What are your favorite physical activities or exercises?

I enjoy cycling.

But with my schedule, I’ve learned to compromise.

So I take the stairs at work.

And I get on the treadmill or the elliptical two to three times a week.

Nothing intense — just a rhythm I can keep.

What is something others do that sparks your admiration?

I’ve always admired people who do the right thing without worrying about the cost.

That kind of justice feels almost unreal.

But the more I think about it, the more it sounds like a machine.

Rules in, actions out.

No fear, no hesitation, no price to pay.

No wonder some people believe in it.

It looks clean. Simple. Steady.

But humans aren’t like that.

We hesitate. We soften. We think about consequences.

Maybe that’s exactly why our sense of justice still matters.

What could you do less of?

I’ve never been good at tolerating detours — or long, winding explanations.

If a conversation drifts, I want to pull it back.

If someone talks too much, I get impatient.

But maybe I need to soften that edge.

Give people more room.

Let things unfold without pushing for efficiency every second.

So maybe this is what I could do less of:

Less impatience.

More tolerance.

A little more space for others — and for myself.

What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year?

A few small things happened this year, and they quietly pushed me forward.

I started practicing the violin.

No big reason—just wanted a clear sound in my daily routine.

I learned to slow down.

To push when I should, and to pause when I need to. My mind finally has some room.

Work feels more manageable.

Not easier, but I know my limits and how to pace myself.

I found a bit more courage.

Moments where I would’ve stepped back before, I stood my ground.

No major events.

Just a steady sense of growth—calm, unhurried, and honest.

And that made this year a little better than the last.

Do you ever see wild animals?

In the city, the most common are sparrows.

But over the years, they’ve been replaced by invasive mynas.

The irony—

These invaders were brought by humans too.

Like the green iguanas running wild in central and southern Taiwan.

A disaster carried in from outside,

growing unchecked in neglect and inaction.

Between species, there is no right or wrong—only survival.

The real chaos has always been ours.

What we can do—at least what I believe I can—

is to stay true to ourselves,

do what we can without overreaching,

maintain our edge, maintain our survival.

Sometimes, that alone feels like enough.

Do you have a favorite place you have visited? Where is it?

It used to be Kyoto.

But now, it’s Kobe.

There isn’t one dramatic reason — Kobe just feels right.

A place where you can quietly slip into everyday Japanese life,

without rushing, without trying too hard.

Mountains behind you, the sea in front of you.

Rokkō if you want a view, the harbor if you want some air.

And whenever you feel like exploring, all the famous temples, castles, and historic towns are just a short trip away.

Kobe isn’t the flashiest destination,

but it’s incredibly livable — gentle, balanced, effortless.

The kind of place that makes you think:

maybe life could move at this pace, and that might be enough.

Share five things you’re good at.

I’m not good at many things.

Even the parts I’m confident about — there’s always someone better.

So I remind myself to stay humble.

Stay hungry, stay foolish.

1. Reading what a system is really struggling with.
2. Catching the tiny details others walk past.
3. Learning at a steady, human pace.
4. Making complicated things lighter.
5. Quiet persistence — the only thing that stays.

What is one thing you would change about yourself?

If I could change one thing,

I’d want to be braver.

Back in high school,

I could have taken the entrance exam a second time.

But I didn’t.

I chose the easier path — accepting the first result,

telling myself it was “good enough.”

During military service,

there were moments I could have shown more of who I was.

But I stayed quiet,

safe,

invisible.

At work,

there were roles I wanted to try,

paths I wanted to explore.

But I kept myself inside the familiar,

even when I knew I had more to give.

And in everyday life,

ideas and possibilities came and went.

Most of them disappeared before they had a chance,

shut down by my own hesitation.

Looking back,

life feels like a book I flipped through too quickly —

chapters I never fully stepped into,

choices I accepted too early.

Regret is part of being human.

Maybe unavoidable.

But now things feel a little different.

With AI as an assistant,

and a thinking partner,

I can bring those old “maybe someday” ideas back to the table.

Ask.

Test.

Simulate.

Try again without the weight of consequence.

Life doesn’t restart,

but the way I think can.

Courage can, too —

one small step at a time.

And maybe this time,

the story really doesn’t have to repeat.