Lately, a fervent yearning for inner cultivation has taken root. Though each day unfurls with an endless procession of tasks, I compel myself to shut the computer, as if drawing a curtain on the noise of the world. My recent days have been consumed by personal projects—endeavors that unexpectedly rekindled the spirit I once carried while preparing for the IELTS: a quiet intensity, a clarity of purpose, and a willingness to endure. In the rhythm of daily life, I’ve begun to distinguish what truly matters from what merely clamors for attention.
Years spent in Hong Kong have taught me the art of detachment. I’ve grown indifferent to anything that does not concern me directly. Lately, this detachment has sharpened into something almost sublime—so much so that I’m unsure what form it has taken. Still, I choose to see it as a sign of growth, a quiet evolution toward self-possession.
Why does the flame of my personal pursuits continue to burn—brighter now than ever? Because in the daily grind of survival, I’ve made countless compromises: in my profession, in my aspirations, even in my relationships. I’ve endured what once felt unendurable. Looking back, I’m struck by the weight of it all. I made choices that betrayed my nature, simply to smooth the path ahead. I bore burdens that, in another life, I might have collapsed beneath.
Time has passed, and without realizing it, my moat has widened. I’m not yet at ease, not yet untouchable—but I’ve earned the right to consider myself. I can now refuse what feels corrupt, sidestep what might wound. Compared to the past, this is a vast improvement.
But I am not content. I believe that soon, I will not only reject the grime—I will sharpen my edge. I will not merely defend; I will strike.
