I’ve been so busy these days it feels unsustainable. Part of the struggle is that I always feel this urge that if I don’t do it, no one else will, and therefore feel a calling to do it. The privelage of opportunity always seems to haunt me, and I don’t want to let the luck run out. Therefore for me, with every new opportunity I need to prove myself and, there is no margin for error despite success looking marginally close to zero…

As a result of this mindset, I take on too much, more than I am capable of, and find myself with little to no bandwidth. I have many important deadlines in the next few weeks, as I take the next leap in my career, and there is just so much uncertainty with all the things I have going on. Truthfully, I can complain for hours about what a difficult time it has been related to work, but that would just worry everyone, and that doesn’t sound settling.

Instead, I wanted to write a short passage, to write probably a familiar feeling to many, and how standing tall amidst the hard times is what makes a strong person. It’s the idea that even when it’s hard, you wake up, and you do what you need to do (even if it’s the bare minimum). Because standing tall means you are facing it, even if it is hard on the inside.

It’s undoubtedly been a weird year, a weird time to be in the tech industry, a weird time to be a student, all in one. In all three, I currently live under a roof of uncertainty, and for once in my life I can sense doubt creeping in. Sometimes I wonder if there will be the ideal job waiting for me after graduation. Sometimes I worry what the value of being a PhD student is in a time where everything is automated. And I wonder, even if I do well in these things and ignore the noise, what it will mean for the larger shift that is occurring. It feels like I am able to do well and focus in my own lane, but it doesn’t immediately address all my problems surrounding uncertainty.

But this weekend, I sat in Dolores Park, looked up, and realized how amazing a life I get to live despite the uncertainty. Some days are not easy, but that’s okay. Some days I feel lonely, and that’s okay. Some days, I feel like I don’t have room to rest, but these type of days can’t last forever. Many of the current situations I find myself in are temporary, and the feelings that shouldn’t be wiped away should remain no matter how long time has passed. Therefore sometimes it’s just best to stand tall even if it’s hard…

Because… There are also good times ahead. There are also more opportunities waiting on the other side. So in that sense, Life is long, and I don’t need to have everything I want right now in this moment, even if that thing is clarity. And perhaps patience is the true test for me. Maybe if I can get through this “tough” time in my life, there is something great waiting for me on the other side. And I think all these things simultaneously, and I pick myself up, stand tall, and go start another day.

All I hope is that this time next year, I can feel happy about not running when things got hard, that I remained patient and faced this difficult time with belief and optimism that everything will be okay (which it probably will be).

So, Today feels like a special day to remind myself that everything will be okay~

Quote of the Blog

“It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being” - John Powell

Over time, I have grown somewhat numb to the act of leaving. It becomes procedural, almost rehearsed. What is discussed far less, however, is the inverse experience, the feeling of being the one left behind. I cannot speak for others, but having gone through that myself in November, I know how unsettling it can be. It lingers in ways that are difficult to articulate. For that reason, I feel a sincere sense of apology toward my team for the abrupt departure.

However, it is in moments like these that I’m reminded that some things are special precisely because they are temporary, because they do not last forever. I often tell others that if anything were to last for eternity, it would lose its meaning and value. We would begin to take for granted the relationships, the experiences, and the memories formed in a particular place or season of life. Even knowing that, it is still sad to say goodbye once more. So I wanted to take a moment to write about what endures beyond these goodbyes: words.

Sometimes words are all we have…

When time runs out faster than we expect, when departures arrive before we feel ready, when presence is no longer something we can offer in the same way, what remains are the sentences and the words we exchanged and left behind. Words become the final extension of ourselves. The small, imperfect vessels that attempt to hold gratitude, regret, respect, and care all at once. They are not substitutes for time, nor are they replacements for shared experience, but they are what endure when everything else must move on. They are often times what gives me the strength to move forward and what gives me hope that if I cross paths with these people again, that I would have returned with all the things we had left saying.

Words are fragile, but they travel. They outlast proximity. Long after a room empties and calendars move on, language remains, capable of being revisited, reread, and reinterpreted with new perspective. In that sense, words are a form of continuity. They allow us to say what we might not have articulated fully in conversation. They let us acknowledge what mattered. They create a record of care.

Sometimes words are all we have to express gratitude for the time shared, to recognize the weight of departure, and to honor what was built, even if briefly. If this chapter was temporary, that does not make it insignificant. And if my presence here is ending sooner than expected, I hope these words carry what I may not have had enough time to demonstrate fully: appreciation, respect, and a genuine sense of thanks.

There are few people for whom these words matter more to me. In the emotional goodbyes, I try to build a kind of quiet fortitude, not by suppressing what I feel, but by refusing to discredit it. If a departure stirs something authentic, then it meant something real. When someone says something that reaches beyond a simple goodbye, you carry it with you. You carry their thoughts, their belief in you, the small fragments of shared memory that become unexpectedly heavy in the silence that follows. You miss these people because of this weight of words and there are several who I will miss deeply.

Sometimes something someone says or a moment in time lingers longer than a season. A brief exchange can anchor you months later. Encouragement offered in passing becomes resolve in a difficult moment. A simple acknowledgment becomes affirmation when doubt creeps in. Words, in that way, are not just reflections of what was; they are quiet investments in who we are becoming. They travel forward with us, resurfacing at the precise moments we need them most.

I have come to realize that goodbyes are not defined solely by absence, but by what is carried onward. If all we had were shared hours and proximity, then distance would erase everything. But it does not. What remains are the conversations, the laughter, the difficult discussions, the affirmations that shaped us in ways we did not immediately recognize. Those do not dissipate simply because circumstances change.

So if sometimes words are all we have, then I hope they are enough. Enough to communicate gratitude that may have gone unsaid in the rush of work. Enough to acknowledge the depth of respect I hold. Enough to honor the fact that even short chapters can leave lasting marks. And enough to ensure that when paths cross again, there will be continuity rather than distance, because the words we chose to leave behind kept something intact.

I will miss my time at Samsung Research America. I met some individuals there that I want to keep around for the rest of my life. I was fully embraced in ways that are hard to describe and despite the little knick knacks that are common in everyday life, I leave with a lot of gratitude for it all. To those people, I will miss you very much. Thank you for being apart of this chapter and I will never forget what a special 8 months this was created because of this place.

There will be more to come on what follows next…

Quote of the Blog:

"If you live to be 100, I want to live to be 100 minus one day so I never have to live without you" - Winnie the Pooh

Happy New Year to my readership. It has been several months since I last sat down to write on this platform, but I am glad to be back. As 2026 has quickly come into full effect, it has already become clear that the year is off to a busy start. I find myself adapting to a number of new (and potentially transformative) changes in the coming weeks, and I have returned to writing as a way to impose some structure and clarity on what otherwise feels like a rapidly moving landscape.

The New Year has always been an interesting time stamp for me, not because it magically resets anything, but because it creates a natural opportunity to reflect on who I was over the past year and who I would like to be going forward. With that in mind, today’s post is an attempt to articulate a few broad intentions for the year ahead and then ground them in more concrete commitments around what I currently view as important. My hope is that, in reading this, you might also find a moment to pause, reflect, and begin organizing your own path through the year ahead.

Simon’s Wish List

Before diving into specifics, here are a wish list of things that I wish to accomplish this year:

• Routinely Exercise (for real this time)

• Find peace in being alone (difficult…)

• Spend less. Save Money

• Cook more

• Write a lot more in private (e.g. journal, etc.)

