A Light in the Unknown

中文

Hello, and welcome.

If you're here, reading this, I’d like to share something important with you—not just what I do, but why I do it. This is not a pitch or a polished origin story. It's an invitation.

Since I was a student, I’ve always believed that ideas—when lived out through action—can change the energy of a place. Back then, I didn’t have books or websites. What I had was a saxophone, a guitar, a street corner on campus, and a feeling that youth is not something to be preserved; it’s something to be ignited. I organized live music events not for the music alone, but to light a fire in the people watching—to remind them that this moment, this season of life, only happens once. And we get to choose whether we drift through it… or burn with it.

That desire to "leave a trace" hasn’t faded. It has simply evolved. Today, I write books. Not because I see myself as an author, but because I want to capture the way I think—the way I see. My books are structured pathways through thought. I hope they serve as lanterns for others—perhaps even for someone I’ll never meet, in a place I’ll never know, at a moment I could never predict. If, someday, someone feels lost in the fog, and something I wrote helps them see a little further ahead—that, to me, would be enough.

You see, I’ve always been deeply attuned to the world around me. I studied environmental management—specifically forestry—not because it was trendy, but because I genuinely loved the Earth. I still do. In the forest, I used to spend hours photographing rare flowers, trying to capture not just their shape, but their presence. I wanted people—especially those who lived in cities and concrete spaces—to see what I saw: the quiet brilliance of nature. My hope was simple: that beauty could move them. That a small moment of wonder could grow into care.

This way of seeing the world—through systems, through layers, through deep sensory awareness—has shaped how I live. Over the years, I’ve explored many different forms of expression: whisky, painting, photography, cooking, music, even jewelry-making. These aren’t just hobbies. They are interfaces—ways to interact with the world. Some are solitary, some are social. Some speak through taste, some through color or sound or silence. But all of them open a door.

The more perspectives I gathered, the more I realized: to understand people, to understand society, we must look from many angles at once. There is no single truth, but there are patterns. And if we’re sensitive—if we listen carefully—we can begin to see how things connect.

That’s what I’ve dedicated myself to. Not to being right, or being impressive—but to understanding. And more importantly, to sharing that understanding in ways that others can feel, use, and even challenge. I don’t want followers; I want co-thinkers. Co-observers. Co-dreamers.

So here I am, sharing a bit of my foundation with you. Not because I’ve arrived at some great answer, but because I’m walking—step by step—on this strange, beautiful road. I don’t yet know what my final contribution to the world will be. Maybe I never will. But I know I want to try. And trying, with intention, is already something.

If you're reading this, perhaps something here gently resonates with you—like a quiet echo, or a light you almost didn't notice. And if that happens, even just a little, then maybe our paths have already begun to cross.

Let’s keep going.

—Fai