Quiet Strength

It Felt Too Unbelievable to Be Real

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I want to be upfront about something. I didn’t download the app to find love.

I downloaded it the way you’d walk into a store just to browse… No intention of buying anything, just curious about how the whole thing works. I’d been reading about these platforms. How they function, what keeps people hooked, and honestly, whether the scam stories were real. You know the kind of expected flow will be like someone adds you, builds a connection over weeks, then slowly steers the conversation toward some investment opportunity you’ve never heard of. I wanted to see it for myself.

So I went in eyes wide open. Or at least I thought I did.

Around January 2026, someone (known as Park, a fake name) messaged me on the App. She said she had no friends. None. And she was still processing a breakup from a relationship that had lasted thirteen years. I couldn’t relate as I’ve never been in a serious relationship, but I kept the conversation going anyway. Something about her felt real, even if I couldn’t fully explain why. We moved off the app pretty quickly. Exchanged numbers, started chatting on WhatsApp. Not every day at first, but gradually it became that. Little check-ins. “What are you up to?” “Just finished lunch, you?” The kind of messages you don’t overthink.

I kept part of my brain switched on though. Is this a setup? Is the investment pitch coming? I was waiting for it.

It never came.

Instead, we just… talked. About everything and nothing. Work, life, what kind of food we liked, where we wanted to travel. Somewhere in February, she mentioned she felt like she’d healed from her breakup. That she was ready to do things again.

We found out we both love the sea. Blue skies. That kind of peace you only get near water.

So we did something slightly insane, we booked a trip to Malacca. Together. Two people who had never actually met, planning a few days away in April. We each took leave from work.

And then we got busy with life, and somehow we never met before the trip. Not once.

The day (5th April 2026) we left, I was up before 6am. She sent me a photo the night before so I’d recognise her at the bus terminal. I stood there in the early morning with that photo, looking around like I was waiting for someone I’d known for years. Which is a strange feeling when you’re about to see a stranger’s face for the first time. When we spotted each other, it wasn’t awkward. I don’t know how to explain that. It just wasn’t. At first, we just had some silent moments and small talk.

On the bus to Malacca, we talked the whole way. Neither of us touched our phones. She shared stories about past relationships, about how she thinks about work and business, and what kind of life she wants. I shared mine. The conversation moved the way good conversations do: no forced transitions, no running out of things to say. Silence wasn’t awkward; we were enjoying the peaceful breeze by the sea.

We checked into the hotel. Had meals together. Hit the gym. Did our own thing in between, but found our way back to each other for meals, where we’d pick up right where we left off. At night, we had a few drinks (nothing heavy), just relaxed. The kind of chilling that doesn’t need to be planned. We had our favourite fish and chips at 1-Altitude Melaka (Melaka’s highest dining spot).

Here’s the thing I haven’t been able to shake off and can’t stop thinking about why.

I’m not a particularly spiritual person. I don’t tend to read into things. But when I sit with this long enough, I can’t help but wonder if this whole thing was never about romance at all.

She’s 45. She’s lived. She’s loved someone for thirteen years and had to rebuild herself from scratch after that ended. And somehow, out of everyone on that app, she ended up in my chat. Talking to me, someone who has never been in a relationship, who sometimes wonders what direction her life is even heading, who needed to hear exactly the kind of things she was saying without knowing he needed to hear them.

The conversations about business. About how to think. About what kind of person you want to become and what it actually takes to get there. Those weren’t small talk. Looking back, they were the whole point.

I don’t know if I believe in coincidences anymore after this. Because what are the odds that I downloaded an app half-expecting to get scammed, and instead walked away with someone who, without ever trying to, quietly handed me a new way of looking at my own life?

Maybe she was sent. Maybe the universe, or God, or whatever you believe in, has a way of placing people in your path at the exact moment you need them, not always in obvious ways, not always in the form you’d expect. Sometimes it’s a 45-year-old stranger on a dating app who just got over a breakup and needed a friend too.

Or maybe we both needed each other. And that’s enough.

I don’t have a clean answer. I just know that I went looking for nothing, and somehow found something that felt like a light.

And that’s not something I’m willing to call a coincidence.

All I know is this:

Not everything in life needs to be explained immediately.

Some experiences are not meant to be solved.
Just… experienced.