• Complete a Marathon

• Don’t overwork (9am-5pm)

• Travel to new places

• Send gifts and letters to my friends to stay connected

• Be more verbal to the people who are important to me and tell them how much they mean to me.

• Sleep More

• Learn Korean in ways beyond Duo Lingo

• Become a better scientist

• Learn Healthier Ways to reduce anxiety

• Write a Book

• Reduce Phone usage

• Take many pictures of things I have going on in my life

• Start the last year of my PhD well (2026-2027 school year)

• And as always be happy and feel like I can say this year was better than the last

In some sense, I have already begun working toward some of these goals, and I am glad to have established a routine that feels relatively healthy and sustainable. At the same time, I have already caught myself breaking a few of them, which has forced me to confront an uncomfortable realization: some of these changes are going to be harder than I initially assumed. Hence I am writing now to try to hold myself accountable.

I like to believe that I am slowly inching toward becoming a more complete person, but at the start of this year I made a conscious effort to look myself in the mirror and be a bit more honest. I have long deferred eating well and exercising, telling myself that I will commit when I have more time, that “I can sleep when I’m dead,” or by defaulting to doom scrolling before bed. This year, I want to change in ways that are more truthful and less self-indulgent. I tend to think of myself as mentally strong, yet barely ten days into the New Year I have already felt old patterns reassert themselves, and, if I am being honest, that observation alone suggests there is still far more work to do.

This may sound harsh, but I am probably weaker than I like to believe. Still, I hope that by the end of this year I can honestly say that I have grown. Many of the areas in which I feel mentally weak do not require anything extraordinary, just discipline and a willingness to hold myself accountable. There are no shortcuts in life, and life is not a race, which only reinforces the idea that the right time to start building a solid foundation is now. Most people likely would not describe me as weak, but it is often said that we are our own harshest critics, and there is truth in that.

In the rest of this blog, I want to reflect on several areas where I believe there is the most room for growth.

Find Peace in Being Alone

Truthfully, every year I find myself writing some variant of this same New Year’s resolution. In the past, I have described a pace of life that felt fundamentally unsustainable. While many people my age are only beginning to enter the workforce and learn about themselves, I felt as though I had already done much of that years ago. Although I am still lost in certain respects, the issue has never really been about discovering who I am; it has been about learning how to slow down.

From 2022 through 2026, my life felt as though it was moving at one hundred miles per hour. During that span, I moved three separate times, worked on projects that often felt disjoint and unconnected, and lacked any enduring sense of belonging. I was fortunate to be able to call many places home, even if only temporarily, but something began to shift last year.

In particular, I became more at peace with routine. I found comfort in a predictable schedule, and working a nine-to-five job in an office provided a sense of structure that I had been missing. It certainly helped that I was in a relatively happy place emotionally surrounded by people who made me happy, which allowed me to accept this rhythm of life. Something I do not think I could have done even two years ago.

The challenge I face now, however, is no longer about establishing routine, but about being with myself and finding peace in solitude. While I do not believe life is meant to be lived entirely alone, I also do not think it is meant to be shared constantly with others. This year, I want to become more comfortable being at home by myself, to find satisfaction in quiet moments, and to sit with my own thoughts without feeling the need to externalize everything. I want to learn how to internalize, reflect, and ultimately feel at ease in my own company.

One of the more difficult changes I anticipate relates to my instinct to help others. I once thought that helping people was a foundational pillar of who I was. Over time, I have come to realize that, in many cases, this impulse postponed or avoided addressing parts of my own life, and that this was not always a healthy way of caring for myself. I was once told that it is difficult to truly help others if you cannot take care of yourself. While I do not fully agree with that statement, there is a quiet truth embedded in it. In many ways, the person who has made the greatest sacrifice has been myself. Caring deeply for friends and loved ones requires attention, memory, and emotional labor, and I am increasingly aware that my capacity is finite. My hope is that by addressing the aspects of my life I want to improve (particularly my habits and lifestyle) so I can eventually return to helping the people I care about from a place that is more stable, present, and sustainable.

Complete a Marathon

On the theme of mental weakness, this year I want to challenge myself physically by completing a formal marathon. Whether it ends up being the race in Los Angeles in March or the one in San Francisco in July, my intention is to finish one within the coming year.

A friend of mine has completed two marathons, and he once told me that much of the challenge is mental. Although I have never run a marathon, I understand exactly what he meant. In 2022, when I decided to summit Mt. Fuji in Japan, I learned that the most difficult part of climbing a mountain is rarely physical. It is the moment you look up and realize how much farther there is to go—a deeply humbling and, at times, discouraging feeling. Yet somewhere inside me lives a certain relentlessness that refuses to quit. When things feel impossible, I remind myself that I can do them, and because I believe that, I usually do.

So this year, I plan to run and complete a marathon. In a way, it feels similar to counting down the days until you see someone you care about—you are simply counting down the miles, from twenty-six to zero, until the finish line comes into view. I am not pretending this will be easy, especially given that I do not run as consistently as I should, but this goal has nothing to do with pace or performance. My only objective is to finish, whether that means running the entire distance or walking part of it. The challenge, for me, is almost entirely mental, and I want to prove—to myself more than anyone else—that I am stronger than I currently believe.

Be more Verbal

This year, I also want to be more verbal with the few people I still feel closest to. Although I am still young, I feel as though I am growing up quickly, and that many of life’s milestones are passing even faster. I am now more than halfway through my doctoral degree and slowly growing into my own as a scientist, but as my life becomes increasingly busy, I do not want to lose sight of who I am or of the people who helped me get here. These days, aside from my family, I regularly keep in touch with only a small handful of people, and I want to be intentional about keeping even those relationships close. I no longer want to default to excuses about being busy, missing birthdays, or failing to show up in the ways that matter.

Intentionality is something I began practicing last year, and I want to carry it forward for the rest of my life. It is easy to say the right things and momentarily satisfy people, but real meaning comes from following through on what you say you will do. Some connections in our lives are timeless, and I want to hold onto those people for as long as I can. So no matter the distance, I want to retain and feel these deep connections that I have made with these handful of people.

This became especially clear to me when I attended a conference this past December and reconnected with friends from different chapters of my life. Just as I have changed, many of them have changed as well, and without regular effort, the foundation of those relationships slowly erodes. Conversations no longer flow the way they once did, and catching each other up can feel more exhausting than fulfilling.

To the few people in my life who truly know the current version of me: you will hear from me, and you will feel my gratitude. As we move deeper into adulthood, this only becomes harder, and building new, meaningful relationships grows increasingly rare. The least I can do is reach out from time to time, remind them how much they matter to me, and show up when there is something worth celebrating.

Start the Last year of my PhD Strong

Lastly, I want to begin what will be my final year as a student with intention and focus. This September marks my twentieth year of formal education, and it will be the last time I can say I am starting a school year as a student. From a mental perspective, the journey has felt long; when viewed on a calendar, it has passed remarkably quickly. Still, it feels strange to acknowledge that the 2026–2027 academic year represents the final chapter of my formal education. A PhD is the highest degree one can pursue as a student, and I am genuinely proud of the progress I have made so far. I have challenged myself in ways I never anticipated and have given my full effort to making this not just an education, but a way of life.

I was always told that a PhD is fundamentally different from a bachelor’s or a master’s degree, in part because it is a Doctor of Philosophy, with an emphasis on philosophy itself. You learn to ask questions that are narrow, original, and deeply embedded within your field, and then spend years attempting to answer them. While this process will never resemble the work of Socrates or Plato, the underlying spirit is similar. As I have grown within this program, I have come to realize that completing a PhD has little to do with tangible outputs like publications or awards. Instead, it is about training the mind to identify gaps in knowledge, formulate meaningful questions, and apply the tools you have learned to pursue answers.

