When the Penguin Shattered the Pane

At first, I didn’t realise the world was ticking quietly behind closed windows. I’d click and wait. Click more, and wait longer. Then one day, I stepped out of the window… and found a penguin.

He stood there on still, icy ground, the only light being the blink of a line waiting to be written. He looked at me and, without speaking, said: “Write.” He didn’t offer me a virtual assistant, nor did he ask me to reboot. He simply made way.

Since that day, everything changed. The computer was no longer a mysterious box making decisions on my behalf—it became a tool I controlled with my own hands. And with every command I typed, I reclaimed a piece of my autonomy.

And since you’re reading this on a server powered by Linux, perhaps it’s time you understood why the world prefers it—despite all the noise coming from the other side of the screen.

Here are thirteen points that explain why Linux is the backbone of the internet, and how it evolved from a hobbyist’s experiment into the thinking person’s choice.

When you browse a website, send a message, or fetch a file from the cloud, chances are there’s a penguin behind the curtain. Linux powers around 95% of the world’s internet servers, meaning this very article reached you through one.

And Windows? It’s probably busy rebooting itself—right in the middle of your most important Zoom meeting.

Internet servers aren’t the only ones bowing to Linux. 90% of major cloud services—AWS, Google Cloud, Azure—build their infrastructure on it. The very clouds that drive the global digital economy drift through skies owned by the penguin.

Meanwhile, Windows enthusiasts have OneDrive… assuming their files aren’t bigger than a WhatsApp sticker.

Speaking of computing titans, 100% of the top 500 supercomputers in the world run Linux. These machines solve the equations of the cosmos, simulate stellar explosions, and decode genomes—all under the penguin’s watch. And Windows? It peers from the window and suggests an urgent update… to fix your desktop wallpaper.

Git—the world’s most popular version control system—was written by Linus Torvalds, the same genius who gifted us Linux. And while Git technically runs on Windows, using it there is like playing the violin with trembling fingers. Worse still, Windows insists on tampering with line endings, converting LF to CRLF, thereby corrupting file hashes. Yes, a simple newline can alter a file’s fingerprint! Anyone remotely familiar with blockchain knows this is a coding crime. And the worst part? It does this quietly, with a polite note: “Converted LF to CRLF,” as if nothing ever happened.

Windows is bloated with graphical interfaces—buttons, windows, menus, icons—and every click triggers a visual parade. The result? Drive C wakes up dying every morning. In Linux, the terminal reigns supreme: one line does it all. Want to install a server? Type. Configure the network? Type. No fanfare, no unicorn glitter. Best of all? Linux sips resources like a drop of water—not a spilled vat of coffee over your motherboard.

In Linux, filenames are case-sensitive—“Arthur” and “arthur” are entirely different files. This precision offers serious control but might baffle the uninitiated. Windows, however, is more forgiving: both names are treated the same, as if the system gently closes its eyes to the details. So—do you value strict discipline, or prefer easy-going indifference? Choose what suits your temperament.

Every Linux distribution comes equipped with core programming languages like C, C++, and Python. The system assumes you’re a serious user. Windows, on the other hand, ships with Edge and Microsoft Teams, as if you ordered a development machine and received a tourist visa to binge-watch Turkish dramas. Worst of all? You can’t easily uninstall them—Edge acts like your system’s legal guardian.

Linux lets you speak directly to the hardware. Want to prioritise a process? Go ahead. Migrate an entire system without rebooting? Absolutely. Windows, however, treats every minor tweak as a life-or-death matter: “Restart now or later?”—as if playing a game of willpower. Windows handles updates like surprise dinner guests: you can’t say no, and you certainly can’t postpone.

When we tried building Telegram from source, Linux made it easy: the environment was ready, libraries installed, tools in place. Just a few terminal commands, and it was up. Windows? It was a ritual of hardship: install Visual Studio, set up Chocolatey, juggle environment variables, pray solemnly for a successful build. Why? Because Windows was never built for development—it was made for office slideshows and spreadsheets.

Windows tries hard to paint Linux as the playground of nerds: bespectacled creatures dwelling in dark terminals, speaking only in commands. It even nudges game companies to shun Linux, as if lack of gaming support is proof of inadequacy. But behind the curtain, the truth is far less dramatic: Linux is the infrastructure of the modern world. Servers, clouds, AI systems, smart cars, mobile phones—even fridges—they all breathe Linux. Meanwhile, Windows still asks in theatrical tones every time you delete a file: “Are you sure?”

In Linux, nothing moves with root privileges unless explicitly granted—every command etched with responsibility, every password a deliberate chisel on stone. Control remains firmly in your hands. Windows, by contrast, feels like an open house: one careless click on a shady .exe, and your desktop transforms into a battlefield. Malware roams like unwelcome guests. In the Linux world, viruses are like seaweed in the desert—they wither and die. In Windows? They thrive, they sing, and sometimes they even dance.

In Windows, updates descend without warning. Your unsaved files, open projects, your final sprint before a deadline—none are spared. The system shuts you down mid-thought like it’s fulfilling prophecy. Linux? Updates knock politely. They introduce themselves, wait for your approval, and rarely require a reboot. The difference? Like that between someone who rings the bell and greets you… and someone who kicks down the door humming the national anthem.

In Linux, package management is an art form—like a Nordic postal service: every package accounted for, every delivery tracked. APT, YUM, DNF, Pacman… strange names, but powerful tools. One line is enough: install, update, remove. No random websites, no sketchy installers, no endless clicking. Windows? It’s like entering a chaotic bazaar during a sandstorm: rogue installers, popup ads, one wrong click and you’ve installed a browser toolbar last seen in 2008. Package management here is not a tool—it’s a test of patience.

When Windows shuts its window on you, you feel like a child whose keys are managed by distant adults—your sunrise, your shutdown, your silence, all dictated from above. It’s a guardian who never stops watching, wrapping you in soft, glossy chains of pre-packaged control.
But Linux? Linux is the open sea. It hands you the oar, points to the horizon, and says: “Go where you will—you’re the captain now.”
And here, the choice becomes more than just between two operating systems. It’s a tale of who draws your map—someone else, or your own hand. A choice between protective supervision and the wind’s untamed freedom.