The Utilisation Principle: What My Solo Hike to Mount Kinabalu Taught Me About Real Strength

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There’s a moment on every climb when your body screams to stop and your mind whispers that you’re not strong enough. I met that moment on Mount Kinabalu, alone, exhausted, and questioning why I even tried. I thought hiking solo would prove my resilience, that pushing through on my own would make me feel unstoppable. But somewhere on that steep, endless trail, I discovered something I didn’t expect.

Being alone, no matter how capable or determined I was, came with limits. Not just physical limits but emotional and mental ones. I had the willpower, but I didn’t have unlimited capacity or resources. And in that realisation, something shifted. I understood that the narrative of “doing it all alone” is not only unsustainable. It’s incomplete.

This is where the utilisation principle stopped being just a strategy and became survival wisdom. Stressors, challenges, and unexpected events will never disappear. Life doesn’t promise a smooth climb. It promises weather, detours, and steep drops. What changes everything is how well we utilise what’s within and around us to adapt and keep moving.

For so long, I’ve worn independence like armor. I believed that asking for help meant weakness, and that my worth was measured by how much I could endure without relying on anyone. But the mountain revealed a hard truth: strength isn’t about carrying everything alone. Strength is knowing when to let others in, when to lean on available resources, and when to rest rather than break.

As I descended the mountain, I realised how this mirrored the rest of my life. Stressful events and challenges are constants. They won’t vanish just because I’ve learned how to push harder. If I insist on taking everything on my shoulders, I’ll eventually collapse under the weight. Real wisdom is not about avoiding stress. It’s about turning it into momentum by using the tools, people, and opportunities around me.

This isn’t just about hiking. It’s about life and work.

In life, I’ve often believed that my worth was tied to my ability to “handle everything” on my own. But what if true resilience isn’t about isolating yourself in your strength, but building connections that magnify your capacity? Trusting others doesn’t make me weaker; it allows me to go further than I ever could alone.

In work, the same truth applies. You can be competent, efficient, and determined , but if you don’t utilise your team, your tools, and your environment, you’re operating at a fraction of your potential. The most successful leaders aren’t the ones who do everything themselves. They are the ones who orchestrate, delegate, and build systems that scale their impact.

I think back to that moment on the trail when the wind grew fierce, and I had to turn back near the summit. At first, it felt like failure. But now, I see it as a turning point. It wasn’t about reaching the top. It was about learning how to climb smarter, not harder. The mountain taught me that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is to stop, reassess, and lean on what’s around you.

Stress will always exist. Mountains (literal and metaphorical) will always stand tall. The challenge is not to remove them but to navigate them with grace, strategy, and the courage to admit we can’t do it all alone.

Climbing Mount Kinabalu taught me more than endurance; it taught me perspective. True strength is not measured by how much weight you can carry alone but by how wisely you utilise the support, opportunities, and inner resources you already have. It’s about knowing when to fight, when to adapt, and when to trust that letting others walk beside you doesn’t make you less. It makes you unstoppable.

The Quiet Truth About Why I Don’t Feel Proud

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During a recent company meeting, I was asked to share what I had been working on. I provided a brief update. As I finished, my boss smiled. He said, “You must be proud of your work.”

Then again, just a moment later,
“Really, you should be proud of what you’ve done.”

I smiled politely and nodded. But something about his words lingered long after the meeting ended.

In the days and weeks that followed, a quiet restlessness settled in.
I found myself circling around a question I didn’t even know I needed to ask:
Why don’t I feel proud?

And it’s not just about work.

After completing my Master’s oral defense in March, I received many kind messages.
“Congratulations!”
“You must be proud of yourself!”
“You’ve come so far!”

But inside? I didn’t feel that rush of pride others expected me to have.
There was no emotional high. No inner cheer.
Just… a calm. A stillness.

And that calm started to bother me.
Not because it felt wrong, but because it felt so different from how others described “success.”
I began to wonder:
What exactly is pride?
How do I define it?
And why don’t I seem to feel it the way others do?

At one point, I even questioned if something was wrong with me.

Because in a society that constantly celebrates visible achievement and bold confidence, not feeling proud can feel like you’re somehow lacking.
Like you’ve missed a key emotional milestone that everyone else naturally hits.

But recently, during a quiet morning of reflection, things became clearer.

