Technical skills are essential in the MIS role—system integration, app development, AI implementation, and even teaching quality tools like Six Sigma. Versatility is expected, adaptability is necessary.
But none of that matters without trust.
Trust isn’t built through certificates or flashy tools. It’s earned through careful work, consistent delivery, and a quiet respect for what must remain confidential.
Not everything goes smoothly. Issues arise. Mistakes happen. What matters is staying present, responding honestly, and taking responsibility.
Confidentiality is non-negotiable. With access to sensitive systems, privileged conversations, and strategic data, silence becomes part of the job.
We say “thank you” a lot — sometimes out of habit, sometimes because someone helped us.
It’s a simple gesture that makes everyday life a bit softer.
But over time, I’ve realized some forms of gratitude are quieter.
They’re not about words, and they’re not always directed at someone.
Sometimes, they’re just a quiet feeling — toward life, the world, or whatever force seems to hold things together when we need it most.
People often show gratitude with things — a gift, a coffee, a note.
It’s a kind way to respond.
But gifts can also carry an unspoken sense of balance: you helped me, I owe you something back. That doesn’t make them less sincere, just a little more measured.
Still, some things can’t be repaid.
A word, a gesture — maybe long forgotten by the one who gave it — might stay with us for years.
And in those cases, I just hope they’re doing well.
That simple: “May they be okay.”
Even if we never meet again, that feeling stays.
No noise, no display —
just a quiet reminder that some things are worth remembering.
To be honest, in Taiwan, anyone who says they’re not worried about a potential war with China is probably lying.
But if you ask me what I truly fear the most about the future, war isn’t at the top of the list.
What I fear more is the slow collapse of our own systems—right here at home.
Let’s start with energy policy.
While chanting slogans like “Nuclear-Free Homeland,” the government has pushed thermal power plants to their limits, and air pollution has quietly become part of daily life.
Nuclear energy, which deserves rational and open discussion, has been demonized and politically silenced.
Green energy? It’s become a money game—showering subsidies on certain companies, even rumored to be connected with organized crime.
The romanticized idea of “powering with love” has turned into a harsh reality of “powering with our lungs.”
Then there’s the crumbling of our social insurance system.
Every year they say reform is coming, and every year it gets murkier.
Public subsidies, infrastructure projects, and stimulus plans keep flowing, but somehow the problems stay the same—or get worse.
Money is being spent, but it’s hard to see where it’s actually going.
What’s even more frustrating is how the government spends taxpayers’ money to control the narrative.
Under the guise of “policy promotion,” massive budgets are poured into friendly media to paint a glowing picture of their achievements.
At the same time, critics and opposition voices are not met with facts—but with labels.
Disagree with the government? You’ll be branded as “pro-China” or “anti-Taiwan.”
In this twisted game, nationalism becomes a shield against accountability.
At the end of the day, it’s not the missiles that keep me up at night.
It’s the creeping sense that our freedom of choice, trust in governance, and collective future are quietly slipping away.
We do have enemies. But maybe—just maybe—we’ll lose to ourselves before they even arrive.
It’s hard to change the world. It’s even harder to change other people.
But if we can still see clearly and refuse to lie to ourselves, then at least we’ve preserved a sliver of personal freedom.
There’s a saying: “If you can change yourself, you’re a god. If you try to change others, you’re insane.”
It sounds like a joke, but it hits like a warning bell.
Maybe what we need right now isn’t more shouting—just a bit more clarity, and the courage to stay awake in a system that wants us to fall asleep.
“A teacher is one who transmits the Way, imparts knowledge, and resolves doubts.”
— Han Yu, On Teachers
This classic saying has always stayed with me and reminds me to reflect: Who truly deserves the title of “teacher”?
For me, anyone I have met who has inspired me in any of these three ways — transmitting the Way, imparting knowledge, or resolving doubts — I gladly call “teacher.” Whether a positive role model or a cautionary example, their words and actions deserve my study, reflection, and integration.
If someone’s words and deeds are consistent and they provide positive guidance, I believe they can be called a “good teacher.”
When Teaching Becomes Just a Job
However, in our fast-changing era, the role of “teacher” is quietly shifting.
In the United States, especially under the “MAGA” (Make America Great Again) political climate, teachers increasingly resemble corporate employees rather than educators. Hiring and firing emphasize efficiency and compliance, often entangled with office politics.
Being able to teach well is no longer the primary criterion — rather, being compliant is.
Taiwan is also experiencing similar trends.
Teachers face tremendous pressure from students, parents, and school administrations, and mutual trust is rapidly eroding among them all.
The Battlefield of Distrust in Education
Students fear unfairness from teachers; teachers fear complaints from parents; parents fear shirking of responsibility by schools; and schools fear media scrutiny and administrative repercussions.
The entire educational system feels like a battlefield of mutual distrust.
In such an environment, how can teachers quietly transmit the Way?
And how can students freely ask questions and have their doubts resolved?
My Vision of a Teacher
Perhaps precisely because of this disorder and chaos, I want to rethink the essence of teaching.
