For me, the answer is obvious:

I’d give up negative words.

Even though I constantly remind myself to stay positive,

sometimes a little complaint still pops up in my head.

I usually don’t say it out loud—it just flashes through my mind.

The classic example?

A very Taiwanese swear word: “gan” (幹).

I don’t actually speak it, but in moments of frustration, it shows up silently in my thoughts.

And even if it’s not this exact word, other negative expressions inevitably sneak in.

This reminds me of a recent moment in the news.

A journalist asked the President of Taiwan:

“Ko Wen-je has been detained for over a year without clear evidence of wrongdoing. What’s your view on that?”

Faced with such a tough question, the President couldn’t help herself—

she muttered “ma de” (媽的…), which is basically our version of “damn it.”

It shows that these emotional slips aren’t just personal struggles;

even leaders can’t always keep them in check.

To completely let go—not just in speech, but even in thought—

probably takes a long journey of practice.

As for me, my flow of mind is still very much a work in progress.

I feel lucky. Even though Taiwan is seen as a place with geopolitical risks, there is no war.

I feel lucky. Even though Taiwan is often mocked as a land of scams, neither I nor my family have fallen into one.

I feel lucky. Even though times are tough, we haven’t made enemies.

Grateful for peace, for safety, for loved ones.

And thankful to God for all of it.

What does your ideal home look like?

For me, the most important part of a home is the people in it.

With the right company, even the simplest place feels warm.

But if I imagine the “hardware,” I do have a picture in mind.

A three-story house of our own, with a small front yard and a garage.

Built slightly higher on the ground, safe from dampness, with a bit of a view.

Close enough to good transport so going out is easy, yet quiet when I return.

Simple layout, cozy atmosphere, and the people who matter most.

That’s what my ideal home looks like.

What brings a tear of joy to your eye?

As I grow older,

my emotions are less easily swayed by what happens around me.

I’ve seen much, and many things no longer stir me as they once did.

Hmm…

But the last time I shed tears,

it was because a child forgave me for a mistake I made.

That moment of innocence and forgiveness

was like a warm current flowing into my heart.

It was such a small thing,

yet it made me truly understand what it means to be moved to tears of joy.

Forgiveness doesn’t have to be grand.

It can be simple and direct—

a gentle smile, a soft “it’s okay,”

enough to dissolve guilt and bring peace.

What I learned from that child

was the ability to let go without clinging,

a simplicity we adults often lose.

We think maturity makes us wiser,

yet it often makes us more calculating, more stubborn.

And when I was touched by such pure forgiveness,

my tears reminded me:

perhaps true maturity lies in learning to let go,

in learning to forgive.

It’s like traveling—

sometimes you get lost, take a wrong turn, or even argue a little.

But often, just one sentence—“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out together”—

is enough to make the sky clear again.

Why do you blog?

The main reason I blog is to maintain a daily habit of self-reflection.

Just like some people practice meditation to calm their minds, writing is my way of slowing down and listening to myself.

By putting my thoughts into words, I’m not only recording them but also organizing and re-examining them.

Sometimes it’s about travel experiences, sometimes about technical insights, and sometimes just little fragments of daily life.

No matter the topic, blogging reminds me to pause and look back at myself.

In the end, blogging is simply a conversation with myself.

Interview someone — a friend, another blogger, your mother, the mailman — and write a post based on their responses.

Today, I wanted to try something different.

The blog prompt was “interview someone.” I thought, why not just approach a random stranger on the street and start a conversation?

So as I walked, I observed the people around me:

an office worker holding coffee, a student with a backpack, an auntie buying breakfast… each one of them seemed like they had a story worth telling.

But when it came time to actually speak, I hesitated.

I kept thinking: “How should I start? Would I be bothering them? Should I offer to buy them a drink first?”

Step by step, even though they were right in front of me, I backed down.

Maybe that was my “first interview.”

It didn’t really happen, but I still learned something—

that everyday life is full of stories, just waiting to be recorded.

So instead, I turned to the person closest to me: my travel partner.

That’s how this “Kobe Travel Interview” happened.

Q: What stood out the most during this trip?

A: The grilled eel was so good.

Q: Anything else?

A: The domestic beef was so good.

Q: One more?

A: The yakitori at the izakaya was so good.

Q: How about drinks?

A: The beer was so cheap.

Just a few simple answers, yet they perfectly summed up our trip.

Food and beer—that was pure happiness in its simplest form.

I listened and couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe my blog interview didn’t need to be with strangers after all.

Because the most important stories are already happening right beside me.

How are you feeling right now?

I just came back from Japan to Taiwan, and I’m still adjusting to the contrast between the two environments.

In Japan, the streets are clean, orderly, and well-kept. In Taiwan, aside from the familiar liveliness, there’s also the problem of “territory claiming”—potted plants, traffic cones, and random objects occupying sidewalks and alleys.

The gap between regulations and actual enforcement is plain to see.

My body is back home, but my mind is still wandering through moments of the trip.

Right now, it feels like I’m caught between two worlds—one filled with the beauty of travel, the other grounded in everyday reality.

It will take a little time to fully readjust.