I realised I’ve never been someone who seeks recognition.
I don’t chase applause.
I don’t do things to be seen.

I’ve always been driven by a deeper, quieter purpose:
To do things right. To live in alignment with my values. To act in ways I won’t regret.

So maybe I don’t resonate with the idea of “pride” in the conventional sense.
Because my satisfaction doesn’t come from praise.
It comes from integrity.

I don’t measure my life by trophies or titles.
I measure it by whether I can sleep at night with a clear conscience.
Whether I’ve stayed true to what I believe in, even when no one’s watching.

So no, there’s nothing wrong with me.

I’m just not wired to feel pride the way others do.
And I’ve come to see that as a quiet strength, not a flaw.

In a world that’s constantly pushing us to be proud of ourselves, maybe choosing to be at peace with ourselves is the most powerful thing we can do.

Navigating the Thesis Journey: From Submission to Defense

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On 17 February 2025, I submitted my final thesis.

I remember that day. The silent click of “Submit,” the feeling of relief mixed with the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones. I had poured myself into this research, line by line, sleepless night by sleepless night. When my professor signed off and approved it on 24 February, it felt like the baton was passed. The next milestone was set: 27 March – Oral Viva.

As I marked the date on my calendar, it felt distant, yet ever-looming like a mountain on the horizon.

Then came 24 March.

An email landed in my inbox, a long, detailed critique from the external examiner, a professor from NUS. I froze. My heart raced as I read through the words. It felt like my entire thesis was being taken apart, examined under a microscope. I thought: This could be bad. What if I can’t defend this? What if I unravel during the oral defense?

But panic eventually gave way to action. I tweaked my slides, reshaped my talking points, and focused intently on addressing the feedback, plugging gaps, reframing arguments, strengthening my theoretical scaffolding. It was a race against time, but I didn’t want to show up unprepared.

And today, 27 March, the curtain lifted.

I delivered my oral presentation. I spoke with clarity, with calm, with something resembling quiet courage.

To my utter surprise, the external examiner, yes, the same professor who had sent that intense email, kept praising me. He said I had done a very good job. That I had addressed his concerns. That he understood my work.

Another professor gently noted: You actually have ideas, strong ones, it’s just that they’re all over the place. You need to weave them better, give them clearer shape. And my professor, with his authority, told me that I had passed with revisions and was given three months to tidy up, polish, and refine.

The entire presentation and Q&A wrapped up in just about an hour. And that was that.

But here’s the part I didn’t expect:

As I sat alone afterwards, processing the moment…
I didn’t feel proud.

No rush of joy, no celebratory tears.
No triumphant soundtrack playing in the background.

Just… stillness.

I wondered: Is something wrong with me?
Why is it that after such a huge milestone, a master’s thesis, a completed viva, I feel more numb than anything?

But maybe, just maybe, this is part of the journey too.
Maybe pride doesn’t always roar.
Maybe, sometimes, it whispers.

Maybe it lives in the quiet act of showing up after fear.
In rewriting slides at the eleventh hour.
In holding your ground during tough questions.
In receiving critique and turning it into growth.

This isn’t the end. It’s a turning point.

Three more months to refine.
Three more months to strengthen the spine of my thesis.
Three more months to allow this quiet, uncelebrated strength to evolve into something bolder.

So here I am.
Not proud in the way I expected.
But steady. Grateful. And still moving forward.

Unforgettable Hallasan Hike: A Personal Journey

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After months of work and a significant break from writing (my last blog post was back in March), I finally got some time away. What better way to spend it than on a trip to Jeju, with the ultimate goal of hiking Hallasan, the island’s highest peak at 1,947 meters, and one of Korea’s most iconic hikes? To be honest, this trip was far from planned. In fact, had things gone as expected, I would have been celebrating the submission of my Master’s thesis during this October period. But, as life would have it, work commitments and new job scopes got in the way, delaying my thesis. Thankfully, I still have a year left to complete it.

Hallasan wasn’t initially on my bucket list, but when my friend, knowing my love for hiking, invited me along, I instantly agreed. It was a spontaneous decision made around April. I knew the hike could be tough, so two months before the trip, I committed to some serious training, two sessions a week to condition my body for what was to come.

