// Life
Some thingsthat make me.
A personal website that only shows resume, projects, and contact feels too much like a curated folder. It can demonstrate what I've done, where I studied, what technologies I use, which projects I've completed — letting others assess whether I fit a role or a collaboration.
But most of that information is result — compressed into a few lines, filed into fixed categories. Clear, efficient, slightly cold. It can prove what I've done, but not why I'd care about any of it, why I'd choose these directions, or why I express myself in this particular way.
So I want to keep a page for things that don't fit neatly into a project.
01
Why I built Mory.
I built Mory because I noticed that many moments in life don't automatically get preserved.
Photos keep images. Chat logs keep conversations. Notes keep a few sentences. Maps keep where you've been. Calendars keep appointments. They're each useful, but scattered across different places. Looking back after some time, it's hard to reassemble "what that day was actually like."
Often it's not that we lack a life — it's that life moves faster than we can hold onto it. What I really care about are often very small things: the quality of evening light, trees along the road, a mood from something someone said, a walk with no destination, a moment that felt suddenly comfortable, the sudden quiet after an event, a photo taken casually but that can pull you right back to that moment.
They're not grand enough to write an essay about. But if they disappeared completely, something would feel missing.
02
Recording shouldn't be a task.
Write a diary entry every day. Summarize your emotions daily. Complete your streak. Review today using a fixed template — these approaches have value and suit some people. But to me, they feel a little heavy.
Once recording becomes a task, it starts making demands: demands completeness, demands meaning, demands consistency. But life isn't always complete. It isn't always meaningful. Things just happen — they lightly brush past you, and then they're gone.
They don't have clear beginnings, goals, processes, and outcomes like projects do — they're closer to what life actually is. Projects can be reviewed, archived, displayed; but many things in life can only be kept, or forgotten.
03
Interest in software.
My interest in software comes partly from here.
I like apps that are light, natural, and not in a hurry to prove how powerful they are. They don't necessarily have many features or complex dashboards and complete workflows, but they make an action feel smooth, make a moment easier to hold onto, make you want to open them without pressure.
The problem with a lot of software isn't insufficient capability — it's being too eager to show it. They spread all features across the surface, fill every entry point, drag the user through every step of a process, and end up making people feel exhausted.
Good software doesn't have to push everything at the user. Sometimes it's just a button that appears at exactly the right moment. A card with the right depth. Transitions that don't interrupt attention. A recording that doesn't require making too many choices first.
04
Interest in physical space.
I'm also drawn to real spaces.
This year when I went home for the March 3rd Festival, I started noticing the courtyard, the forest beside it, the house entrance, which direction the gate faces. These seem unrelated to computer science, but I really do think about these details repeatedly: where a person enters, what they see first, where should be left open, where it's good to pause, what shouldn't be filled with things.
Later I found that this sense of space naturally affects how I see interfaces and products. An app also has its own entry point, path, emphasis, and white space. After a user opens it, what they see, what they do first, where they linger, when they leave — all of this needs to be arranged.
05
House renovation ideas.
I used to think repeatedly about renovating the family house.
Real space doesn't change as freely as a rendering. The courtyard isn't large, the gate position can't be arbitrarily changed, many ideas have to return to concrete conditions. This process made me more accepting of constraints themselves. Not everything needs to be bigger, fuller, more complex. Sometimes it's more important to get the relationships right within boundaries.
This is also what I care about in product work. A product also can't do everything. It has its own boundaries, and must keep certain whitespace. Knowing what to put in and what to keep outside may be harder than simply adding features.
06
Event production.
Event production is similar.
A gala isn't just a program list, nor just stage, lighting, and music. It's more like a live system. Where does the audience come from, when do they enter, who's responsible for guidance, how do segments connect, how does the host save the show, how is backstage coordinated, how does the on-site mood build, how do people disperse after it ends — all of this needs to be organized. Events look lively, but behind the liveliness there must be order.
What I discovered I liked wasn't "hosting events" as an activity — it was the process of organizing many loose people, content, flows, and emotions into a complete scene. A program list is just the order on paper. The real event happens in the details: the pause after applause fades, the host's tone during transitions, the moment the lights dim, the reluctance to leave right after it ends.
07
What connects all of this.
During university, I've done things that seem like they don't belong to the same category: information security, graduation thesis, zero-knowledge proofs, event systems, gala production, iOS app, personal website, social account operations, renovation plans.
Placed in a resume they might look scattered, because a resume prefers clear lines: specialization, project experience, internship experience, tech stack. But placed here, I actually feel they're connected.
They all relate to the same question: can I organize things that are originally scattered?
Organize identity verification into a more privacy-preserving process. Organize an event into something that can be remembered. Organize daily fragments into memories worth revisiting. Organize a courtyard's entry and boundaries into something more fitting for living. Organize personal experience into a website that doesn't look like a template.
This question is probably closer to my real interest than any specific project. What I care about is whether things that are scattered can be placed back into a structure. This structure doesn't have to be complex — but it should make things easier to understand, easier to enter, and easier to stay in.
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So this page isn't a blog. I won't set fixed themes or require regular updates. It won't be arranged by date like an article list, and each entry won't try to make a point. It's more like a slowly changing place — for photos, short sentences, preferences, and fragments. It doesn't need to be complete — just real.
These things make me.
If the resume proves what I've done, and projects prove what I've completed, this page explains how I see those things.