Feb 3, 2025
A Designer’s Journal
A personal journey through migration, design, and adaptation, where every cultural shift became a new layer of perspective, and each challenge helped shape a more intentional, human-centered way of working.
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I’ve always believed that there are two types of emigrants in Argentina: those who leave the country, and those who arrive in a new one. The difference is, fundamentally, metaphorical. What separates one group from the other is the reason behind their decision. I belong to the second group, the ones who didn’t choose to leave, but to arrive.
I wasn’t pushed out of Argentina. I wasn’t going through a personal crisis or dissatisfied with my work. In my case, not moving (not traveling, not exploring, not living the adventure) simply didn’t seem like a coherent option. I didn’t leave Argentina; I came to Spain. And as I said before, the difference is metaphorical, but spiritually, it changes everything.
I started planning this journey, now more than two years in motion, when I was around 24. At the time, I was studying Systems Engineering and working as a developer for FIAT Argentina. Life was running smoothly. You could say I was fulfilling my parents’ dream: I was studying a career with strong job prospects and growing professionally. But there was one problem: I felt deeply unsatisfied. Was that really my dream?
I grew up in a Buenos Aires suburb called Haedo, about an hour from the city by car. It’s a green neighborhood, full of trees, low houses, parks, and long sunsets. I grew up playing in the street with friends, and as teenagers, we swapped the football for guitars. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and we’ll be friends for life.
After turning twenty, I experienced my first migration. I left Haedo and moved to the city. Of course, you never really leave. As the song goes, “one always returns to the old places where they once loved life...” But that was the first time I actively looked for more. The first time I had this thought: I’m not leaving Haedo… I’m arriving in Buenos Aires City.
That first move, small in distance but immense in intention, changed me. It taught me that moving isn’t always about escaping; sometimes it’s just answering an inner call, that quiet urge asking for something more.
At the time, I didn’t know that step would only be a rehearsal for something much bigger. But I did know that if I wanted a life that truly represented me, I had to dare to cross borders. First geographic, then internal.
My beloved Buenos Aires will always be my starting point, but also, my place of return.
Living in the City of Buenos Aires changed my life completely. At the time, I had already been working for FIAT Argentina for several years, in the beautiful neighborhood of San Telmo. A place with a raw personality, yet deeply bohemian and artistic, where many of the musicians and artists I grew up listening to once lived and created. San Telmo has always been my second neighborhood, and every time I return to Argentina, I make sure to walk its narrow cobbled streets, visit its markets, fairs, cafés… It’s a neighborhood with a creative spirit that seduces you without asking permission.
The most important changes that came with that move weren’t professional, but existential. I now lived close to the office and could organize my time more freely. And in that calm, something woke up. As if my mind, now with space to breathe, remembered what it loved. I reconnected with my roots.
Before studying Systems Engineering, I had gone through an arts-focused high school with a strong foundation in Design and Communication. And now, deep in the tech world, I began drifting more toward conceptual thinking. I moved from writing code to analyzing structure. From being a developer to becoming a Functional Analyst. And without even realizing it, I was doing UX. Every time I was given more freedom to intervene in interfaces, I reconnected with a desire I thought I had lost. Suddenly, everything felt clear. Almost simple. But it was a deceptive kind of simplicity, the kind you only reach after going through something complex.
Because that’s what design is: a synthesis. A deliberate cut into reality. Like life itself, what seems simple on the surface often comes from something layered underneath.
It was in that moment that I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. At 26 years old, close to finishing my engineering degree and with seven years of experience in tech, I decided to change course. I was going to drop out of that path and enroll in a new one. I was going to study design. Not Web Design or anything niche, I wanted to understand the fundamentals. I wanted to go back to the roots of design practice. So I enrolled in a Graphic Design Degree.
What came next was a whirlwind. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so little in my life. I worked and studied from Monday to Friday. Sometimes I’d arrive at FIAT at 5:00 a.m., just to get some university work done before my official workday started at 9:00 a.m. I worked until 6:30 p.m., then headed straight to class until 11:00 p.m. Weekends were locked away in my apartment, studying. They were fast-paced years, intense at times, beautiful at others. I was finally living my dream. Everything seemed to fit.
