Poems

I woke up in Balagzong (巴拉格宗), a small remote village in deep mountains of Shangri-la region. A handful of houses huddled together at 3500m altitude, clinging to steep mountain slopes. Life here is challenging at such heights, yet these material hardships have softened human conflicts. Or perhaps, under the gaze of the Holy Balag Mountain, the people here are especially devout and content.

A fresh scent of pine needles drifted to my nose — it came from an elderly offering incense in the early morning. She burns fresh pine branches, grains, and wood as offerings, then circles the white stupa (白塔) clockwise in prayer. The early sun gently caresses mountain tops, echoing the golden hue of her headscarf.

In Tibetan Buddhism, people believe in Sunyata, 空性, or emptiness. Nothing exists independently — a tree exists because of the seed, soil, water and sunshine. The idea of an independent "I" is an illusion. We exist because of a complex web of interdependent conditions. Tibetans believe everything deserves equal respect: mountains, rivers, flowers, animals, human beings.

"What happens if an earthquake occurs?" I ask our local Tibetan guide. "It's karma. We have offended nature and must face consequences."

To some extent, it's true — human activities can disturb ecological systems. Building water dams, for example, can destabilize mountains, triggering landslides and making earthquakes more destructive.

This left me thinking. My work is about forecasting weather events using AI; I want to help societies better prepare for extreme weather events. In attempting to decode nature, I wonder if ambition and curiosity risk becoming arrogance? Where does the quest for knowledge fit alongside reverence for the unknown? How to cast the web of science and technology with religion and nature? Am I pursuing a meaningful destination, honoring Karma, 缘分 and nature.

Sunyata also teaches impermanence — the interdependent nature leads to ever changing conditions. In the lifespan of the universe, mountains rise and fall. In the gaze of the mountains, human civilizations emerge and fade. In the span of our fleeting lives, emotions, joy, hatred, goals, obligations pass like clouds. Perhaps the destination holds neither meaning nor weight, but merely another condition in the unfolding of my Sunyata. Perhaps the sunrise and sunsets we share matter more than any destination.

What is the role of nature, civilisation, and technology, in relationship to modernity, progress, and humanity? As technologists, should we shout for attention to mark our existence, or should we ask where are we heading with our tools? Perhaps, technology is merely a tool.

Is technology an advancement for civilisation? Or is it an advancement towards the end of civilisation.

"Developing technology to make a positive impact in the world" — this is what they teach us at MIT. But wait, is "impact" ever "good"?

Impact — change, make a difference, marking our existence, leaving a trace. Is it out of altruistic pursuits in the name of progress of civilisation, or rather, is it out of egoistic pursuits? Elon Musk, Mark Zuckerberg, Jeff Bezos, Sam Altman — the "techno gods" of our era. Precisely though, they are more "technology monopolists". But why are we entrusting them with "god-like" power to steer the direction of civilisation?

This morning I went for a swim in the coast of Sardinia, and made friends with three fish. They are probably confused and entertained by me — a clumsy big fish. As I looked back onshore, our hotel is unrecognisable in the bare stony Sardinian landscape, blending into the surroundings, almost in inexistence. What a contrast to Frank Gehry-esque buildings, where pieces of metal planks are shouting for your attention.

For a retail business, revenue = avg price × volume. For apps, revenue = avg time spent × users. I was catching up with a former classmate who works at Meta, whose performance is measured by increasing seconds users spent on the app. It's not hard to see why Instagram, TikTok, Twitter are so addictive, and why people stop reading books or watching movies, but instead turn to TV series that never ends.

When was the last time I checked my phone? Seconds ago. Buzz, there comes a notification — a new "like", a breaking news, a sell-order was executed. How do I feel? Happy, sad, surprised… or actually, stressed?

And when was the last time I smiled to the child sitting on the next table curiously looking at me? Or when did I stop to notice the blossom of a street flower, or the passing of a horse-shaped cloud? Why are we so governed by a piece of black metal box. Thanks Steve Jobs, but no thanks. How about an electronic-free zone?

Philosophers tend to think that us, homo sapiens, have a special place of existence in nature: consciousness. But are scientific methods really the only way to define existence? What if we are merely drawing a box for us to live in, defined by the boundary of our knowledge, justifying for the sake of our peace of mind — after all, it always feels nicer when you live in a better house than your neighbour, or so you thought.

"万物有灵" (All things have spirit), as Buddhist teaching goes. What if we could connect with fish, ocean, trees, wind, mountains, sunlight, or anything that has or not has a heartbeat? What if we simply let go of the notion of "me" and "them", let go of the boundary of the box we draw. Let, go.

In Ancient Greece society, they rank craftsmen (equivalent to engineers) after artists, after priests, after soldiers, after politicians, after philosophers. In the Caste system of India, merchants are the third caste, after warriors, after priests / scholars. In ancient Chinese society under Confucian values, the ranking goes: scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants. 士农工商

In the upcoming 2024 US election, Trump, a businessman-turned-politician, teaming up with a VC-turned Vice President candidate. Elon Musk, an engineer businessman, will donate 45 million a month to support.

"It's easier to be happy when you are stupid," my father said. I went down a rabbit hole of dictionary searches:

He is probably right. So I opened Instagram, and quickly checked how many likes I got from my last post.