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昨晚悉尼海港大桥跨年烟火的璀璨盛景，吸引了超过一百万人在现场观看。而我，早已不是五年前那个怀着满腔新鲜感、愿意为了几分钟的烟花排队数小时的自己。岁月悄然改变了热忱，却也赋予了更多的内省。写年终总结，不仅是为了将记忆封存，更是为未来的自己铺陈思索的足迹。偶然落入你的眼中，能为你带来些许启发，那将是我的荣幸。同时，也非常欢迎大家留言交流。

2024年的一大收获莫过于发现了社区丰富的图书馆资源，包括大量中英文书籍。我渐渐养成了同时阅读一本书的中英文版的习惯，这种方式不仅让我体会到语言的微妙差异，也让我英文阅读的速度显著提升。尽管如此，与中文相比，英文阅读的效率仍显逊色。粗略估计，中文理解速度大约是英文的两倍，涉及陌生的话题，差距会更大。究其原因，我分析，阅读中文时，我能迅速筛选出废话和需要细读的重点，英文难以做到这一点。比如在听 Joe Rogan 的播客，即使是美国大选前最热的和川普的谈话也只能囫囵吞枣地听，太多的不熟悉人物事件。唯一例外是在阅读英文邮件时，开头和结尾的部分是可以快速跳读的。由此看来，阅读能力的提升，离不开熟能生巧的积累。

说到中英文书籍，首先要提到的是李光耀的《李光耀观天下》。这本书的中英文都有，作为一位政治强人，他的言辞斩钉截铁、直击人心，许多观点更是颠覆了我长期从简体中文媒体中接触到的信息。这本书为我开拓世界观提供了极大的助力。此外，他女儿李伟玲的一些文章合集《一个客家女子的新加坡故事》同样值得一读。

2024年，我入境新加坡四次，马来西亚一次，中国一次，澳大利亚两次。累计在新马地区待了两个多月，在珠三角和长三角地区待了几周，剩余九个月在澳洲。总的来说，在不同国家与地区间辗转穿梭，体验各地机场的繁忙与风格，感触良多。期盼未来能有更多机会探访全球的不同角落，去感受更多文化的丰富与多样。

在新加坡马来西亚有一个非常独特的体验。我开始尝试与陌生人coffee chat，通过和当地工作生活的人聊天，更触及了许多深层的知识与信息。

曾经住在深圳南山书城附近，我几乎数月如一日光顾一家潮汕牛肉丸河粉的小店，那热气腾腾的汤碗，是我味觉记忆中无法抹去的一笔。在新加坡中峇鲁，我又找到了味道相似的鸿顺猪肉粉，老板告诉我，他来自马来西亚的吉隆坡。马来西亚华裔主体是清朝末年及民国成立后自福建、两广和海南等地迁徙至马来亚的移民及其后代。

每每在看到《联合早报》上用简体中文写出的我国二字时，心中总会掀起一阵轻微的错位感——这个国并非中国。参加一个生日聚会，马来西亚人用普通话和粤语唱《生日快乐歌》，或者是在听Not Stupid 这个澳洲播客，马来人男主持 Jeremy Fernandez 说自己的家庭有发红包这个传统，乃是受马来西亚华人的影响，这更让我感到一种奇妙的文化交融。这样的景象，虽然在以英语为主的国家中常见，但在中文语境下却显得尤为特别。此前，我未曾如此鲜明地感受到这种跨文化的柔和渗透。

或许，类似的融合也存在于西班牙语与阿拉伯语的世界，只是我未能身临其境。而查阅维基百科后发现，全球海外华人的数量约有6000万之多，这个数字本身便似一个缩影，象征着一段段散落他乡却绵延不绝的文化传承与交汇。

另一段特别的旅程，是前往澳大利亚的北领地。爱丽丝泉，这座内陆中型枢纽与旅游重镇，荒凉中透着原始之美。一路上沙漠起伏连绵，山脉虽不高，却在地平线上延展出壮阔的轮廓。这里吸引着不少热爱冒险的户外探索者，他们或独自或结伴攀登那些低调的山岭。让我印象深刻的是，当地房屋的围栏略高于其他城市，也许暗示着治安稍逊一筹，但我们此行并未感受到不安。离开的最后一天，路上偶遇几位土著，善意地邀请我们喝酒，不知是玩笑还是友好的问候。

