I didn’t fall for economics in a classroom. I fell for it in the chaos of everyday life.
It was in conversations about why petrol prices rise overnight, why my favourite brand suddenly costs more, or why governments can’t just “print more money.” Somewhere between curiosity and confusion, I realised economics wasn’t just about numbers. It was about people; their choices, fears, ambitions, and the invisible systems that connect them all.
At first, I thought economics was a subject about scarcity and graphs, which, full disclosure: I found really boring! Then I discovered it was really a story about behaviour and balance. The idea that millions of independent decisions can somehow create patterns. Reading about Adam Smith’s “invisible hand” made me wonder how something so abstract could move entire economies, and why it sometimes fails.
As I went deeper, models like IS-LM and Solow weren’t just theoretical constructs anymore — they felt like tools to decode how nations grow, stumble, and recover. I began to see policy not as politics, but as a delicate act of equilibrium — between growth and inflation, markets and morality, efficiency and equity.
What I love most about economics is its duality: it’s both scientific and human. It asks for data, but also empathy. For someone perpetually pragmatic such as myself, it’s a reminder that logic can’t stand alone without human behaviour and psyche in the face of adversity.
For me, falling for economics wasn’t about memorising theories. It was about realising that every statistic hides a story, and every policy affects every person. It’s the bridge between reason and reality — and I knew, somewhere along that bridge, I wanted to build my life’s work.
The Econ Odyssey 