In my second year of the degree, another milestone arrived: I was officially offered the role of Product Designer at work. It was a path I had thought through, chosen, and built myself. Moving forward had never felt so easy, still full of effort, yes, but now with immense satisfaction.
And yet, one thought kept echoing in the background. What would it be like to be a designer in Barcelona? A city that breathes design in every detail. One of the great capitals of Graphic Design. What would it be like to be part of that community? To belong to a place that invests so much time and thought in aesthetics?
The decision had been made. Once I graduated, I would only need two things: a clear idea… and two suitcases.
My next job wouldn’t be in Argentina.
I still remember those 2 months I spent at my parents’ house before moving to Barcelona. I had quit my job as a Product Designer, handed over the keys to my apartment, and devoted myself entirely to paperwork. I had Italian citizenship and a valid passport, but anyone who’s tried to emigrate knows that’s not enough. This kind of adventure demands far more than documents, it demands courage, detachment… and farewells.
One of the hardest was with Jimbo, my cat. After nine years together, I was going to leave him at my parents’ house. I always say he graduated with me, he was my most loyal companion during those (already worn-out) university years. He’s still there, with them. And even though I often thought about bringing him with me, I realized it wouldn’t be for him, it would be for me. There’s nothing natural about putting a nervous cat like Jimbo on a flying machine for 12 hours. Even less so if it involves sedating him. Over there, he has a garden he’s claimed as his own, and a pair of grandparents who adore him. And honestly, for a while, I think he had it better than I did.
Arriving in Barcelona wasn’t as hard as I imagined.
It was worse.
Here’s what no one tells you about emigrating: when you land in a new country, it’s not just the landscape that changes, the smallest routines of daily life change too. What once felt normal no longer is, and you have to figure it out on your own. I was ready for that. What I wasn’t ready for was how hard it would be to break into a job market where I had no local experience.
My expectation was to find work quickly. I had solid experience as a Product Designer and a strong technical background. But I lacked one crucial thing: a portfolio. Between all the things I had going on, I simply hadn’t built one. And that changed everything. What I thought I could solve in weeks ended up taking months. And with my savings running low, I had to look for alternatives.
At first, it terrified me. A job in hospitality? After all those years of effort and education? After building so much? It felt like a step backward. But life, much like design, has strange ways of rearranging itself.
After a few failed attempts, I found a special place: Almalibre Açaí House, a vegan brunch spot serving some of the best açaí bowls in Barcelona. They were looking for someone to prep the bowls, and somehow… I fit. It was there that I met my first real friends in the city. For the first time, I stopped feeling alone. I worked at Almalibre for nearly ten months. In the meantime, I refined my portfolio, took on freelance projects, and kept applying.
And slowly, the work began to come in.
The first project was for Eyewa, a company based in the United Arab Emirates. It wasn’t product work, it was Branding, the other side of Design I love. And just two months later, The Q-Studio reached out. That’s when something clicked. The story that began the day I left Haedo seemed to find its destination in Barcelona, with my first job as a Product Designer. It was an ending… with the flavor of a beginning.
At Q-Studio, I found an extraordinary team: people passionate about design, innovation, and technology. I met a designer with a background in Milanese industrial design, brilliant, eccentric, and the closest thing I’ve had to a mentor. I found teammates who became friends, and others who were eager to learn from me. I found a family of designers. We shared incredible projects, and some rough ones too. We met intense clients, and others who closed meetings by thanking us for working with them. Alongside that, I began offering private Product Design lessons to students who crossed my path by chance, and in giving, I discovered another passion: sharing knowledge.
In just a few years, I traveled. I visited England, Scotland, Germany. I returned to Argentina. And now, I’m planning a trip to Japan. I’ve explored many cities, but more than anything, I’ve explored myself. I’ve grown, as a person and as a professional.
Emigrating was the best decision of my life. Just like studying engineering once was. And then leaving it. Just like joining FIAT. And then enrolling in Graphic Design.
Each step, each change of course, has shaped who I am.
Today, I’m right where I want to be. And I wake up every day with a beginner’s mind. Because that’s the only way I’ve found for me, to let life surprise me. To take risks. To redraw my path whenever it needs to be redrawn.
Because as I once read,
“…every beginning is nothing more than a continuation,
and the book of events is always open halfway through...”