Now, after completing the hike on 13th October 2024, here’s my honest review. First and foremost, this is not a beginner’s hike. I can’t emphasize this enough. It’s long, challenging, and a serious workout for both mind and body. If anyone is thinking about doing the Hallasan hike, my number one piece of advice is to train. Really train. Walking on rocky stones is intense and vastly different from walking on flat or muddy ground.

I hiked with a friend who hadn’t prepared much, and it became clear that the challenge was even greater for her. She struggled so much that it significantly slowed our pace. We found ourselves frequently waiting for her to catch up, which, for anyone who hikes, you’ll know that constant start-and-stop pace takes a toll. My muscles were screaming by the end, partly from the hike itself and partly from the irregular movements.

Thankfully, we were blessed with good weather and a bit of luck. Otherwise, the slippery rocks would have made the hike much more treacherous, and our limbs would have really suffered for it. For me, the real test came during the last 3 kilometers on the descent. My left hamstring cramped badly, and I had to stop multiple times. Every step felt like a battle, but along the way, I was reminded of the kindness of strangers. A few older Korean men (or uncles, as we’d call them) noticed my struggle and offered me some pain relief spray. They even took the time to ask if I was okay, a small act of kindness that gave me the extra push I needed to finish the hike.

Would I do it again? Yes, but not without better preparation. Hallasan is not for the faint-hearted, and I strongly recommend serious training before attempting it. Despite the physical toll, the journey and views were unforgettable. There’s something about reaching the summit and pushing through your limits that makes the pain worth it in the end.

This wasn’t just a hike; it was a lesson in perseverance and a reminder that even when life is tough and doesn’t go as planned, there’s always something beautiful waiting along the journey. You just have to endure, take it bit by bit, and pace yourself.

To wrap it all up, this hike was truly unforgettable. From the physical challenges to the unexpected moments of kindness, and even the beauty we were fortunate enough to witness along the way, Hallasan left a lasting impression. It’s not just the summit that made it memorable, but the entire journey, with its highs, lows, and everything in between. If you’re up for a challenge, and you prepare both mentally and physically, this hike is one that will stay with you long after your legs have recovered.

Navigating the Silence: My Journey Through Academic Uncertainty

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Yesterday, nestled in the quiet comfort of my bed, I found myself caught in a vulnerable moment. Tears streamed down my face as thoughts of my research project and my professor swirled in my mind. I’m in a phase where I feel utterly stuck, wrestling with doubts and uncertainties that seem to cling to me like shadows.

For weeks, I’ve been sending updates and data analysis reports to my professor, eagerly awaiting his feedback. Research, as I’ve come to understand, doesn’t offer the solace of straightforward answers or a one-size-fits-all approach, especially regarding the intricacies of regression analysis. This was my first attempt at navigating the complexities of formal writing in research without direct guidance, relying solely on the insights gleaned from credible sources. Yet, despite my efforts to reach out with my formal write-up on February 13th, the silence on his end is deafening. While I’m sympathetic to the demands of his schedule, I can’t help but feel abandoned in my academic journey.

This sense of isolation has only grown since an incident last June, when he offered me an interview for an administrative position within the school setting. Unfortunately, I didn’t secure the job, and since then, our relationship seems to have cooled, adding a layer of strain to our interactions.

It’s as if I’m adrift in the sea of my research work, with my professor too engulfed in his own responsibilities to notice my struggles. This has led me to procrastinate, caught in a limbo halfway through my graduation project, questioning my path. The disconnect between my postgraduate studies and my current job exacerbates this feeling of being lost, with no mentor to guide me or offer advice when the weight of research becomes too much to bear.

Yet, amidst this turmoil, I’ve begun to realize the importance of self-reliance and the value of perseverance. This journey, though fraught with challenges, is teaching me to navigate the complexities of academic life and to find strength within myself. As I continue to push forward, I hold onto the hope that this experience will shape me into a more resilient and independent scholar, ready to face the uncertainties of the academic world with a renewed sense of purpose.

Facing the Crossroads: Burnout, Loss of Motivation, or Research Lost?

