What do you think gets better with age?

First, let’s talk about what gets worse.

Physical strength definitely fades away little by little. I used to be able to stay up late and still push through, but now if I stay up late even once, my whole day feels like my brain is stuffed with cotton.

My reactions have slowed down too. When someone finishes speaking, I need a couple more seconds to catch up; before, it felt like I was jumping, now it’s more like walking.

Sometimes, even my thinking feels like broken gears — my brain wants to turn, but just can’t.

Not to mention the unavoidable fact: as we get older, we get a little closer to the finish line.

But I read a book called Thinking, Fast and Slow.

Psychologist Daniel Kahneman says the brain operates in two ways: one is fast, intuitive “fast thinking,” and the other is cautious, effortful “slow thinking.”

When I was young, I almost always lived by “fast thinking.” I would just act first and think later, reacting on intuition and making quick decisions.

Sometimes it was efficient, sometimes I fell hard — though I rarely admitted it. Back then, I thought fast was good and slow was useless.

But in recent years, as my physical strength waned and my mind dulled, I’ve had to slow down.

Not because I became smarter, but because I can no longer go fast. At first, I was a bit reluctant, but gradually I realized: some things really require slowing down to see clearly.

For example, the unspoken meanings in conversations;

for example, what a decision truly means to me;

for example, some patterns I kept repeating in the past were just things I hadn’t noticed.

These things weren’t impossible to understand when I was young — I just didn’t have the energy or time to face them. Now, it’s mostly not that I’m wiser, but that I have no choice but to face them honestly.

To be honest, slowing down isn’t necessarily a good thing. It’s not romantic or free — it makes me start calculating how much time I have left, paying attention to small health issues, and thinking about which relationships are worth the effort.

But because I slow down, I can endure anger better, am less easily fooled by appearances, and am more willing to admit “I’m actually not sure.”

Maybe that’s enough.

I won’t say this is some beautiful personal growth, but amid all the decline, finding a few things that get better is a kind of arrival.

Some things get worse with age — that’s undeniable.

But some things can only be gained through time. Not stronger, but more honest, more effortless, more truly myself.

If this counts as getting better, then I’m willing to accept this way of aging.

Getting old is not evolution — it’s slowly letting go of things that have been held on too long.

What time do you go to bed and wake up currently?

I usually go to bed around 10:30 and wake up at 7:00.

It’s a fairly regular routine.

But honestly, it’s just an outline—life doesn’t always follow the schedule.

Sometimes work keeps my mind spinning late into the night.

Sometimes it’s a tough conversation with a parent that lingers in my head.

Sometimes it’s just one sentence from my partner that I can’t stop thinking about.

But there are sweet reasons too.

Staying up late planning for a trip.

Spending a few more minutes exchanging sweet words.

Getting up earlier to prepare breakfast for someone I love.

Or simply riding the wave of inspiration and coding late into the night.

Sometimes I just sleep in for no reason. And that’s okay.

I like routine—it keeps me from falling apart.

But I’ve also learned to embrace the little disruptions.

Because life isn’t a checklist.

It’s something with warmth, and heartbeat, and meaning.

What strategies do you use to increase comfort in your daily life?

As an office worker, I don’t have much free time.

But I can choose to get up a little earlier and take the stairs—nine floors—as my exercise.

In the morning, I make a cup of tea, read a few pages, and learn something new.

Sometimes, I quietly donate to help those I can’t reach in person.

At night, in a softly lit corner, I pray for today’s peace and ask for guidance for tomorrow.

Sometimes, I silently repeat the names that give me strength—

Buddha. Mahatma. Satnam. Waheguru.

They serve as quiet reminders that light and truth are always here, not needing to be proclaimed loudly—just remembered.

Keep learning.

Keep moving.

Keep giving.

Keep praying.

Not to change anyone, nor to prove anything, but because I believe these are the right things to do. Bit by bit, my mind feels less chaotic, my heart less tired.

Simple is really good.

And simple things, done sincerely, last the longest.

What are you most excited about for the future?

When people talk about the future, it’s often filled with dazzling ideas — AI-driven worlds, Mars exploration, life inside the metaverse.

All of that is exciting, sure. But for me, what truly fills me with hope isn’t something far away or high-tech. It’s something much closer: the growth of a child.

Watching a young person learn to walk, to speak, to wonder and to care — that quiet transformation is more powerful than any invention. Every child is a seed of possibility, holding a future we can only begin to imagine.

But then the real question is:

What kind of world are we leaving for them?

Are we handing down a planet weighed by endless geopolitical risk,

media chaos, or cultures where “giving up” and “drifting” have become the norm?

Because when young people lose hope, what kind of future is left for anyone?

So no — we cannot afford to be passive.