Over the winter holiday, I met with my advisor to ask what I should focus on when I returned to school. He paused for a long time before responding, and ultimately told me that there was not much left for him to teach me directly. His advice was simply to continue exercising autonomy and to drive my own scientific direction. He noted how much I have grown over the two years I have completed and suggested that this independence is precisely the point at which a student begins to be ready. That conversation made it clear to me that this coming year is not about learning how to be a student, but about learning how to move forward on my own.

Anyway, the new year is now fully underway, and having written many of these goals openly on this blog, it is now up to me to follow through on them. Most of what I have outlined cannot be achieved in a single day or moment; they require sustained effort, consistency, and discipline over time. In challenging myself across these different dimensions, my hope is simple: that by the end of the year I can honestly say I have grown as a person. Not others but me.

Happy New Year again to everyone, and I hope you are all taking care of yourselves.

Quote of the Blog

“All life is emptiness. Fill it with endless love, bliss, and kindness.” ― Debasish Mridha

Nov. 23, 4:41 PM: It’s been over a month since my last post, but for good reason. I’ve been spending more time with others and trying to live a more present life. Unlike my usual deep dives into specific topics or philosophies, I just wanted to share a brief reflection on how profoundly a single person can shape the world (the power of one).

The image above is of the tombstone of a renowned Asian American author who touched countless lives through her writing. Though I’ve never read her books, standing before her grave filled me with courage, strength, and a renewed belief in my own agency. It reminded me that I have the power to live the life I want—and to share that sense of purpose and possibility with others.

Today’s post is simply a small reflection on that moment, and what it has come to mean to me.

Before I began my PhD, I was full of naivety and ambition, and at times I felt like an undeniable force. Back then, I brimmed with energy, and one of my greatest strengths was my ability to leave a lasting, positive impression on others. Yet, with each life lesson, I grew a little stronger, a little less naive—and that spark, that magic of realizing my own personal impact, began to fade.

That was until recently, when I began working at Samsung and was granted yet another fresh start in my life. Before joining, I had started to feel burned out, a little lonely, and uncertain whether all the hard work I had poured into my education would ever truly pay off. But one of the few places that believed in me (when I could barely believe in myself) was the very team I was about to join.

When I arrived, I wanted to set the tone and rediscover that old version of myself. I wanted to be a positive influence on my team, my friends, and once again become that undeniable force. As those things began to take shape, I started to see the fruits of my effort—but still, a quiet doubt lingered within me: could I really make an impact on another person’s life?

That was until I met someone whose worldview I initially disagreed with, yet who allowed my influence to touch their own perception of life. Their voluntary act of trusting me and listening to what I had to say helped me rediscover that old version of myself once again. Over time, as I got to know this person better, I realized how little I truly knew about them, and that many of my assumptions came from my own misunderstandings or misinterpretations. Despite that, I felt an obligation to be present, to be strong, to be dependable, and to live up to the things I spoke about. Although it was often difficult to meet the expectations I set for myself, doing so ultimately made me stronger and more capable human being.

As time went on, the real work began to feel less about what needed to be accomplished at Samsung and more about showing this person how beautiful the world could be through the lens I see it from. With time, effort, and care, I began to believe once more in myself and in the impact I could have on another human being.

I was lucky in many ways because things always seemed to fall into place. It startled me at times, because at every step, I managed to live up to my words and to show them everything I said I would. To them (though I can’t be completely certain) it must have felt like magic, or that undeniable force that makes someone believe in the change being proposed. Some blend of consistency, intention, and luck helped carry my message forward, and even though I can’t read minds, I knew I had changed them. Sometimes you can feel that intangible connection, and there was no doubt in my mind that a part of my influence now lived within them.

To me, the greatest accomplishment of my life is that I tried so hard to change that one person’s worldview. Through everything I did behind closed doors, I felt validated by my actions and words because I could sense a change in them. Yet, they also left an impact on me. They grounded my ambition, taught me humility toward differing opinions, and helped me realize that no matter how abstract or strange I may be, I can still feel seen and understood by others.

This week marks my final two in-person workdays for the remainder of the year. It feels like a peaceful closing to the first half of my journey at Samsung. The best decision I ever made was to come work here, because it was here that I met them—and rediscovered myself.

Looking ahead, I want to level up again, to work hard and become a stronger presence not just for them but for everyone around me. I feel a deep sense of purpose and a desire to be a force for positive change, and I am profoundly grateful to fate or chance for continuing to bless me with such an amazing life.

You’ll hear from me again soon, though probably not until 2026.

Sept 24, 11:33 PM marked the completion of my first project at Samsung. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, yet I still didn’t feel completely at ease. The feeling, I suspect, was mine alone. After months of chaos—restless nights and overexerted days—life shifted sharply, and for the first time I knew I could rest, if only for a few days. And yet, the world around me remained unsettled. With critical deadlines looming, the company’s atmosphere was tense, keeping people on edge, while I found myself in an oddly peaceful state. It felt like standing in the eye of a hurricane.

The eye of a hurricane is one of nature’s strangest paradoxes. At the center of a storm powerful enough to tear down buildings and uproot trees lies a pocket of eerie calm. Step into the eye, and the winds die down, the rain eases, and sometimes the sky even clears. But this quiet is never permanent. It is encircled by the eyewall, the most violent part of the storm where the winds howl and the rain lashes with full force. The eye isn’t safety—it’s a pause, a fragile stillness carved out in the middle of chaos. That’s why people use it as a metaphor for life: the calm you feel not because the storm is over, but because you happen to be standing, momentarily, in its quiet center.

Even as I sit in this pocket of calm, I remain at odds with myself. Many things in my personal life are still uncertain, and naturally, they weigh on me. Yet as I’ve grown, I’ve become more aware of what they are and how to face them, which allows me to stay in the center rather than be swept away by the storm. I’m not fully at peace, but I thought I’d share some recent happy news and memories that have kept me grounded, and that give me the strength to keep moving forward.

Completing my first project

As I alluded to in the preface, I recently completed my first project at Samsung. While it feels like an important personal accomplishment, it was far from a solo effort. This project grew well beyond my original conception thanks to the contributions of fellow interns, managers, designers, and developers who shaped and elevated it. Being supported by such a talented group, and having access to ample resources, has been an affirming experience. I feel grateful not only to have worked with them, but also to have witnessed the project grow alongside them.

I’ve never been someone who thrives as deadlines approach, and from the start this project carried a great deal of weight. I hesitate to say I was treated differently, but in many ways my situation was distinct. Most interns on my team were assigned projects tailored to the short timelines of their internships. In contrast, because I was staying longer as an AI resident, I wasn’t afforded the same kind of structured project. Instead, my manager gave me a single, ambitious objective. She told me she didn’t care what I worked on, as long as I produced a paper of high quality—on par with the work being done at Google and Apple, our strongest competitors in this research space. I felt like I was joining my own version of the “space race” or something. But I do admit to some extent it was true given the enormous and rapid progress in the current field of artificial intelligence.

Having the freedom to work on whatever you want can be both glorifying and daunting. Before I joined Samsung, I carried a small slice of doubt because I had never worked with this type of data, nor did I have the domain knowledge or signal processing background to understand why certain methods were used. It’s like giving a child a package of legos without a construction manual. But this was effectively how I felt. In my first month at Samsung, I spent every day reading for hours on end, trying to understand the current gaps in the field and where I could make a contribution. For that entire month, I had nothing tangible to show my team, which may have been disheartening for them, but I remained patient and allowed myself the time to explore until I felt competent in this research space.