At this juncture, I’m grappling with a profound sense of uncertainty. Am I experiencing burnout, or am I simply lost in the maze of research, losing motivation along the way? The distinction is crucial, yet elusive. Burnout suggests a depletion of energy, a weariness that comes from overextension while losing motivation could imply a disconnect from the passion that once fueled my academic pursuits. Being “research lost” points to a more specific kind of dilemma, an intellectual impasse where direction and clarity in research are missing. I hope that I can find a renewed purpose amid this turmoil and I know it is not a straightforward journey. It requires introspection and a willingness to embrace vulnerability

As I continue to push forward, I hope this postgraduate experience will shape me into a more resilient and independent scholar, ready to face the uncertainties of the academic world with a renewed sense of purpose. The path may not be clear, but each step taken to understand and overcome these challenges is a step toward regaining my footing in the academic journey.


In the silence of our studies, we find the loudest echoes of our future selves. Embrace the uncertainty, for it is the soil in which wisdom grows.

BY ARETE

Navigating Surgery and Surrender: My Hospital Experience

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It was a fateful Saturday when I was scheduled to check my infection condition and return to work, but destiny had a different plan – a ‘staycation’ at the hospital. The innocuous pimple-like bump I initially dismissed as trivial turned out to be a far more intricate issue. Following the doctor’s assessment, I received the startling news that several hidden complexities required immediate surgery at Mount Elizabeth Novena.

Internally, fear welled up within me, yet I strived to maintain composure. As the medical team ushered me towards the operating room, their reassuring words did little to quell my anxiety. My mind was a blank canvas, uncertain of what lay ahead, so I entrusted my well-being to their capable hands. As I finally entered the operating theater, I inhaled laughing gas, allowing the anesthesia team to secure an IV drip in my left hand. Moments later, the general anesthesia flowed, and I succumbed to unconsciousness within a minute. The clock displayed 1:10 pm as I faded into oblivion. My next conscious moment arrived around 2:30 pm in the recovery area, accompanied by a shiver coursing through me and intense pain at the surgical site.

By 2:40 pm, I was relocated to my ward, where potent painkillers provided relief from the discomfort. Thankfully, the shivering ceased after about 15 minutes. Only then could I indulge in a belated teabreak within the confines of my ward. The meal, though simple, was comforting – a bowl of white porridge, a slice of pandan cake, and a warm cup of Milo. It may not have been a gourmet feast, but it felt like a remedy for my post-surgery chills.

Following the meal, an urgent need to visit the bathroom arose. Due to hospital protocol, a nurse accompanied me. However, as I rose, an unexpected bout of dizziness swept over me, leaving me feeling disoriented. I moved cautiously, feeling as though my surroundings were spinning. After attending to my needs, the nurse assisted me in ordering dinner and a night teabreak from the intriguing menu. For dinner, I relished slow-cooked aged black angus beef short ribs, vegetable broth, chilled mango sago with pomelo, and apple juice. It arrived promptly at 6:10 pm and was nothing short of delicious.

This experience marked the first time in my life that I had to rely on so many medications, which left me feeling drowsy and lethargic. Yet, I persevered in taking the prescribed drugs to manage the pain. With each passing moment, I clung to the hope of inching closer to feeling like myself again. Restarting everything from scratch might be frustrating on a physical level, but I remain hopeful that I can manage it better, even though there are no guarantees.

In conclusion, I can’t help but reflect on this challenging journey. To my future self, remember that you were undeniably brave to face it all alone. It’s okay to acknowledge that deep down, there were moments of fear and even a mental breakdown. But in those vulnerable moments, you found a reservoir of strength you never knew existed. This experience, though daunting, has the potential to forge a remarkable mental toughness within you. Embrace the lessons learned and the resilience discovered during this time, for they are the building blocks of a stronger, more resilient you. Keep moving forward with courage and the knowledge that you can overcome whatever challenges come your way.

“Recovery is a process. It takes time. It takes patience. It takes everything you’ve got.”

Chaotic times in 2020, This too shall pass

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2020 has changed everything.

Take heart. The madness of 2020 is coming to an end. 2020 has radically change almost everything we do: how we work, socialize, exercise, study, shop, manage our health, educate our kids, take care of family members. With this disruption occurrence, it’s the start of a completely different way of life.

Covid-19 has changed everything. I have to confess that I have learned a lot from this uncontrollable pandemic.