I often reflect: anyone who has ever inspired me by transmitting the Way, imparting knowledge, or resolving doubts — that person is a teacher to me.
That teacher might be a university professor, a casual friend who once said something meaningful, a role model who motivated me to be better, or even a negative example that warned me what not to become.
Both their actions and words — positive or negative — are worth learning from.
Of course, if a teacher’s words and deeds align and provide positive guidance, I firmly believe they deserve the title “good teacher.”
A Good Teacher is Like Water
I don’t believe a teacher must be a saint.
But if you choose to bear the title, you owe it your fullest respect.
What you transmit must be sincere;
what you impart must be wholehearted;
what you clarify must come from genuine care.
If you have gaps, you must learn;
if you have knowledge, you must share.
Never deliberately mislead, withhold, or hold back — that would betray the virtues of teaching.
I have always believed a truly great teacher is like water:
Gentle and unassuming, yet able to wear through stone;
Embracing all things without pride;
Nourishing the earth without claiming credit.
Teaching as an IT Professional
As an IT staff member in my company, I’m often sent to training sessions, and I also spend personal time after work learning new technologies and concepts.
My learning is never just about “getting by.”
I ask myself:
“If I had to teach this tomorrow, could I explain it clearly?”
I enjoy sharing knowledge. Whenever possible, I proactively give presentations to colleagues and help the team understand new tools or systems.
Even if I don’t get the chance to formally teach, I compile thorough notes and reports — not to check a box, but out of respect for the value of learning.
This is my way of practicing the spirit of teaching as an IT professional: not because of a title, but because I embrace the responsibility and honor it entails.
In That Moment, We Are a Light
Is teaching just a job?
Perhaps, within institutions, it often is.
But in my heart, as long as there are people willing to stand and transmit the Way, impart knowledge, and resolve doubts,
this profession still holds dignity and warmth as a calling.
We may not control how systems evolve,
but we can choose how we approach the role of “teacher” — with respect and sincerity, or with indifference and calculation.
In this era full of uncertainty and skepticism, the identity of “teacher” may be diluted.
But I firmly believe — as long as we seriously commit to transmitting, imparting, and resolving,
each of us can be a teacher in someone’s life.
Whether standing at a podium, sitting at a meeting table, or in that moment debugging code,
when you genuinely pass on what you have learned to others,
A personal story that leads to bigger questions about fairness, sustainability, and what we take for granted
Have you ever had surgery? What for?
My First Surgery Wasn’t Even Mine
Technically, my first “surgical experience” wasn’t something I went through myself —
it was my mother’s C-section, bringing me into the world. It may not have been my body on the table,
but from that moment, I became part of the story.
Later came the more literal surgeries: a childhood fracture from being too playful,
and more recently, the inevitable wisdom tooth removal — listening to the sound of bone being broken under local anesthesia.
Grateful for a System That Never Let Me Worry About Costs
Looking back, I’m genuinely thankful for Taiwan’s healthcare system.
I’ve had injuries, surgeries, emergencies — and not once did I have to hesitate because of money.
With our National Health Insurance (NHI), you can see a doctor for pocket change,
get subsidized hospitalization, and undergo major procedures without financial ruin.
It’s easy to forget how rare and precious that is —
how much of a miracle it is that so many of us can take quality healthcare for granted.
But That Miracle Might Be Cracking
Lately, cracks have started to show.
The NHI is under financial pressure. Medical workers are underpaid, overworked, and many are leaving.
We hear about it often — and yet, we keep using the system the same way.
One of the less discussed problems? Waste.
People going to big hospitals for minor colds Duplicated tests and prescriptions Medicine picked up but never taken Patients (and sometimes doctors) playing it safe by over-using services
Each of these might seem small, but together, they’re pushing the system toward collapse.
The Grey Zone of Overseas Citizens
Then there are people who live abroad long-term but still return to Taiwan to receive healthcare — even major surgeries —
because they still hold Taiwanese citizenship and a valid NHI card.
Legally, it’s allowed. But is it fair?
This isn’t about blaming individuals or suggesting bans.
It’s about asking: Should there be a more balanced contribution model?
Maybe it’s time we consider differentiated premiums, minimum residency requirements, or a tiered access system —
something that reflects both usage and contribution.
Are NHI Premiums Truly Fair?
NHI premiums are income-based in theory.
But in practice, the gap between high-income and low-income contributors is narrow.
Capital gains, overseas income, and asset-based wealth barely factor in.
As with Taiwan’s broader tax system, the burden falls heavily on wage earners —
even though they may not be the heaviest users of the system.
When entitlement and responsibility drift apart, even the best-designed system can start to erode.
So What Can We Do?
Use healthcare responsibly — don’t treat it like a free buffet Respect medical professionals — they’re holding this system together Demand a fairer funding model — one that matches usage with contribution Support thoughtful reforms — before we reach a breaking point
Taiwan’s National Health Insurance used to be something we were proud of.
But without action, it may become something we look back on with regret.
I’ve been lucky. My surgeries — from broken bones to wisdom teeth — have all gone smoothly,
thanks to a system that protected me from fear and financial worry.
