It’s one of the main focuses of my life.

Sometimes it’s just notes for myself, easy to look up later, not always meant for everyone to understand.

Sometimes it’s organized knowledge or technical write-ups, meant to be useful right away.

Sometimes it’s simply a record of a moment in life.

By writing consistently, I hope to keep improving—because I’m part of this world, too.

If my posts happen to help someone, even better.

And if a passerby takes away something useful or a bit of warmth, that’s good enough for me.

Whether it’s a note or a post, it’s part of my life, woven into this web.

The universe is so vast—

Surely, we’re not the only ones out here.

If one day, aliens really did arrive, not with lightspeed missiles, but quietly, through telepathy—

I imagine they wouldn’t start by asking about our technology.

They’d probably ask how we live. Maybe they’d wonder:

“Who are you?

Where do you live?

What do you believe in?”

I’d answer like this:

“I live on Earth, in a small place surrounded by ocean.

From a cosmic perspective, it’s tiny, but to me, life here is convenient—livable.

Though to be honest, our current leaders aren’t doing such a great job…

But I guess humans mess things up sometimes.”

“I’m just a small part of this place, not someone important—just trying to get through life.

Sometimes it goes well, sometimes it’s a struggle, but at least I’m still here.”

“I do have faith—though I’m not particularly devout.

It’s always been there in my heart, like a faint light that never quite goes out.

I believe the universe, in some way or another, holds similar things everywhere—

a desire to become better, an acceptance of our smallness, and the choice to keep going anyway.”

If they could understand all that,

maybe they’d ask:

“What good have you done?

And what bad?”

That would be a bit awkward… but I’d try to be honest:

“I’ve helped a few strangers, stayed with friends through hard times, and tried to turn some of my pain into words—maybe those words comforted someone out there.”

“But I’ve also made mistakes.

I’ve said hurtful things, avoided responsibility, and sometimes cursed systems I felt powerless to change.

I’m not a bad person, but I’m still learning how to be a better one.”

If they just looked at me in silence then—I’d probably give a slightly awkward laugh, and somewhere in the back of my mind, this quiet thought would surface:

Could they be… gods?😅😅😅

When I think about the most expensive meal I’ve ever had,

it wasn’t some fine dining experience or a Michelin-star tasting menu.

It was a friend’s wedding banquet.

The red envelope I brought? NT$1200, NT$3600, even NT$6000 at times.

What did I eat? Sometimes I remember. Sometimes I don’t.

But the people, the atmosphere, the blessings — those things stay with me.

Sometimes it was a friend from high school I used to laugh and mess around with.

Sometimes it was an old classmate I hadn’t seen in years.

When the invitation arrived, the first thing I felt wasn’t about money — it was, “Wow, it’s been so long.”

As we grow older and busier with work,

these wedding gatherings often become the only chance

to catch up with people we’ve long lost touch with,

to share old stories and say,

“Wow… time really flies.”

And you know what?

It’s always worth it.

Not for the food,

but for the connection.

National affairs, issues of public welfare—these are the things we should care about and talk about every day.

They affect all of us. They shape the kind of future we’re heading toward.

And yet, under the grip of politics, business, and media working hand in hand,

the truly important stories often get buried—replaced by misinformation, or drowned out by trivial headlines.

The front pages are full of eye-catching gossip that, frankly, doesn’t matter.

Who broke up with who. What a celebrity ate. What a streamer said that sparked “nationwide debate.”

Meanwhile, that one policy or budget decision that will change our lives?

It’s two lines, buried in a corner of the page.

Everything seems to be reported, but nothing is really said.

Loud headlines, empty content. Dramatic visuals, distant truth.

Eventually, we go numb.

So—what is truly important?

That’s a good question.

—

Maybe it’s better to return to the small things in life.

This month I’m heading on a trip.

Destination: Kobe, Japan. One of the places I’m looking forward to visiting is the Kitano Ijinkan district—

a scenic area known for its Western-style architecture and cultural blend.

I saw a number of YouTubers talk about it, too.

They said once you leave the main streets, the area becomes eerily quiet.

Some alleys feel deserted, even rundown.

If you wanted to clickbait the title, it might read: “Is Kitano Ijinkan Turning Into a Ghost Town?” 😅

But maybe that’s exactly why I want to go.

Those quiet corners—the ones no one queues for—

they might hold the real rhythm of the place.

A fading wall. A sliver of sunlight on stone. A bench where no one’s sitting.

Sometimes the places that don’t feel “lively” are the ones where life actually breathes.

Just like the stories that aren’t trending might be the ones that matter most.

So I still want to see it for myself.

Even if it turns out to be “a little broken,”

that might be where this trip’s most meaningful moment is waiting.

Traveling with my partner, with no rush in the schedule—just seeing the world together.

Even in silence, doing our own things, it still feels like being together.

It’s the same with my child.

No need to teach, no need to argue. Just quietly being there is enough.

When everyone in the family is healthy, free from pain, able to eat well and sleep well—I’m already deeply grateful.

Sharing a meal with my partner—

it doesn’t matter what we eat, as long as I’m not eating alone.

I smile when my investments pay off.

Though I won’t say no to a windfall either.

Leaving the house with my phone fully charged at 100%—

that sense of being ready feels reassuring.

A hot shower after a workout—

it washes the fatigue away.

Doing good quietly.

Seeing friends and family willing to give makes me even happier.

And when the government does something right, I feel a surprising sense of comfort.

When I read, the world feels a little bigger.

When I write, I understand myself a little more.

When work leads to real results, I feel—

like today truly mattered.

But really,

it’s not even about whether today mattered.

It’s just that—I feel happy.

Writing a short blog entry every day, based on a simple prompt, has quietly become one of the calmest and clearest moments in my day.

It’s not for traffic, and not really for writing practice either.

It’s just a few minutes of pausing—enough to sort through my thoughts and check in with myself.

Sometimes, just recalling something amusing brings me a little joy.

Other times, I remember the kindness someone once showed me, and gratitude wells up.

When I take a moment to reflect on what I already have, I realize there’s a quiet kind of happiness there too.

In these moments, I feel calm. I feel grateful.

Not because life is perfect, but because I’m able to notice—the small things are already precious.

Of course, there are worries.

But I try to face them, and think through possible ways forward.

I may not find answers right away, but just thinking about them feels like a step in the right direction.

And so, this habit of writing has become something steady.

Not to document my existence, but to help me inch a little closer, each day, to the shore I quietly long for.

Even if it’s just a small step—it’s enough.