During my childhood, around the age of four or five, I remember a particular evening. I was walking along the road inside the grounds of my house after dinner. I did it because my father taught me that walking after a meal helps with digestion. I didn’t really understand what that meant, but I went out anyway.

It was dusk. I looked up at the sky and saw the moon. I watched it for a while and continued walking, keeping my eyes fixed on it. Then, I discovered something surprising. I tried running forward and backward while still staring at the moon, and it felt as if the moon was moving along with me. I ran back and forth, puzzled. Even now, fifty years later, I still can’t quite explain why it felt that way. —and only recently have I learned that this phenomenon is called "Lunar Parallax."

Sometimes, while playing on the lawn, I would imagine that there might be an entire tiny world hidden within the blades of grass. A world that had everything exactly like ours, including another version of me. That was the imagination of a five-year-old.

I have never been one to search for the "meaning of life"—wondering why we were born or seeking ultimate answers. It’s just not in my nature to pursue those things. Yet, I cannot deny a certain curiosity. I find myself constantly observing events and things around me, trying to understand them bit by bit along the way. These observations act as anchors for my thoughts, forming a perpetually unfinished map. I piece the image together only as much as I feel is necessary, thinking that should be enough. And yet, without even realizing it, I never stop wondering.