北领地的土著文化令人着迷，原住民艺术尤其引人入胜。美术馆中展出的作品虽禁止拍摄，却不失其魅力与特色。在那片著名的大石头旁，我们沿着岩壁绕行一圈，感受着这片古老土地的神秘与力量。这趟旅程是否值得推荐，见仁见智：喜爱荒野与孤寂的人会深深着迷，而偏爱热闹与丰富体验的人或许会觉得平淡无奇。但无论如何，这里给了我一场别样的记忆。

2024年我经历了重大的身份转变，从租客变成了房东。这一身份的更替颇为突然，而我对房东的角色可以说毫无准备。在与租客之间的小摩擦中，我渐渐摸索出相处的艺术，笑叹自己从吐槽房东的租客变成了被租客吐槽的对象，仿佛屠龙少年终究成了恶龙。

因为通货膨胀租金不断上涨，我选择了房贷与租金几近持平的一处房子，自己住一间，其余两间出租。这种安排让我在搬家后没有太多经济压力，也最低程度打乱生活的节奏。或许是我买房之前的期望太高，搬到新房后反而感觉没有预期的那么开心。不过相比之下，生活中依然有许多可喜之处。刚搬入时，我乐在其中地挑选家具，从客厅的挂画、桌布，到卧室的床单、斗柜，一件件为新家注入个性与温度。我还打理了小院，种下了几株绿植，部分夭折，其余的也仅算勉力存活。我还尝试将房间放上了 Airbnb，体验了另一种生活模式。面对住客的评价，心理倍感压力，尽管所有人都给了五星好评，这份心理负担依然让我力不从心。不过这段经历却为我打开了一扇观察世界的窗。来自韩国、中国、法国、加拿大美国、瑞士等国家的住客接踵而至，他们带着不同的文化与故事，令我的视野更加宽广，也再次点燃了我对世界的探索之心。新居的热情随时间淡去，心绪从最初的兴奋渐渐归于平静。这一年，过得充实却稍显疲惫。

2024年还在UNSW 读书了一年，共三个学期。名为读书，但更多是看上课录播，Lab也比较少去，真正踏入校园的次数屈指可数，不超过十次。大多时候是考前踩点，考试当天去参加线下测验。虽然计算机的课程性质决定了远程学习学到的知识并不会少，但是缺少了很多的线下交流也算一种遗憾。总体而言，学习体验还不错。白天工作晚上上课，确实辛苦。每天下班后，吃罢晚饭便坐下来写作业，日复一日。

成绩平平，但心态有了不小的转变。如今我已学会坦然接受那些不耀眼的分数，换言之，及格万岁。这种从容与过往截然不同，以前总会把成绩看得过于重要。如今与一些不到20岁的同学交流，我发现有些人依旧非常焦虑分数绩点。看似勤奋上进，但如果不是为了继续深造博士等，学习成绩在找工作时重要性不大。我苦口婆心相劝，不必执着于考试成绩，不如将更多精力放在找实习、做项目上，工作是王道。

关于工作方面，过去一年我的工作波澜不惊，有点像温水煮青蛙。有幸参与了一个AI项目，随着了解的深入，一种矛盾的情绪涌上心头——既惊叹于AI的强大，又不免生出被取代的危机感。或许，这是对未来略显悲观的解读，但不可否认的是，AI的浪潮正以不可逆转之势席卷而来。我的工作和学习也都大量依赖于AI。看着AI在几秒钟内完成我需要几小时才能完成的任务，想到了当年被 AlphaGo 击败的李世石。未来的发展很难预测，但AI的趋势却无可阻挡。这让我有动力去不断努力了解和使用AI。读了一本李开复写的《AI未来》，书中聚焦中西方的AI发展趋势，内容引人入胜，值得一读。尽管我并不完全认同他的所有观点，但这本书确实帮助我开阔了视野，提升了认知。

子弹文学流行起来：一个人在十三四岁时捡到一支真枪，年少无知地扣下扳机，结果没有人受伤。多年后，他走在路上，听到背后传来的风声，回过头来，发现那颗子弹正中眉心。

我想起十年前左右看到的一个讨论，移民海外的人是否会后悔。一个经典例子是，上世纪八九十年代，有人卖掉了北京的四合院，移民美国。多年后，当他们回国时，发现当年的三百万四合院已身价过亿，悔恨无比。故事的真实性无从考证，却鲜明地揭示了信息偏见的威力。我被单一的视角所束缚，而忽略更广阔的背景。若追溯四十年前四合院主人的城市经济背景，或纳斯达克指数四十年的增长曲线，就会发现，这种片面的比较不过是蒙蔽双眼的幻象。

