The Landscape of My Logic

مشهد منطقي

Since I was a kid, I kept hearing the same sentence: "I would love to understand the logic behind your thinking."

I did not understand. Everything I do follows the logic — just not the same one.

When I need to make a decision, I don't walk straight into the forest like everyone else. I go up.

عندما أحتاج إلى اتخاذ قرار، لا أسير مباشرة إلى الغابة مثل الآخرين. بل أصعد إلى الأعلى.

I climb  the mountain, look down, and suddenly everything is simple: the target is there, the paths are there, the consequences are visible.

Most people choose the narrow road that looks shortest, safest, obvious — but to me it always looked like Charles Bridge in Prague in July, crowded, noisy, slow, sweaty, full of tourists, full of pickpockets, full of people stopping in the middle for no reason. And I hate crowds.

So I look further. There's a wider path to the left — longer, calmer, passing through the town, full of potential conversations and distractions.

And then there's the tiny path — almost invisible, the one nobody chooses because it looks too long, but it leads to a well with water, and in the heat, water is everything.

So I take the longest path, the empty one, the one with silence, shade, and the well.

And I arrive first — because I had water, energy, clarity, space to think, and no crowd slowing me down. I even had time at the well to plan what comes next.

People use different patterns of thinking. We all use different logic.

The same logic shapes my design process. A linear brief would trap me in a single interpretation, blinding me to the other roles a design can play. 

Only when I step back and see the wider landscape can I build a modular system instead of a single‑use solution.

فقط عندما أتراجع خطوة إلى الوراء لأرى المشهد بأكمله، أتمكن من بناء نظام معياري بدلاً من مجرد حل لمرة واحدة.

Some think in straight lines. I don't. I see the whole landscape — and that's why my decisions might sometimes look unusual from below, but make perfect sense from the top.