We may only be able to do small things:

use less, waste less, be kind, do good. Give when we can. Even a smile or a gentle word matters more than we think.

Because I believe this: little things add up.

Even the smallest act can spark a light.

And if our children grow up seeing that light — in us — then their future won’t just be a city of machines, but a world with heart.

What could you let go of, for the sake of harmony?

When I was younger, I firmly believed in the saying, “Truth prevails wherever it goes.”

At work, I valued technical skills and competence above all else—because that was fair, logical, and aligned with what I believed to be right.

But as the years passed, I gradually came to realize something:

In real life, feelings and relationships often matter far more than logic or truth.

In Taiwan, the media landscape can be frustrating.

Many outlets lean toward political or financial interests, going so far as to distort facts or spread misinformation to serve a particular agenda.

Some of my friends and family have been deeply influenced by such media.

They lack a rational perspective—but I’ve come to accept that arguing with them won’t change anything.

Debates don’t bring us closer. They often drive us further apart.

A recent incident involving China Airlines in Taiwan reminded me of this again.

Due to poor decisions, a passenger plane flew for nearly five hours with only one engine before landing safely—an event that sparked public concern.

I have friends who work at China Airlines, and during our conversations, they tried to defend the company.

But I could feel their helplessness too—

some things are known by everyone, even internally, but simply can’t be spoken aloud.

Sometimes, they even have to defend decisions they don’t personally agree with.

That’s when I understood even more clearly:

Not every silence means agreement, and not every defense comes from the heart.

We’re still family. We’re still friends. We still live and work together.

Even if we disagree, life must go on.

Rather than fixating on who’s right, I’d rather focus on what we still share, and what’s still worth preserving.

For the sake of harmony, I’ve chosen to let go of being right.

Not because I no longer care about truth—but because I care even more about people.

What is your favorite genre of music?

Back in my student days, I listened to a lot of music. That period more or less shaped my taste—and most of the songs I love now trace back to what I heard back then.

I tend to prefer songs in Japanese, English, and Chinese. Honestly, I once got the most basic Japanese certification, but I still can’t really understand what the lyrics are saying 😆. And yet, the melodies just sound so good.

Songs like “Sekai ga Owaru made wa…” from Slam Dunk still fill me with energy. Detective Conan has countless opening and ending themes—each one feels like a little time capsule of growing up. And even now, I still remember the thrill of those Future GPX Cyber Formula soundtracks.

It wasn’t just anime, either. J-dramas had some unforgettable theme songs. Crying Out Love in the Center of the World, Under One Roof, Orange Days… all of them had soundtracks full of romance, sorrow, and pure youthful emotion. Even if I forget the plot, once the music plays, everything comes flooding back.

When it comes to English songs, movies played a huge role. Way Back Into Love from Music and Lyrics, the emotional ballads from Armageddon and Deep Impact—they became the emotional background music of my memories. Then there’s Amazing Grace, or ABBA’s Happy New Year—songs that carry a sense of ritual, like time suddenly rewinding.

Even though I don’t consider myself good at English, I somehow manage to understand some lyrics. Not everything, of course—but sometimes one line is enough to hit you right in the heart. Maybe the melody and emotion get there first, and the meaning follows.

Maybe not fully understanding some lyrics actually helps me focus on the music itself. No need to analyze or interpret—just listen, and feel. It’s a simple kind of joy.

To this day, I still go back to those old songs from my school days. They’re like a soundtrack that never fades, playing quietly in the background as I move through life.

Describe your most memorable vacation.

Today I saw the news: the Shinmoedake volcano in Kagoshima, Japan, has erupted. And it immediately brought back memories of one of my most joyful and unforgettable trips — a group tour to Kagoshima.

It was my first time traveling abroad after the COVID pandemic. Everything felt a bit unfamiliar, but also especially precious.

What I remember most was the hotel, not far southwest of where the volcano erupted — Castle Hotel.

The room was unbelievably spacious: a Western-style living area, a balcony, a tatami sitting room, and a separate tatami bedroom. I still remember walking in and doing a few excited laps around the room, like a kid seeing a hotel for the first time.

During those days in Kagoshima, I soaked in hot springs almost every day. The hotel had its own facilities, so I could relax without having to go anywhere else.

And I even tried Kagoshima’s unique sand bath — being buried in warm sand with only my head exposed. It felt strange at first, but deeply soothing, like being gently embraced by nature.

Kagoshima is quiet, clean, and comforting. Those few days remain vivid in my memory. Seeing images of smoke and lava on the news now feels surreal. The calm back then and the tension now — such a stark contrast.

Maybe that’s what travel really is — moments that stay with you, resurfacing in the most unexpected times.

May Kagoshima stay safe.