By the time I began working on a project around week five, I had only ten weeks left to take it from beginning to end. I needed to craft a clear story, design experiments that reflected that story, and weave everything together into a coherent whole. Deadlines are peculiar because they can be interpreted in so many ways. Ten weeks is roughly seventy days, which seems like a generous amount of time to finish a major project, yet the steady drop of the weekly counter added pressure to produce and give it everything I had. During those weeks, the company pushed me to a new level of productivity that I had not experienced before. At the same time, I also began to notice early signs of burnout, which I later shared with my team.

Still, in those ten weeks I managed to complete the project, though not without help. I learned how to delegate tasks, ask for help from professionals (e.g., designers, developers), and demonstrate through my work that my project was worthy of being showcased to Samsung executives later this year. None of this would have been possible without the support of the people around me.

Before this experience, I lived without much routine, letting life steer me in whatever direction it chose. That unpredictability thrilled me, and it is one of the reasons I pursued a PhD. At Samsung, however, I came to appreciate the satisfaction that routine can bring. When my routine was disrupted, I felt disarray, which surprised me given how much I once valued randomness. But each day began with consistency. It meant catching the 7:20 train, sharing coffee and breakfast with my close friend and coworker, and starting the day with good energy (greet everyone with a smile). That small morning breakfast ritual was, in many ways, the key to my success (Some of you know I never eat breakfast…). Having someone who listened, understood my situation, and offered empathy and support gave me the momentum I needed to face the day. Without them, there would be no project, and I would likely have come up short.

Anyway, I am proud to introduce my first project, HiMAE, named after and pronounced like my good friend Jaime, who in many ways has embodied the spirit of this work. His personality, work ethic, and human qualities are reflected in it, and I am excited to share this with him soon. The main takeaway from the project is that wearable biometric signals benefit significantly from being analyzed across multiple time scales. Our model design enables this and its compactness makes it possible to integrate the AI model directly into a smartwatch, with the potential to identify and alert users to conditions such as hypertension (similar to Apple’s new feature) or other real-time clinical outcomes. I am happy to share the work upon request, and the paper itself should be publicly available within a week.

Anyway, I am so beyond grateful to be done and to rest this weekend knowing I don’t have anything else more to do (for now)…

Seattle

Recently, I visited Seattle in the middle of the project I just shared, and in many ways the trip embodied the feelings behind this blog. It might have seemed reckless to go on vacation a week before my deadline, but I also believe in the power of now.

I first read The Power of Now when I started university, and it has shaped how I think about many aspects of life. For those interested, I recommend it, and in fact it is one of the reasons I write this blog at all. Reflection is good. Here is a short summary from Wikipedia to spark interest:

The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment is a book by Eckhart Tolle. It discusses how people interact with themselves and others, emphasizing self-reflection and presence in the moment, along with simple exercises to put its principles into practice.

A friend of mine was heading back to Seattle, and I wanted to spend time with them. So despite the looming deadline, I hopped on a plane and detached from work for the entire weekend.

One of the first things I noticed was how each city has its own charm. Seattle was no different: a little gloomy, very green, with houses and urban design that fit perfectly into the atmosphere I had always imagined. I had visited once as a child, but aside from the Space Needle and Pike Place, I remembered very little.

This weekend felt like a breath of fresh air. For so long, I had been climbing a mountain whose summit seemed unreachable, but Seattle felt like a resting camp before the final push. I think this was more about the overall experience rather than the place but it showed me how valuable these ambitious trips can be. One of the great joys of life is visiting someone in their home and seeing the city through their favorite places. Though the trip was short, the memories are vivid. I even debuted my new Polaroid camera and captured pieces of the weekend that still make me smile.

One of my favorite moments was watching the sunset at Gas Works Park. Sunsets remind me that every day has to end, whether good or bad, and that inevitability makes the day itself more precious. Certain moments stay with you rent-free, and I carried several from that evening.

Another thing I enjoy when traveling is seeking out the tallest vantage point in the city (when one exists). This time I took my friend to the Space Needle as my treat. From above, we saw a very different, yet beautiful, side of Seattle. High vantage points always remind me of two things: (1) how small you feel in the vastness of a city, and (2) how much perspective changes when you see the world from above. Watching the city sparkle at night was unforgettable, and I felt grateful in that moment to be there.

Life is full of precious moments and again even though my head was going crazy trying to balance when I would make time to finish my project, I felt so at peace and gratitude to have decided to go on this trip.

Live Now… Worry Later…

As the seasons are changing, I think I am too. One of the things I have been working on is being more present. In truth, nothing in my life has changed, but the way I view everyday moments has shifted drastically. I used to tell myself that I was “too busy” or that “I’d do it next time,” but I have come to realize that I need to do things now and appreciate what I have while I still have it. My goal for the rest of the year and hopefully the rest of my life is to remain, as much as possible, in the eye of the storm. It will not be easy to resist being pulled into the chaos around me, but I know there is much I want to do, and some of it does not last forever (e.g., whether it is time with some people or where you are living or a role at work, among many other examples). So I will live now and worry later…

All in all, as summer comes to a close, I will carry with me countless good memories that make it feel truly special. It surprises me how life continues to get better with time, and I would not change anything about it. I just continue to count my blessings and my luck hoping nothing ever has to change…

But, life is finite and that’s what equally makes it good.

Quote of the Blog

“In the midst of chaos, I found that there was an invincible peace within me. I realized, through it all, that in the midst of winter there was an invincible summer in me”

— Albert Camus

It’s been about a month since I last sat down to write, and the gap in blog posts has simply been the result of getting a little too busy. In what feels like the blink of an eye, I’ve now been in the Bay Area for two and a half months, and the first big deadline at work is fast approaching. The good news is that my work has begun to show some early promise. The bad news is that with promising results come heightened expectations, and the team has already started to think in very ambitious terms.

Still, despite the encouraging signs, something has felt slightly off, and it’s been difficult to put my finger on exactly what. When people ask me how I’m doing, I rarely answer with “I’m doing well.” Lately it has more often been “I’m okay… just busy.” I’ve noticed myself groaning more, not out of frustration with others or even with myself, but perhaps because I feel caught up in a small storm of chaos. Yet in the midst of it, I remain who I’ve always been—trying to stay steady, strong, and stoic, keeping those creeping thoughts at bay. So it feels only fitting to return to the blog now, to let some of it out and share a glimpse of my present state of mind with those who have always trusted me enough to read along.

I always feel a bit of guilt when life gets busy… For the longest time, I thought I was some sort of Superman—able to show up for all my friends, to keep up with everyone no matter the time or place. But maybe this is just a part of aging, because I can no longer sustain that pace. These days I can barely keep up with my texts, and often I feel myself wanting to curl up into a ball. Part of me feels like I’ve let people down, yet I also know that if I overcommit and spread myself too thin, it will be detrimental to me as well. I never quite know what the right balance is in these moments, but I do know I maybe owe those people an apology.

Well here are some thoughts. If these resonate with you feel free to send words of comfort or empathy and I’ll do my best to respond!

It’s never enough…

If a genie in a bottle ever appeared before me and offered three wishes, I know one of them would be spent on something a bit unorthodox. When people ask what I want most in life right now, the answer that often resonates with me is simple: I wish I didn’t know so much. If I could, I’d use one of those wishes to forget many things. What I miss most is the gift of naivety—the joy that comes from not knowing. It reminds me of the story of Oedipus Rex, where King Oedipus’s relentless search for the truth behind a plague in Thebes leads him to uncover his own terrible fate. The more he learns, the more he suffers. Of course, my situation is nothing so dramatic, but the underlying idea resonates with me: knowledge can illuminate, but it does not always comfort.