It had taught me that nothing is ever guaranteed and what we thought we can never lose can be lost in the blink of an eye. For example, the surge in Covid-19 cases revealed Singapore’s blind spots over migrant workers. The poor and dense living conditions at dormitories became a big loophole that all of us were left heedless of attracting the highly contagious nature of the coronavirus.  Dormitories were placed on locked down. It was really a wake-up call we all needed that we cannot remain the same. It is teaching us to take a closer look at everything around you and realize that there is some inequality going on. Maybe it’s time to strengthen our ‘gratitude muscle’ to stop and show appreciation for and return any kindness to anyone we met. 

It had taught me that we have to adapt when things aren’t going in our favour. It’s an unpredictable ride. As a result, we oftentimes end up feeling overwhelmed when we feel off. But really, feeling off is just a part of being intrinsically human and aware of how we are feeling at that moment. They are what make you real.  A human with a beating heart. Maybe it’s time to start thinking that life can be easy, simple, and rewarding by just going with the flow.

It had taught me that some things can’t be waited and the real issues in our lives won’t go away on their own unless we find a solution. 2020 was the year we all realized that to keep on living, we must learn how to survive the unexpected changes in our lives and survive the most challenging and troubling feelings we go through. Giving up on the carefree vibe became seemingly inexorable, leaving behind those grandiose expectations and accepting the harsh reality. Responsibilities change, passions fluctuate, the pressure to be a certain person arises, and this alright. You might not achieve what you want all of the time. By swallowing down my pride, I have to rediscover myself, close whatever desires, and fathom up the courage to create my own new ending.

It had taught me that life is very fragile and unpredictable. These string of shocking and heartbreaking deaths of notable individuals occurred in 2020. For example, the NBA legend (Kobe Bryant) and his daughter was killed when the helicopter crashed into the side of a mountain. The Black Panther star (Chadwick Boseman) passed away after a very private four-year battle with colon cancer. The Taiwanese singer-host (Alien Huang) was found dead at his home and his autopsy report concluded that he died from cardiovascular complications. They may be gone but they are definitely not forgotten. None of us can stop life from being fragile. What we can guarantee is our here and now. You have no idea what is awaiting you tomorrow, so you should try your hardest to make the most out of today. No matter how tired you are, we should appreciate what we already have. It’s easy to get caught up in the continuous cycle of work, sleep, and more work. Our body and mind are the most valuable assets. To get through each day both need to be kept in good shape. Remember, we need to give ourselves a tune up every day by spending more time with your family, not with your home office. Limit distractions by resisting the urge to check email. Participate in hobbies or activities that you enjoy. Scheduling time for yourself and your mind and body will thank you.

Sometimes we aren’t supposed to make sense out of the chaos. Sometimes, the chaos is meant to help us make sense out of ourselves. All of us, we will have to adapt to a new way of living, working, and forging relationships. But with all changes, there will be some who lose more than most, and they will be some who have lost far too much already. Everyone wants to be safe, secure and accepted. No year is ever perfect. No matter good or bad, mistakes happen first, and learning tends to achingly follow.

In 2021, I hope that I will surround myself with people who appreciate how hard I feel and how much I care. Ditch the people who believe my big heart is a shortcoming rather than a virtue. I hope to carry the openness for new things to happen, for better things to become. This is your time to let go and only take with me what’s meant for me. I will push myself forward with radiant momentum to rebuild a better self. As long as I remember to listen to the inner child and find peace with it, I will always have a piece of magic within me.

“Challenges are what make life interesting and overcoming them is what makes life meaningful.” – Joshua J. Marine”

Embracing Thesis Completion: The Moment Arrives

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At the start of the project, everything may seem fresh and exciting. As I get going, I am intimated by the challenges throughout the process. At all times, I hold myself responsible and try to be aware of my own effort.

As I made progress, my effort would be stroked by the pleasures of achieving and fulfilling the tasks. At various times, I felt very overwhelmed, lost and confused. Slowly, I had it figured out.

Over the past 11 months, I didn’t really foresee any obstacles, but at least I accepted them and somehow find a way to overcome it.

With my effort and perseverance, I made it! Written like more than 22,000 words. That sense of satisfaction and achievement made me realise that my resilience and grit helps to maintain the effort and interest needed to finish hard. The joy in my heart was smiling!

Toward the end of the project, I was finally able to stand up stronger. At some point, I feel that I managed to survive everything life has thrown at me, and some of it has been really, really tough.

Lesson learned: Live and do everything in such a way so that if you look back in time, you shouldn’t say that if had a time machine I would’ve done it better.

So what’s next? 🧐