I spent 26 years building things for others.
Systems, teams, architectures, products that started as a somewhat abstract idea in a meeting and ended up working in production. I did it with pride. Truly. There's something really beautiful about taking a difficult problem, organizing it, grounding it in reality, and turning it into software that someone uses every day.
But at some point, I started to feel something else.
Technology changed. Tools became more accessible. Many barriers that once seemed natural began to fall away. And I, after so many years putting my skills at the service of other people's projects, felt it was time to create my own showcase.
That's how SebaSOFT Lab was born.
I don't think of it as a polished portfolio to display work. I think of it more as a personal laboratory. A place where I can test, break, adjust, and release tools according to my own rules. For many years, the challenge was understanding the requirements of large clients, negotiating constraints, adhering to processes, and fitting pieces into existing structures. Now the challenge is different: to create a space where my own ideas can grow and, if they're lucky, find a community around them.
For me, software development has always had an element of craftsmanship.
In the corporate world, you get used to delivering correct, necessary, sometimes very good pieces, but often anonymous ones. At SebaSOFT, I want to do something different. I want to build tools with identity. I want it to be clear that there's a person behind it. I want every decision to reflect years of experience, mistakes made, nights spent solving strange problems, and that mix of obsession and patience that programming instills over time.
That's why it's important for me to publish projects like Math Rocks Dice or Walls Have Ears. They're not just applications. They're pieces from my own digital workshop placed in the hands of others, especially the gaming community, a world where tools are seriously tested: if they work, they're used; if they're annoying, they're abandoned.
There's also Neuron JS, which stems from an idea that's been with me for years: complexity doesn't have to be cumbersome.
I've seen many systems fail because they tried to solve everything from the start. Layers upon layers, abstractions upon abstractions, decisions made out of fear of a future that never arrives. With Neuron JS, I try to take the opposite approach: simple pieces, clear foundations, and an architecture that can grow without becoming a burden. Maintaining that simplicity isn't always easy, but for me, that's a big part of the craft.
Now, I'm not going to sell this as some perfect epic.
Starting over is daunting.
The corporate world, with all its problems, provides a safety net. There's a client, a context, a business that tells you what problem matters. A blank page is something else entirely. It forces you to decide what to build, how to present it, how to tell the story, how to sustain it. It also pushes you to do tasks you're not always comfortable with: personal branding, communication, community building, product development, sales, support.
It's tough. Sometimes quite tough.
But I also feel it was necessary. After so many years as the behind-the-scenes specialist, I needed to put my name on something of my own. I don't know if this will be my last attempt. Probably not. But I do know that this attempt had to be made.
Part of all this comes from long before professional software.
I belong to the generation of the Family Game cartridge, of recording songs from the radio onto cassettes trying not to drown out the DJ's voice, of the mechanical noise of VHS tapes, of imagining the future by reading Muy Interesante magazine. I grew up with that strange mix of technology, promise, and nostalgia. A future that always seemed about to arrive, but that still had buttons, cables, plastic, CRT screens, and printed manuals.
That retro-futurism is embedded in what I do, even when I'm not looking for it. It's evident in my digital projects and also in my desire to try physical things. GeekyBits Store, my attempt at dropshipping on eBay, stems somewhat from that: from wanting to connect the digital world with objects, with geek culture, with that tactile nostalgia that still drives me.
I do all of this from San Juan.
And yes, living here has concrete advantages. The costs help when you're taking risks. But staying in San Juan isn't just an economic decision. It's a decision about belonging.
I grew up here. My history is here. And I have a very deep need to give back, even if it's little by little, some of what this province has given me. I'm interested in demonstrating, first to myself and then to anyone who might find it useful, that you can build something with global reach without having to go to a traditional tech hub. That you can work from here, create from here, and contribute from here.
I've been working remotely for 12 years, so distance doesn't scare me anymore. It taught me to operate differently, to communicate better, to sustain projects without depending on an office or a shared table. It also gave me a skill I value more than any technology stack today: the ability to reinvent myself.
I used to lead physical teams. Today, I operate many pieces on my own. I develop, test, publish, write, provide support, and fine-tune. But I don't feel like I'm working in a vacuum. I use current tools as an extension of my experience. I know what to ask, where to look, what to delegate to a tool, and what still needs human judgment. After 26 years, that judgment is what I value most.
Ultimately, what I'm looking for is quite simple: to build trust.
Enterprise software often becomes transactional. You request something, you deliver something, you invoice something. That's fine, that's how it works. But with SebaSOFT, I want the relationship to be different. I want anyone using one of my tools to feel that there's someone on the other end paying attention. Someone who listens, improves, corrects, and understands that an application isn't just valuable for what it does, but for how it supports the user.
I don't want to be just someone who produces software. I want to build a community around what I do.
And to take this leap, you need more than just desire. You need a peace of mind that doesn't appear out of thin air. In my case, it has names: Zoe and Alejandra.
Without the support of my daughter and my partner, this journey wouldn't exist. They are the foundation that allows me to take risks, try things out, make mistakes, and try again. They are my refuge when everything becomes uncertain. And entrepreneurship, however romantic it may sound from the outside, involves a fair amount of uncertainty.
This is another step. I'm just starting this stage, and I know that the best tools don't come from a closed mind, but from dialogue with others.
So I invite you to visit sebasoft.app, download the applications, try what I'm developing, and tell me what you think. If you have an idea, a specific need, or simply want to join the community I'm starting to build around these products, write to me.
Let's build something together.