This tension between knowledge and comfort shapes how I see myself today. There is joy and satisfaction in being among the top k% at something, but it also forces you to confront why you are there. In my case, I feel as though I belong to two very exclusive clubs—both exhilarating in what they offer, yet daunting in what they demand.

“Less than 2% of the global population holds a doctoral degree, with estimates often hovering around 1% of the world's population.” (source 1)

“The tech industry median income is over twice the overall U.S. median income, with a median annual wage of $105,990 for computer and information technology occupations in May 2024, compared to the broader median of $49,500 for all occupations.” (source 2)

The main idea I’m trying to get at, and the reason I sometimes wish I could forget, is that the more you see, the farther you feel from what you actually want. I take pride in the fact that I wasn’t born naturally gifted or brilliant—that everything I’ve achieved has been earned through persistence and work. In my short life, I’ve steadily climbed the ranks, taking small steps toward the larger goal of building a fulfilling career. Yet when I step back, it often feels as though there’s no space to simply be content, because the horizon only keeps expanding. No matter how far you’ve come, it never feels like enough.

It’s also never enough in so many other aspects. It’s never enough sleep. Never enough space at home. Never enough time after work. Never enough food. Never enough money to buy that nice thing. It’s just never enough. And part of me believes I wouldn’t even be haunted by these thoughts had I not entered these exclusive groups. I don’t regret it but I’m still learning how to live with these truths, the kinds of truths that many people never have to confront.

Becoming the “specialist”…

When I was young, I was told that the goal was to become a specialist. The reasoning was simple: if you mastered a skill no one else had, you would be irreplaceable. You would bring something unique and indispensable to your peers, something fresh to your team.

This logic holds true, especially in a career. When we interview for jobs, the implicit task is to present ourselves as singular—someone who stands out in a crowded pool of candidates. When we applied to college, we tried to frame our experiences and perspectives as distinctive, mature, and deserving of admission. All of this is done in good faith, but like many things in life, it comes with two sides to the same coin.

What happens when the specialist hits their limit?

It’s not a thought I dwell on often, but lately I’ve felt immense pressure to embody that “specialist” role. On a team full of engineers, I’ve become “the AI guy.” I grew up during the rise of buzzwords like Machine Learning, Artificial Intelligence, Large Language Models, and Foundation Models, and I adapted by learning the mechanisms behind them. Yet in a field evolving at breakneck speed, I question whether anyone can truly be a specialist in our day and age. Thousands of new developments emerge daily, and progress is largely skewed toward companies with the resources and infrastructure to trailblaze. I’m fortunate to be at one of those companies, but with big investments come big expectations. For context, our team spends on the order of $100,000 a month on research—an amount that is staggering to me. I feel grateful for the resources entrusted to us, but money is never infinite, and every day that dent grows a little larger.

My struggles with being a specialist are twofold. First, when it comes to modern AI algorithms and methods, my team turns to me for consultation. As a team of engineers rather than AI scientists, they see me as the point of expertise. It is both humbling and deeply respectful, but it comes at a cost. In the two and a half months I’ve been here, I’ve done my best to catch up with the vastness of the field, yet I don’t see myself as the specialist they believe me to be. Much of what I’ve delivered so far is closer to an ansatz—an educated guess—rather than established truth. Then again, science often begins this way. Building new knowledge almost always involves collective guessing until patterns emerge. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve hit a wall as the “AI specialist” of the team. I’m not simply a blind person leading the blind, but in an evolving field, this kind of uncertainty is the norm. That recognition, however, doesn’t make it any more comforting when I imagine the obstacles that inevitably lie ahead. For now, though, we’re riding the momentum of our early successes, and I suppose I’ll find out what happens when the ground starts to shake.

A lack of depth socially

Another thought I’ve had during my two and a half months in the Bay Area is how difficult it is to make friends—and especially to build good friendships—in adulthood. Amidst all the stress and chaos I feel internally, this challenge only becomes more pronounced as the days goes on.

What I’ve realized is that you don’t always notice the depth of your friendships until you have that one, two, or maybe three people with whom your connection runs far deeper than with anyone else. Lately, I’ve become acutely aware of this, and I’m trying my best to make some changes.

One of my lifelong fears has been lunchtime. Not because I don’t want to eat, but because I often don’t know who to eat with. On a 9-to-5 schedule, lunch can feel like the only real social interaction of the day, since I’m otherwise glued to my computer. And to make matters worse, many of the stereotypes about the Bay Area tech world are, in fact, true. Everyone is so consumed by their work that it seems to be the only thing they want to talk about.

I’ve tried to understand why work dominates conversation even during breaks, and I’ve come to believe it usually falls into one of two reasons. The first is that some people genuinely love their work—it’s a passion, not just a job. The second is that people simply don’t know what else to talk about, and work becomes the default common ground. The difference is surprisingly easy to spot. But I suspect most people fall into the second category. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, yet it does reveal how shallow many workplace relationships can feel.

Sadly this shallowness has been a tug of war in my head for years. During my time working in Boston, I witnessed firsthand the hardships of seeing my colleagues laid off. I still remember one of my coworkers telling me in that moment that it’s important to always keep a healthy distance from the people you work with because of unfortunate and unpredictable events like these.

Despite that advice, I find it difficult to follow. I genuinely believe that a comfortable, supportive environment drives better performance, and so I’ve tried my best to befriend as many people on my team as possible. My kindness, my willingness to connect others, and my drive I think have been observed by others and my efforts are not going unnoticed by my peers. Still, it comes with its challenges. Much like in Boston, I sometimes feel a disconnect in the stage of life I’m in compared to others, which makes it harder for them to understand my circumstances—and equally difficult for me to fully relate to theirs.

Even so, I don’t feel discouraged. I still want to get to know the other members of our large team, and I’m sure there are people out there who feel the same way I do. All I can do is continue to put in the effort and try to remain positive and I’m sure everything will work out.

Having Expectations

Lately, a lot of my thoughts have circled around the idea of “expectations.” Not so much the expectations placed on me by others, but rather the ones I (don’t) carry into new situations myself.

I’ve always considered myself open-minded—maybe even too much so. A lot of the satisfaction I feel in life comes from deliberately letting go of expectations. I try not to expect things from people, or to expect how an experience will unfold, or to place expectations on circumstances far outside my control. This mindset has its benefits: when you assume nothing, anything above the bare minimum feels like a gift. Every good outcome feels exceptional because you never counted on it to begin with. But there’s also a hidden cost. By stripping away expectations, you also strip away a layer of emotional investment. And sometimes I wonder if this detachment makes me a little less connected to what makes us fundamentally human.

To frame it more concretely, suppose there’s a job I desperately want, but I don’t get.

(1) If I never had any expectation in the first place, the rejection doesn’t sting—it simply wasn’t part of the picture.

(2) On the other hand, if I expected to get in, the rejection hurts deeply.

Both perspectives are valid ways of interpreting life’s events: one insulates you from pain, while the other forces you to confront it directly. For the past several years, I’ve leaned toward the first approach. And while it shields me from disappointment, it also flattens my emotional landscape.

