Time is a strange thing. We measure it obsessively, yet we never truly understand it. We divide it into seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years, pretending that by naming it, we can control it. But time doesn’t slow down when we ask it to, and it doesn’t wait for us to catch up. It moves forward with or without our permission, indifferent to our plans, our regrets, or our hopes.

Last night, watching the countdown, I felt that indifference clearly. The numbers dropped — 10, 9, 8 — and for a brief moment, everything felt suspended. Then zero arrived, and before I could even process it, the numbers rose again: 1, 2, 3. Just like that, 2026 had begun. No pause. No transition. No space to breathe. I was shocked by how immediate it was, how cleanly one year erased another.

It made me realize that time isn’t a physical thing at all. We can’t touch it, can’t hold it, can’t even look at it closely. We only see its effects — wrinkles forming, memories fading, habits changing, people coming and going. We live inside time, yet we remain outsiders to it. Trapped in an unstoppable game we never agreed to play, until the end of our small and fragile lives.

The Year That Was…2025

2025 is officially history now. Gone with the countdown. And somehow, it feels both incredibly distant and painfully close. I never thought a year could pass this fast. Looking back, I remember moments — sharp, vivid flashes — but entire months feel like they vanished without leaving a trace. It’s unsettling, but also honest. That’s how life works.

As I step into 2026, I already know one thing for sure: I can’t possibly review or capture everything that happens in my life. Even though I still follow the three pillars I structured for myself back in 2024, I’ve learned my limits. I’ve tried to review too much before — too many goals, too many dimensions, too many expectations — and it always leads to frustration. No matter how disciplined I am, I can never properly cover more than two aspects of my life in a single weekly review with real depth.

So this year, I’m choosing a different approach.

Instead of trying to document everything, I’ve decided to document only two things each week: a high note and a low note.

At first, this felt like giving up. Like admitting defeat. But the more I thought about it, the more it felt right. Because when I look back at my records from 2025, only those highs and lows remain clear in my mind. The in-between moments — the neutral days, the routine hours — are mostly gone with the wind. They existed, they mattered at the time, but they didn’t leave a strong imprint.

Maybe that’s not a flaw in memory. Maybe that’s simply how our brains are designed to help us survive.

We don’t remember life as a continuous stream. We remember it as a series of peaks and valleys. Moments of joy, pain, pride, failure, clarity, confusion. Those are the points where we feel most alive, most aware. Everything else becomes background noise.

Life is a lot like a well-edited book. The boring parts are cut out. Or like music — without ups and downs, there is no rhythm. A song made of constant intensity would be unbearable. A song with no variation would be forgettable. Rhythm is what gives meaning to sound, just as contrast gives meaning to experience.

We can’t possibly keep every word in between and still create a meaningful life. Trying to do so only overwhelms us. I’ve learned that holding onto every trivial memory, every small frustration, every passing thought only makes life heavier than it needs to be.

The Rhythm of 2026

So in 2026, I’m consciously choosing to let go.

I can already see myself cutting off unnecessary memories, unnecessary guilt, unnecessary mental clutter. Not because those moments didn’t matter, but because they don’t need to define me. Instead, I want to focus on the high notes and the low notes — the moments that shape me, teach me, and move me forward.

This approach feels kinder. Easier to manage. More honest.

And maybe happiness doesn’t come from having more, remembering more, or doing more. Maybe it comes from simplifying — curating life the way an artist curates a composition. Leaving space. Allowing silence. Trusting that not everything needs to be recorded to be real.

In 2026, I hope to live an easier and happier life. Not an effortless one — but a clearer one. I want everything to feel simple, yet minimalistically beautiful. I want my days to have intention without pressure, structure without rigidity.

I’m also moving forward creatively. I want to make a strong sound — one that comes from my unique experiences, my observations, my passion for creating and documenting life as it actually is, not as it’s supposed to look. I don’t want noise. I want resonance.

Time will continue to move forward, whether I’m ready or not. I can’t stop it. I can’t slow it down. But I can choose how I move with it. I can choose rhythm over chaos, meaning over excess, presence over perfection.

For 2026, the theme is clear—Amazingly Gorgeous Rhythm. A rhythm that resonates throughout every step, every move. It’s not just a theme; it’s a declaration of how I decided to live, work, and create this year. Let this rhythm guide us, on and on.

Spark, You Deserve To!

In 2026, I’m choosing to shine—one high note and one low note each week. Join me as I capture the moments that light up my journey and remind myself that brilliance is something we all deserve.