我还读到一种关于境外IP的网民批评国内的解释：有些人出国后，会拼命贬低原来的国家，以证明当初选择的正确性，这种心理现象被称为皈依者狂热。然而现实中，许多外国身份不仅允许免签进入中国，还在国内教育医疗等资源的分配上享有诸多特权。这些政策和宣传的广泛流传，意在制造一种境外势力的假象，利用民众的仇富心理来掩盖真正的矛盾。

阅读《留学美国：一个时代的故事》帮我管中窥豹地了解了三四十年前的留学生活，作者是中国前副总理钱其琛的儿子钱宁，讲述他获奖学金到密歇根大学留学的见闻。

“我本可以忍受黑暗，倘若我没有见过光明”

2024年我的墙内账号相继炸号，炸号就是令你在墙内网络世界消失。别人找不到你，虽然自己仍然能够登入帐号，不过那已变成你一个人的世界，无法再和任何人接触。我虽然知道可以新开一个号，但那等于间接承认平台有任意炸号的权利，而开了新号，为了避免再次被炸，我会更小心翼翼，做足自我审查，即李佳琦悖论。它的解释是：一个人如果想要完全不触碰到政治禁区，那么他就必须了解所有的政治禁区。

幸运的是，我发现如今墙外的中文媒体已经形成了规模，制作内容和水平都堪称优良品质，2024年经常观看并深受他们影响的中文自媒体包括：不明白播客，吉祥八卦兔，柴静，老周横眉，二爷故事，官场，M2档案，多伦多方脸，李老师等等。虽然并不完全赞同他们的全部内容，但是感谢他们对丰富中文自媒体，拓宽我的信息的贡献。

我本可以忍受黑暗，倘若我没有见过光明。可光明一旦照耀过，就在心中留下了无法愈合的印记。它让人知道，原来思考可以如此不羁，言语可以如此铿锵，表达可以如此热烈。而当目光重新投向黑暗，黑暗就不再是黑暗，而是令人无法忍受的压迫。光明与黑暗的对比，让人质问，为什么光的另一端，不能是每个人都可以触及的平原？

My 2024 in review

The dazzling New Year’s Eve fireworks over Sydney Harbour Bridge last night attracted more than one million people to watch in person. As for me, I am no longer the person I was five years ago, filled with excitement and willing to queue for hours for a few minutes of fireworks. Time has quietly tempered my enthusiasm, but it has also granted me greater introspection. Writing a year-end summary is not just about preserving memories but also about paving a reflective path for my future self. If, by chance, these words inspire you in some way, it would be my honor. At the same time, I warmly welcome everyone to share your thoughts in the comments.

One of my biggest gains in 2024 has been discovering the wealth of library resources in the community, including a vast collection of books in both Chinese and English. Gradually, I have developed the habit of reading both the Chinese and English versions of a book simultaneously. This approach not only allows me to appreciate the subtle nuances between the two languages but has also significantly improved my English reading speed. Nevertheless, my efficiency in English reading still lags behind that in Chinese. Roughly estimated, I comprehend Chinese about twice as fast as English, with an even greater gap when encountering unfamiliar topics. I attribute this to my ability to quickly sift through redundant information and identify key points while reading Chinese—something I struggle to replicate in English. For instance, when listening to Joe Rogan’s podcast, even the hottest topics like interviews with Trump before the U.S. election can feel like skimming the surface due to a lack of familiarity with the people and events involved. The only exception seems to be when reading English emails, where I can quickly skim through the introductory and concluding parts. This underscores that improving reading skills relies heavily on consistent practice and accumulation.

Speaking of Chinese and English books, I must mention Lee Kuan Yew: One Man’s View of the World. This book is available in both Chinese and English. As a formidable political leader, Lee’s words are decisive and striking, often challenging the information I have long absorbed from simplified Chinese media. The book has significantly broadened my worldview. Additionally, his daughter Lee Wei Ling’s collection of essays, A Hakka Woman’s Singapore Story, is also worth reading.

In 2024, I visited Singapore four times, Malaysia once, China once, and Australia twice. I spent over two months in the Singapore-Malaysia region, a few weeks in the Pearl River and Yangtze River Delta regions, and the remaining nine months in Australia. Overall, moving between countries and regions, experiencing the bustling atmosphere and styles of various airports, has left me with deep impressions. I look forward to more opportunities in the future to explore different corners of the globe and experience the richness and diversity of cultures.

In Singapore and Malaysia, I had a particularly unique experience: trying coffee chats with strangers. Through conversations with locals about their work and lives, I gained deeper insights into various topics and information.