The effect is subtle but noticeable. Despite the stress, anxiety, (and occasional pain) I’ve experienced, I haven’t shed a tear in quite some time. Not because I don’t feel, but because I’ve trained myself not to let setbacks pierce me the way they once did. On the surface, this gives me stability, it makes me appear resilient, composed, even stoic. But beneath that surface, I sometimes worry that I’ve also become more distant from my true emotions, from the raw vulnerability that expectations, and their inevitable disappointments, bring into our lives.

My goal is to therefore have a little more expectation.

What does it mean to have a fulfilling life?

The truth is, I don’t really know what will give me a fulfilling life—and I fear I may never find a definitive answer. Yet, as with my other reflections, I think the key lies in change. Being hyperaware has been valuable; noticing the subtle nuances in my life has helped me grow and, I hope, become a better person. But since that alone feels a bit like sidestepping the question, I’ll try to offer an interpretation of what fulfillment looks like to me today (August 29, 2025).

The reality is that I don’t think this industry will ever be my true passion. I enjoy the work, the progress I’ve made, and the benefits of having pushed myself this far. But if there’s one theme that runs through this blog, it’s that something about this environment doesn’t quite fit me. And that’s okay.

I’ve often expressed to others my interests outside of tech: the idea of running my own restaurant, building a startup, or even pursuing academia as a professor, where I could mentor and raise the next generation of scholars. These paths are orthogonal to what I’m doing now, but I can also admit that further schooling or career pivots won’t guarantee clarity. If anything, they’ve only deepened my confusion. If my life were a weather forecast, every day between now and the end of my PhD would read “overcast with haze.” I say this because I live in a changing world, while also being one of many contributors to this new era of technology.

What I can do, however, is keep surrounding myself with remarkable people—something I’ve been either very skilled at or simply very lucky in. And I can keep fueling my own motor, no matter how uncertain the path ahead feels. Moving forward, perhaps fulfillment won’t be a single answer or destination, but a process of continuing, adapting, and choosing to walk alongside the right people.

Appreciation amidst the chaos

This blog contains a lot of deep thoughts, and I realize they may raise some concern. But the truth is, this is simply who I am and what I’ve become. I’m often asked what kind of career I would pursue if money weren’t a factor, and my answer has always been the same: I’d be an author, a writer, or perhaps even a philosopher. In many ways, this blog gives me the chance to be all of these.

One of the joys of chasing knowledge and truth is that it allows me to ask questions that dig deeper than the surface. I genuinely enjoy reflecting on the random events and mechanisms that shape our lives. Life itself is full of chance, rarely deterministic, but I find it rewarding to try to understand my relationships with friends, to explore who I am, and to make sense of this journey we call life.

I’m especially grateful for the people I’ve met since returning to the Bay Area. With summer soon coming to a close, I feel lucky to be here, and I know I’ll carry these memories with me forever. The summer of 2025 will leave a lasting imprint on my heart, and I’m excited for whatever new experiences lie ahead.

Thank you for reading—and if I haven’t said this to you directly, please know that I truly appreciate you. At the time of writing, I had just finished tacos with a friend in San Francisco, where I admitted that I sometimes struggle to express my gratitude face-to-face. This blog has become my way of saying it indirectly. So once again, thank you. My readership may only be around thirty people, but that’s more than enough reason for me to keep writing, to keep sharing, and to keep bringing you along on this journey.

Quote of the Blog:

I have two quotes this post. they are both very fitting.

“The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable” - Martin Luther King Jr

“unbelieved truth can hurt a man much more than a lie.” - John Steinbeck

We all currently live in a digital world. Our dependence on technology has surged substantially, and it almost feels impossible to go through life today without interacting with a screen.

(Sadly for me), my career more or less hinges on staring at screens for what I believe are unhealthy stretches of time. Being in artificial intelligence, a field that’s both demanding and constantly accelerating in pace, I often find myself working well beyond the bounds of a typical 9-to-5. Still, being naturally observant, I was acutely aware of how much time I spent in front of screens, and I’ve come to recognize two things: (1) something has to change, and (2) this likely isn’t sustainable.

A few residual effects I’ve already started to notice include:

1. a decline in my eyesight.

2. headaches from overstimulation.

And for me, the simplest way to mitigate these is usually just to not look at a screen.

So this weekend, I attempted to go 24 hours offline without looking at a screen (with a minor exceptions for 3 people). I wanted to observe my overall activity, gauge my stress levels among other things and see whether, by the end of the day, I actually felt happier having avoided screens. These reflections are entirely my own, but I think we could all benefit from trying this exercise for ourselves.

Summary of my day

If you dont have the time to read feel free to skip this section~

Truthfully, I couldn’t have picked a better time to try this experiment. I’ve been feeling a bit overwhelmed in both my personal and professional life, and I thought something like this might help recalibrate my mental health.

I ended up spending most of the day outside, exploring and (finally) taking advantage of being in San Francisco. I told myself I moved here for the city life—and a month and a half into my lease, I think I finally took a step toward living out that intention.

8:34 AM: I started my day by sleeping in for once, trying to rest with zero obligations planned. More often than not, something forces me to wake up and immediately start thinking—work, meetings, activities, whatever it may be. Because of that, my sleep quality has quietly suffered over the past five years, though it hasn’t noticeably impacted my day-to-day functioning.

11:04 AM: After a slow start, I took a stroll through San Francisco to visit my brother in North Beach. Walking through the city (especially along Market Street) remains one of my favorite parts of living here. Being surrounded by tall buildings and weaving through the mix of tourists and locals makes me feel like a small cog in a much larger machine. Cities are usually tinged with a bit of chaos, and honestly, I think that kind of environment suits me best. Sometimes you feel very invisible (in a good way) because you live in such a big community.

12:45 PM: From North Beach, I walked to the Design District, not far from home, though it was my first time walking through that part of town. It’s strange how surprising it can be to encounter a new neighborhood—even in a place you already call home. Walking, in general, feels like a vastly better way to take in the city than riding the bus or taking transit. You notice details you’d otherwise miss. In the Design District, I stopped at a Thai restaurant (I’m terrible with names) that turned out to be quite good.

1:52 PM: I took a break at home.

2:52 PM: I hopped on a bus down Mission Street to check out a trendy café called Tadaima and try their Japanese-style fruit sandwiches. I’m not a harsh critic, but I do tend to dislike overpowering flavors—too bitter, too sweet, too anything. Luckily for me, these sandwiches landed in that ideal middle zone. I’d definitely recommend them to anyone who enjoys desserts. On the way back, I browsed a few thrift stores but didn’t buy anything.

3:57 PM: I take my second break.

6:55 PM: I ended the day at a pizza restaurant in SoMa called Montesacro Pinseria, a spot my friend has been recommending for a while. I wouldn’t call myself a pizza critic, but we’ve been in a friendly rivalry over who can find the best pizza place in the Bay Area. My current favorite is in Mountain View; this was hers. After weeks of stubbornness, I finally gave her pick a try.

The restaurant itself was quite great. It’s not in the safest part of San Francisco, but once you step inside, that sensation immediately fades away. The space has an elegant, almost old-world charm, with a warm and classy ambiance that quietly elevates the dining experience. I really do think setting plays a role in how we perceive food—it shapes mood, expectation, even taste. I ordered a cauliflower salad and a pizza topped with sausage, broccolini, and a few other things I didn’t catch but thoroughly enjoyed.

All in all, it was a great meal. I felt cozy, full, and well taken care of. I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10. That said... I still think my spot better.

11:23 PM: I wrapped up my day with nothing planned for the rest of the night. As someone in my mid-20s, I often feel conflicted about not making the most of my weekends. There's this lingering pressure to be out, doing something, as if every Saturday night should be memorable. But I also know that not every weekend needs to be exciting. So I took the rest of the night slow and tried to get some rest.