But gratitude isn’t enough. We have to protect what protects us.
Because what we take for granted today could disappear tomorrow.
When it comes to “daily habits,” I actually had to think for a while.
I’m not entirely sure which things count as real habits, and which ones are just held together by sheer willpower.
Take climbing the stairs, for example — from two floors underground up to the seventh. I’ve been doing it for years, but honestly, I still have to convince myself every single day:
“Come on, just do it. Otherwise you’re not getting any exercise today.”
That’s not really a habit. It feels more like a conscious choice I make each time.
I know it’s good for me, and I hope I’ll keep doing it, but it never runs on autopilot. It costs effort, every time.
The things that actually feel like habits tend to be softer, yet more stable.
Like calling my girlfriend every day.
Sometimes we talk about our day after work, sometimes it’s just a quick goodnight. But it happens — without ceremony, without reminders. As natural as brushing my teeth.
And then there’s the list of “almost-habits” — the things I wish were habits, but aren’t quite there yet.
I want to code a bit every day, take better notes, scroll less, sleep earlier, get more sunlight…
Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. I’m always somewhere between “I should” and “Eh, I’ll give myself a break today.”
Maybe that’s just what life is like for most people.
The things that stick — the ones that truly become habits — are usually tied to emotion, not discipline.
Everything else, no matter how good or logical it sounds, still needs reminders, still takes effort.
And that’s okay.
I believe some things become habits over time.
That daily phone call? It started as a way to stay close, and over time became just part of life.
Maybe all the other things I still have to push myself to do will one day become second nature too.
Are there things you try to practice daily to live a more sustainable lifestyle?
To be honest, I’m someone who wants to be proactive, but in reality, I’m not always that disciplined. When it comes to sustainable living, I’m far from being a role model. Still, if I really think about it, there are a few things I’ve been consistently doing — small efforts, perhaps, but still something.
The one thing I can confidently say I do regularly (and that actually has some visible effect) is taking the stairs at work — from two floors underground all the way up to the seventh floor. No elevator, no carbon footprint, and a decent cardio workout. Two birds, one stone.
Other habits? They’re a bit more hit-or-miss. I try to keep up with my independent programming projects, daily prayer, and — on days when the weather’s good, it’s not too hot, and I don’t have plans after work — I bike to the office. So yes, there’s effort, but definitely not the kind of consistency I’d brag about.
Speaking of “sustainable,” it’s hard not to think of ESG — the trendiest three-letter acronym in today’s corporate world.
Nowadays, even CEOs and board chairs are being called “Chief Sustainability Officers.” It’s like everyone’s trying to save the planet. But in Taiwan, where most industries rely heavily on exports, ESG often ends up being more about compliance than conviction — just something companies need to check off in order to keep selling to the EU or other markets with strict green regulations.
In other words, a lot of what we see is “ESG for the sake of ESG” — also known as greenwashing. Reports get written, labels get slapped on, events are held with pretty photos, but whether any of it truly benefits the environment, improves employees’ lives, or strengthens society? That’s a big question mark.
So compared to those shiny reports filled with buzzwords, I actually trust the small, boring stuff in daily life a lot more. Like my daily staircase climb — no headlines, no fancy design, but it’s real.
Sustainability, in the end, might just mean keeping at it. Even if it’s something small, the goal is to be a little better than yesterday.
What’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten?
At first glance, this seems like a simple question. But for someone over 40, it actually becomes quite hard to answer.
While there are still plenty of rare delicacies I haven’t tried, I’ve already had the chance to taste most of the popular spots frequently featured in Taiwanese media and recommended by food YouTubers. Many of them were delicious—some even unforgettable. But when asked what’s the most delicious food, my mind draws a blank.
I’ve talked before about pork jowl slices from my childhood. That dish was certainly tasty, but not the most exquisite thing I’ve eaten. Yet the memory of it sticks with me—not so much because of the taste, but because of the feelings and moments tied to it.
Honestly, unless I someday encounter a truly out-of-this-world delicacy from the mountains or the sea (which hasn’t happened yet), I think the earlier in life you eat something delicious, the more its taste fades from memory. Over time, flavor memories fade, but the moments shared at the table—those stay with you.
Still, I want to share two recent meals that really stood out:
First, there’s “Whale Pot” (鯨鍋), a hotpot restaurant in Gongliao District, New Taipei City. Thanks to the owner’s dedication to freshness, you get to enjoy seafood that actually tastes like it came straight from the ocean. The fish slices and baby squid aren’t served in large portions, but the freshness and quality are top-notch—simple and truly satisfying.
Then there’s Ikinari Steak, a Japanese chain known for its thick-cut beef. The moment you walk into the restaurant, you’re hit with that irresistible aroma from the Maillard reaction—rich, smoky, and mouthwatering. They weigh and cook your steak right in front of you, no heavy seasoning, just the natural flavor of high-quality meat perfectly seared.
Looking back, maybe delicious food doesn’t have to blow your mind. If it brings back memories or creates a moment worth remembering, then it’s already more than enough.
Brassai Kao’s Tech Weave 