through it without making them feel small.
In professional IT support, you don't just deal with one OS or one app — it's everything end users touch every day. Gmail not syncing. Outlook crashing. Windows updates breaking things. Macs being weird. The kind of issues that don't have a clean Stack Overflow answer.
That's been my world for the last 4 years. Hundreds of conversations, thousands of small fixes, endless variety.
I saw the inside of a PC for the first time as a kid — peering into the back of that same cousin's machine. Cables, fans, slots — fascinating and a bit intimidating.
In 7th grade I cracked open my own to see what was in there. Years later, in 2022 — using my own money, after years of wanting one — I built a budget gaming PC for myself. Casually, the way you do when you finally get the chance.
Beyond PCs, I've spent years setting up monitors, printers, keyboards, mice, and full work-from-home setups — both at home and in professional IT support. The stuff people actually use every day.
I'm not a board-level laptop repair specialist. If your laptop has a fried motherboard or needs micro-soldering, that's a job for a specialized repair shop or your warranty — and I'll tell you that honestly.
But for setup, upgrades, peripherals, builds, diagnostics, and figuring out whether something's worth fixing in the first place? That's where I can genuinely help.
After a few years in IT support, I started thinking about who else needed this kind of help. Not big companies. Not people with their own IT departments. Regular folks. Parents. Grandparents. Kids saving up for their first PC. People who Google something and end up more confused than when they started.
OMXAV is small. It's personal. It's just me — for now. Available remotely, anywhere in the world, helping with anything tech-related.
No call center. No script. No pressure to upsell you something. Plain-language tech support, the kind I would've wanted my own family to have — with a free consult to start, and fair pricing if we fix it together.
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