2:14 AM: (2 hours post challenge). Seems that my terrible sleep quality has already returned as I wake up before falling asleep again soon after 🤣.

Reflections Post Challenge

Activity Level

What struck me most about this 24-hour experiment was how dramatically my physical activity levels shifted, almost as a natural consequence of being offline. When my laptop, phone, and usual to-do list were out of reach, movement became the default. I wasn’t consciously chasing steps or tracking metrics per se; I was simply exploring the city because I had nothing else to do. Whether walking across neighborhoods, I’d never taken the time to explore or just meandering aimlessly between meals and breaks. As a result, the day felt kinetic in a way my usual screen-heavy routine never does.

The graph above (Graph 1) captures the hourly breakdown of my walking activity compared to my average baseline. Interestingly, there's a substantial spike, especially in the late morning and afternoon, which is usually dedicated for long work stretches.

If there’s one thing I’ve taken away from this part of the experience, it’s that digital detox doesn’t have to mean stillness or isolation. In fact, it can open up the kind of space that invites a more embodied, physical way of being in the world, one that our usual tech-centric lives rarely make room for.

Stress Level

This experiment also caused me to juxtapose my usual stress levels when I had access to technology versus when I was deprived of it.

It hurts to admit, but I was actually more stressed being away from my devices. I think the reasons behind this were a bit confounding. For instance, not working over the weekend likely meant I’d have to compensate later, which added a low-grade pressure that lingered throughout the day. I also felt a bit disconnected from the people I usually text, which was harder than expected, especially since I haven’t fully assimilated into my new home yet (I miss LA).

It’s funny, though—I decided to track how many messages I missed before and after the detox, and I swear, nobody ever texts me this much when my notifications are on. What I’m trying to say is: the image above is most definitely a misrepresentation of my normal social activity. The irony of everyone suddenly reaching out just when I decided to do a digital detox wasn’t lost on me. If anything, it was both a little funny and a little ironic…

Happiness Level

One thing I kept asking myself throughout the day was: am I happier? I’m not sure there’s a clean answer. My stress was higher in some ways, but I also felt more present. I wasn’t split across multiple tasks or scattered across checking what everyone had going on in their lives. I was wherever I was, with nothing trying to pull me elsewhere. Maybe happiness is too strong a word, but I definitely felt more anchored—and maybe that’s rarer and more valuable than happiness anyway.

Time Perception

Without screens marking the hours, time stretched differently, subtly at first, then almost profoundly. It felt slower, but not in a dragging or dull way, more like I was finally synced with the natural tempo of the life around me, rather than sprinting through my own self-imposed timeline (like seriously… I’ve lived here for 7 weeks already?!). There was no doom scrolling on twitter to look at the latest cat memes or research papers, no notification sounds from messages. Instead, the day unfolded in longer, more continuous threads: spending time cooking, walks without an agenda, moments of stillness that didn’t demand to be filled.

Time became tactile again. I wasn’t constantly checking the clock to see how much I had left before the next event. I wasn’t trying to “optimize” my time. I was just inhabiting it. And somewhere in that shift, I remembered what a full day actually feels like, how much space it holds when it isn’t carved into fragments by pings and pings and more pings. It made me realize how much of my life is typically packed into micro-sprints, and how rare it is to let hours breathe without rushing to fill them.

It wasn’t necessarily more productive. But it felt more human.

New Feelings

There were moments that felt... empty. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but unfamiliar. I caught myself instinctively reaching for my phone more times than I’d like to admit. It was like my body was trying to fill the silence before I even noticed it existed. Boredom has become such a rare state that sitting in it felt genuinely foreign to me.

That said, this sense of nothing is something I’m actively trying to get better at. I think sometimes our minds need a few quiet, undisturbed hours to reset—no input, no stimulation, just space. I won’t pretend it’s easy. In fact, I find it pretty difficult. But I also suspect that pushing against this discomfort is worth it, especially when it comes to my mental health. There are subtle signs—fatigue, fogginess, overstimulation—that I’ve started to notice more often, and I think they deserve more attention than I’ve given them.

I like to joke with friends that my brain sometimes feels like a bowl of spaghetti. And when I feel that way, I usually put on music to decompress. But lately, even that hasn’t been helping—it’s just another layer of sensory input. What I’m starting to learn is that maybe the best thing I can do in those moments isn’t to add something, but to truly do nothing. Therefore, I am trying to do better by sitting with silence. Let the noise settle on its own.

Verdict

The 24-hour digital detox was, frankly, more difficult than I expected, but also more revealing. It exposed just how tightly screens have wrapped themselves around the rhythms of my daily life, not just as tools for work or entertainment, but as crutches for rest, distraction, connection, and even boredom.

What surprised me wasn’t that I missed my devices, but that I missed the noise. I missed the illusion of productivity, the curated spontaneity of messages, the constant stream of micro-engagements that made me feel like I was occupying time even when I wasn’t doing much at all. But what replaced that noise: walking, silence, dining at a restaurant, ambient sunlight, unhurried time, felt like a gentle recalibration.

This experiment didn’t lead to some grand epiphany about abandoning screens or swearing off tech. That would be disingenuous. My career depends on it, and honestly, I enjoy much of it. But it did show me that I need to be more deliberate about carving out pockets of disconnection, moments where I can detach without guilt, not just because I’m burned out, but because I want to feel present in a way that constant connectivity doesn’t allow.

So was I happier? Maybe not in the immediate sense. But I did feel more grounded. And that’s something I want to keep chasing. Maybe not every day, but often enough that I don’t lose touch with it.

In short, it was hard. But it was worth it. And I’ll be doing it again when I need a moment to myself. (I encourage you all to give it a try as well.)

Quote of the Blog:

“The farther a society progresses, the more clearly the individual becomes the antithesis of the group.” — Hebert Read

My way of interpreting emotions is that they signal the presence of something—or someone—that causes us to feel a certain way. Both positive and negative experiences can evoke emotions in distinct ways.

I tend to experience a surge of emotions when sudden changes occur in my life. Whether it’s moving to a new town, going on a short trip, or even a sudden shift in the weather, these disruptions tend to influence my overall mood (for the better or worse).

What surprises me is how much change affects me, especially given that I’ve lived a life marked by constant change over the past few years. There has always been a thrill in trying new things and meeting new people, but I’ve come to realize that the cost of that excitement may have been a continual sense of instability. But I think the thing I feel the most when in this state of change is the people I miss along the way.

“Why do we miss people”

Jean-Paul Sartre offers a compelling philosophical insight into why we miss others. In Being and Nothingness, he suggests that we can literally perceive absence, our awareness of someone’s emptiness in their usual place is not just emotional, but phenomenological. When a friend doesn’t show up, we “see” their absence, and it matters because our connection to them structured our experience of the world. Sartre writes that only human beings can perceive this kind of absence, as it requires awareness of what isn’t there.

Conceptually, Sartre treats absence not merely as an emotional void but as a rich perceptual phenomenon. The absence of someone is a negative presence, it shapes our lived space and disrupts the tacit background that defined our relationship with them. Thus, longing isn’t just missing; it’s a confrontation with an altered world, in which our intersubjective structure has been fractured.

Wanting to be everything, everywhere all at once..

I think part of the root cause of why I miss others stems from a persistent desire to be everywhere and do everything. For a while, this lifestyle felt thrilling (productive even). But as I grow older, I’ve come to realize it stretches me thin, dispersing my attention across too many coordinates of space and time. The ambition to be omnipresent paradoxically results in a kind of existential absenteeism.

