I work as a cashier in a small city in Moldova. I have severe vision loss that cannot be corrected.
This is the story of how I built WaveDisco anyway.
It Started With an Explosion
I was 12 years old. My father was a Soviet military officer stationed in East Germany, in a city called Rudolstadt.
One day, something exploded.
I do not remember much from that moment. I remember waking up in a hospital in Jena, surrounded by German patients I could not speak to.
The doctor's name was Andrei. He spoke Russian and German. He operated on my eyes. He even drove to West Germany on his own time to bring back eye drops that were not available in the East.
He tried surgery. He tried everything.
He saved what he could.
One eye kept about 20% vision. The other almost nothing. My face had burns, and he did reconstructive work on that too.
I spent a year in that hospital. I was a Soviet kid in East Germany who did not speak the language, but the people there treated me with kindness.
I still remember them with gratitude.
When I came home, my vision did not improve.
It never did.
The Jobs You Take When Doors Close
As a kid, I wanted to become an electronics repairman. I could not. That work needed good eyes.
After technical school, I tried working with cars. It was too cold, too much draft, and my eyes could not handle it. I spent more time in hospitals than at work.
So I did what I could.
I worked construction. I carried cement. I worked as a loader. I tried electrical work without a license. Eventually, I ended up in retail, where it was warm enough and I could manage.
For years, doctors told me to apply for disability status. I refused until I was 45.
I knew I had the right to that support. But I could not bring myself to accept the word disabled. It felt like giving up.
I did not give up.
Then Came Suno
In late 2024, I discovered Suno, an AI music generator.
I started making songs. Lyrical songs. The kind I had been publishing on YouTube for years across two channels.
But there was a problem.
The tracks sounded wrong. Too loud. Too hot. Clipping. Not ready for streaming.
I searched for free tools that could fix this properly. I tried different services, different software, different methods. Nothing gave me what I wanted.
Then I installed Claude, an AI assistant, and said to myself:
Fine. I will build it myself.
I did not know what Next.js was. I did not know what an API was. I had no background in code. My real job had nothing to do with technology.
But I had evenings.
And I had a reason.
Six Months Later
On June 21, 2026, WaveDisco went live.
A web studio for AI music creators.
Free in the browser. A $25 desktop app for people who want more control.
LUFS normalization. A/B comparison. DJ mode. Hook recording. Waveform analysis. The tools I wished existed when I started.
I built it for myself first.
Then I realized other creators probably needed it too.
Why I Built It
YouTube once gave monetization to one of my channels. Then they took it away when a song started gaining traction.
The reason was simple: the thumbnails looked too similar.
The video kept getting ads. I just stopped getting paid for them.
Their platform. Their rules.
I moved on.
That experience taught me something important: never depend completely on one platform, one employer, one algorithm, or one decision you do not control.
That is why WaveDisco exists.
Not because I am trying to become rich overnight.
I built it because I want a little more independence. Enough to live with dignity. Enough to keep building. Enough to not wait for someone else to open a door.
My daughter is a doctor now. I raised her alone from the age of 12, after her mother left.
I did not drink. I did not fall apart.
I just kept going.
That is the only thing I know how to do.
Why I Am Writing This
I am not writing this for pity.
I am writing it because someone else may need to hear it.
You do not need perfect conditions to build something. You do not need a degree. You do not need investors. You do not need perfect eyesight.
You need time, stubbornness, and a reason.
If this story meant something to you — buy me a coffee. No pressure.
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