What could you do more of?

To rest is not to waste time.

It is to return to myself.

Long enough to forget the rush,

long enough to hear silence again.

In that pause,

everything slowly falls back into place.

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

年輕的時候，讀過費曼的兩本自傳。

那時候覺得最有力量的一句話，就是 「What do you care what other people think?」。

不需要在意別人的眼光，勇敢做自己想做的事。這句話，帶給我很多衝勁與自由感。

When I was young, I read two autobiographies by Richard Feynman.

The line that struck me most was: “What do you care what other people think?”

It taught me not to care too much about others’ opinions, and to do what I truly wanted. That gave me both courage and freedom.

後來，讀了賈伯斯的自傳。

那個時期最常放在心裡的，是 「Stay hungry, stay foolish.」。

提醒自己要保持飢渴、保持天真，不要因為安穩而失去探索的心。那是一種推著自己往前走的力量。

Later, I read Steve Jobs’ biography.

The words I carried with me then were: “Stay hungry, stay foolish.”

They reminded me to stay curious and to keep exploring, without being trapped by comfort. It was the force that kept me moving forward.

直到現在，經過了時間的沉澱。

我慢慢發現，最適合自己的格言，其實更簡單。

就是 「心存善念，盡力而為。」

帶著善意去生活，帶著努力去行動。至於結果，就交給時間。

And now, after all these years, my motto has become much simpler.

It is just: “Keep kindness in your heart, and do your best.”

Live with kindness, act with effort, and leave the rest to time.

On workdays,

I don’t really need much.

Just staying focused—

on the tasks, on the flow of life—

is enough to carry me through.

But weekends are different.

Breakfast with the one I love,

a slow walk through familiar streets,

already fills me with strength.

And that once-a-year trip abroad—

it’s more than a break.

It’s the fuel that keeps me looking forward.

It’s never easy to name one.

Most of the time, what stays with you

is a single song.

Sometimes just a chorus.

Sometimes just the opening notes.

To love the whole album,

that’s rare.

Maybe with a single-track release,

you can count them all.

But with a full record—

not so easy.

Back then, I did buy albums.

Listened again and again.

Sometimes, the greatest hits instead.

Even now, I still hold on to Mai Kuraki’s 2004 compilation Wish You The Best.

To me, that was her peak.

Also one of the brightest times

of her ties with Detective Conan.

The last track—Tonight I Feel Close to You,

a duet with Stefanie Sun.

Two different voices,

woven into one harmony.

It still moves me today.

For thematic albums,

I turn to the sounds of nature.

Bandari’s Wonderland.

Wu Chin-Tai’s Forest Rhapsody.

Melodies close to the earth,

always leaving a quiet peace inside.

And as I write these lines,

recalling each piece,

it isn’t only memory.

Silently, almost without noticing,

I find myself back again,

floating in the ocean of music.

Which topics would you like to be more informed about?

In Taiwan, on my way to work,

I often notice that more than a third of the cars on the road are luxury models.

This sight leaves me with constant doubt and curiosity:

How does one earn enough wealth to drive such cars?

Is it the reward of relentless effort?

The favor of chance?

Or perhaps a rule of the game I have yet to understand?

I am not envious—just curious.

Because this question lingers in my mind like a quiet shadow.

Maybe this is one of the topics I want to understand more deeply:

Wealth—not merely the accumulation of money,

but the mindset, the choices, the vision behind it.

To understand wealth is to see another side of society,

and to remind myself that learning is not only about knowledge or skills,

but also about the wisdom of engaging with reality.

What would your life be like without music?

Without music, life would feel plain.

Without melody, emotions lose their outlet.

A walk is just a walk, a commute is just a commute.

Music is like seasoning in food.

Life goes on without it, but with less flavor.

When walking, commuting, exercising, even praying,

a melody still rises in my mind, keeping me company.

Without music, life might still continue,

but it would be like a silent film—

all images, without a soul.

How do you celebrate holidays?

When I saw the prompt “How do you celebrate holidays?”, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t fireworks, parties, or trips.

It was Namie Amuro’s classic love song CAN YOU CELEBRATE?.

Maybe it’s a bit off-topic, but the mood of that song perfectly matches how I feel about celebrating holidays.

To me, holidays don’t have to be loud or extravagant.

They are moments to slow down,

to quietly feel—

gratitude for the people around me,

gratitude for the paths I’ve walked,

and gratitude that I can still spend this time with those who matter most.

The atmosphere of CAN YOU CELEBRATE? isn’t noisy; it’s gentle and tender.

And for me, that’s what holidays are—

an inner celebration,

without flashy ceremonies,

just a quiet certainty:

we can keep walking together.

Write about your most epic baking or cooking fail.

I once baked a loaf of bread that turned completely black.

The golden dream I imagined came out as a heavy lesson.

Later, I tried a coffee cake.

I poured in plenty of real coffee powder,

yet what came out carried no fragrance—only a quiet bitterness.

Some suggested adding flavoring, to make it smell right.

I didn’t reject the idea,

but I chose to stay with what was real.

Perhaps that’s what baking reminds me of:

it’s not about perfection,

but about finding the taste I’m willing to keep

between the black and the faint.

Not every loaf needs to be golden, not every cake needs to smell perfect.

What matters is the taste you choose to keep.

Share a lesson you wish you had learned earlier in life.

When I was a kid, I used to watch Chibi Maruko-chan.

Her older sister once said, “Life is always full of regrets.”

Back then, I thought it was just a teenager being overly dramatic.

Now I see how true it is.

Life is nothing but endless choices, and we can never be certain if another path would have been better.

Was my effort wasted? Was my decision right? No one can answer that.

But here’s what I finally understand:

If I put thought into my choices, then even when the outcome hurts, it leaves only regret’s gentler cousin—a quiet sense of what might have been, not the weight of what should not have been.

Too often, I was impatient.

Too quick to act without thinking.

If only I had learned earlier that slowing down is not weakness—it is wisdom.