Tell us one thing you hope people say about you.

Not because you are perfect.

Not because you are the strongest.

But because, when it truly matters,

people know you will be there.

Tell us about your first day at something — school, work, as a parent, etc.

When I think about a “first day,”

it’s not school.

Not work.

It’s my first time going abroad.

Because of money,

it didn’t happen early.

No gap year.

No student trip.

I had already been working for three or four years

when I finally left the country—

with colleagues,

for work.

It wasn’t a vacation.

There were schedules.

Tasks.

A bit of pressure.

But when the plane took off,

I felt it.

The world suddenly became larger.

Looking out of the window,

above the clouds,

I realized something simple:

I was no longer just imagining the outside world.

I was inside it.

That trip didn’t change my life overnight.

No big revelation.

No dramatic turning point.

But it taught me this:

some doors don’t open because you hesitate.

They open when you are finally stable enough

to push them.

The joy of my first trip abroad

came a little late—

but it felt solid.

Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?

I’ve never given a formal speech.

But every year, I teach several internal training sessions at work.

System flows, tools, setups —

nothing motivational, nothing dramatic.

Just making things clear,

so people can actually use them.

I don’t particularly enjoy standing in front.

But when something finally “clicks” for the team,

there’s a quiet sense of achievement.

No spotlight.

Just steady teaching, year after year.

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.