I once dreamed of a reality where I’d build a network of friends around the world—a vision stitched together by shared experiences. I’m fortunate to say I’ve achieved this. But I think the cost of expanding this network is that you won’t be able to keep up with these people all the time. You miss birthdays. You miss notable events (e.g. graduations, weddings). You miss the simplicity of sitting down with them and enjoying their presence.

Perhaps what I grieve is not just the absence of people, but the loss of temporal depth with them. The kind of depth that only accumulates when you’re around consistently enough to notice the unnoticed: the cadence of their speech over coffee/drinks , the rhythms of silence between words, the way they change and yet stay the same.

Can’t have the good without the bad ¯\\(ツ)/¯

A lot of life is governed by a duality. In most cases, it’s as simple as good and bad. The emotions I’m feeling tonight—this deep sense of missing—exist precisely because there were good memories that made them worth missing. The presence of longing is not a flaw but a reflection: I only feel this because something or someone once brought joy, comfort, connection. There’s a quiet dignity in that realization.

This maps closely to the philosophical lesson of yin and yang, which teaches that opposing forces are not in conflict but in continuous conversation. Yin gives rise to yang, just as absence gives shape to presence, just as sorrow reveals the contours of joy. These aren’t opposites in the Western sense of binaries to be resolved or ranked; they are co-constitutive, flowing into and through each other. The fact that I feel overwhelmed is itself evidence of care, that I am not indifferent, that I have lived and loved with openness.

To miss is to remember, and to remember is to testify that something mattered. Emotions, even when they are heavy, are not burdens to be discarded, they are markers of meaning. A world without them would be empty of depth. Just as yin and yang depend on their interplay for balance, a full life requires us to feel both the weight of absence and the warmth of memory. One makes the other legible. And in that interplay, we find not just melancholy, but meaning.

So who do I miss?

I miss everyone. But truthfully I’ve been missing a single person above all. I think a lot about this one person a lot and how they are doing. Nothing is stopping me from contacting them, but sometimes I feel like I want to wait for the right time to say hello again. I miss their presence, their thoughts, and our synergy. But one day I’ll see them again.

Final Thoughts

Emotions are a good thing. I think we are often taught not to be emotional, but that might not be the most constructive moral lesson. Emotions signal that we care, that we are affected, that something has meaning. To feel deeply is not a weakness; it is a kind of attunement to the world and to ourselves.

I also believe that taking time to sit and think can help bring clarity. In many ways, our culture and society deprioritize introspection. We are constantly nudged toward productivity, distraction, and external validation, leaving little space to be alone with our thoughts. But living alone has offered me a different rhythm, one where solitude isn’t emptiness, but an invitation to reflect, process, and reconnect with what matters. In that quiet, I’ve found a kind of mental spaciousness that feels rare in the pace of everyday life.

Quote of the Blog

"I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between seconds — but I think of you always in those intervals." —Salvador Plascencia

Blog Completed and view captured at 9:45PM, Sunday July 20, 2025.

I recently revisited some of my older archived monthly blog entries and was struck by how much joy they brought me. I had forgotten how grounding it felt to share the chaotic, amusing, and often meaningful events that punctuate my everyday life. Regardless of length, these snippet of memories reminded me that (1) I’ve come a long way in my life (2) It is so easy to forget a lot of little details… As a result of these reminders, I am going to try my best to resurrect my blog (on this substack platform).

There are undoubtedly many people who have encountered different versions of me at various points in time. Whether in Los Angeles, Boston, Lausanne, or elsewhere during my travels, who I am has often shifted depending on what season of life I was navigating. So in this post, I just want to reconnect a bit—to fill in the gaps and sketch a portrait of who I am right now by answering the basic questions: Who, What, Where, When, and Why.

Who.

Many of you know me as Simon. But to me, my name has become more than just a name—it feels almost like a brand. Since starting my PhD three years ago, the work I do and the things I share with the world are stamped with my name. That simple fact has reshaped how I view it. I feel a growing sense of ownership over what my name represents, and a responsibility to uphold a certain standard, knowing that others are forming impressions in relation to it.

Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t the first Simon Lee to step foot on UCLA. I remember googling myself early in my PhD, only to find that another “Simon Lee”, a librarian at UCLA, dominated the search results. In response, I began using Simon A. Lee, not so much to distinguish myself in daily life, but to carve out a digital space that was more definitively mine.

As for who I am, I honestly find it hard to define. I feel as if my personality is changing once again, and that I just adapt and change depending on my environment. And to be frank, I think this constant state of flux stems from a deeper struggle with balance. Graduate school can be isolating in ways that are difficult to explain. The further I move along this path, the more I recognize just how skewed my sense of balance has become.

If I had to describe myself, I’d probably say I feel like a hermit crab. Hermit crabs carry their homes—these bulky, protective shells—wherever they go, and those shells come to define them. They rarely switch, but when they do, it often signals a transformation, a quiet rebranding. And yet, the crab inside stays the same. That’s how I feel: still myself, but in a new shell, trying to find a space that fits.

What.

As of three weeks ago, I started a new journey working as an AI resident in industry. Like any profession, it’s good to change your environment every now and then, with the hope that it sparks new inspiration for the work you do. My intentions were no different—I thought I could benefit from working alongside a bunch of intelligent and bright people. Three weeks in, I’ve been fortunate to meet many great people who genuinely believe in me, and even just grabbing a cup of coffee with them in the morning has given me the energy to do my very best. It feels nice to be appreciated and valued for your skill set, but like I told my manager this past week, there’s no reason to thank or praise me when I haven’t done anything yet.

Where.

The tech industry has really been crashing out as of late, so I feel very fortunate to have found an opportunity to work in Silicon Valley.

And just to put my life on hard mode, I commute every day by train from San Francisco to Mountain View. It seems tough from the outside, but people who know me well also know I used to take a boat across countries just to get to school. So it’s not a big deal—at least to me—and I actually feel a sense of nostalgia for my days in Europe, because Caltrain is surprisingly high quality and reminds me a lot about Europe.

When.

I signed a lease in the San Francisco Bay Area for the year. Working in AI, I feel fortunate that my workspace can be anywhere in the world. So even when I eventually step away from industry and return to my PhD duties, I’ll likely stay in the city for the rest of the year. If you’re around San Francisco, come say hi.

Why.

"Why" is always the tough question. There are so many directions I could take this prompt, but I wanted to explain in a bit more depth why I decided to start writing again.

In my life, I deeply value memories. I think capturing and preserving them in our digital world can be done in one of two ways. One of those ways (also one of my favorite hobbies) is photography. Nothing professional per se, but just documenting the things I do and the places I go. “A picture is worth a thousand words”, and it genuinely has the power to evoke memories that are deeply personal to me. To most people, these images might mean nothing, but I try my best to remember the little things.

The second most powerful way to preserve a memory, I believe, is through writing. Writing is an incredibly powerful art form. You get to create a voice, tell a narrative, and share your perspective on the world. What amazes me about writing is that a simple sequence of words can paint a vivid, emotional canvas. That’s what I hope to do through this resurrection of my blog. I want to try to repaint memories and capture deep thoughts, hoping that somewhere along the way, my words resonate with whoever happens to be reading.

Final Thoughts

I’ll do my best to stay consistent. Consistency has become a theme I’m trying to live by in my daily life, and that also means making an effort to maintain this blog regularly.

Quote of the Blog

“I pray to be like the ocean, with soft currents, maybe waves at times. More and more, I want the consistency rather than the highs and the lows.” - Drew Barrymore