When I lived near Shenzhen’s Nanshan Book Mall, I would almost daily visit a small Chaozhou beef meatball noodle shop. The steaming bowls of soup are an indelible part of my culinary memory. In Tiong Bahru, Singapore, I found a similar flavour in the Hong Soon Pork Soup noodles, whose owner shared that he was from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The majority of Malaysian Chinese are descendants of immigrants from Fujian, Guangdong, and Hainan who migrated to Malaya during the late Qing Dynasty and the early Republic of China era.

Whenever I see the words “my country” written in simplified Chinese in Lianhe Zaobao, I experience a subtle sense of dissonance—this country does not refer to China. At a birthday party, Malaysians singing Happy Birthday in Mandarin and Cantonese, or hearing Jeremy Fernandez, the Malay co-host of the Australian podcast Not Stupid, mention that his family follows the tradition of giving red envelopes influenced by Malaysian Chinese, heightens my sense of cultural interweaving. Such scenes, though common in English-speaking countries, are especially poignant within a Chinese context. Previously, I had not felt this gentle blending of cultures so vividly.

Perhaps similar integration exists between Spanish and Arabic worlds, but I have yet to experience it firsthand. Researching on Wikipedia, I discovered that there are approximately 60 million overseas Chinese worldwide. This figure, like a microcosm, symbolises countless cultural legacies scattered across foreign lands, continuously blending and evolving.

Another unique journey was to the Northern Territory of Australia. Alice Springs, a mid-sized hub and tourist town in the heart of the country, exudes a raw beauty amidst its desolation. The desert stretches endlessly, with undulating dunes and mountain ranges that, though modest in height, create a majestic silhouette on the horizon. This destination attracts many adventurous outdoor explorers, who either venture alone or in groups to climb the understated yet alluring hills. One detail that stood out to me was the slightly taller fences around houses compared to other cities, perhaps hinting at a slightly less secure environment. However, we never felt uneasy during our visit. On our last day, we encountered a few Aboriginal locals on the road who kindly invited us to join them for a drink—whether it was a jest or a friendly gesture remains uncertain.

The Indigenous culture of the Northern Territory is captivating, with Aboriginal art being particularly remarkable. The artworks displayed in local galleries, though strictly off-limits for photography, are brimming with charm and distinctiveness. At the foot of the iconic massive rock formation, we walked around its base, taking in the mystery and power of this ancient land. Whether this journey is worth recommending depends on one’s perspective: those who appreciate wilderness and solitude will be enchanted, while those who prefer lively and diverse experiences might find it lackluster. Regardless, this place gifted me with a unique and unforgettable memory.

In 2024, I underwent a significant transformation in identity—from tenant to landlord. This transition came quite suddenly, and I was utterly unprepared for the role of a landlord. Through minor disputes with tenants, I gradually learned the art of interaction, laughing at how I had gone from a tenant complaining about landlords to being the landlord subjected to tenants’ complaints—“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself”.

Due to rising rents driven by inflation, I chose a property where the mortgage was nearly offset by the rental income. I live in one room and rent out the other two. This arrangement allowed me to move without much financial pressure and minimally disrupted my life rhythm. Perhaps my expectations of homeownership were too high; after moving in, I didn’t feel as happy as I had anticipated. Even so, there were still many gratifying moments in life. When I first moved in, I enjoyed choosing furniture—everything from the paintings and tablecloths in the living room to the sheets and dressers in the bedroom gave the new home its personality and warmth. I also tended to a small garden, planting a few greens—some withered while others barely survived.

I even tried listing a room on Airbnb, experiencing a different way of life. The reviews from guests were a source of stress for me, even though everyone gave five-star ratings. Despite the pressure, the experience opened a window for observing the world. Guests from countries such as South Korea, China, France, Canada, the U.S., and Switzerland arrived in succession, bringing with them diverse cultures and stories. They broadened my perspective and reignited my passion for exploring the world. As the initial excitement of the new home faded, my emotions gradually settled into tranquility. This year has been fulfilling yet slightly exhausting.

In 2024, I also study at UNSW, completing three terms. Though I was technically “studying,” it mostly consisted of watching lecture recordings, as I rarely attended labs on campus. In fact, I visited campus fewer than ten times, primarily for pre-exam reconnaissance and in-person tests. While the nature of computer science courses ensures that remote learning doesn’t compromise the knowledge gained, the lack of face-to-face interactions remains a regret. Overall, the learning experience was decent. Balancing work during the day and classes at night was undoubtedly tiring. After work, I’d have dinner and then settle down to complete assignments—day after day.

Although my grades were average, my mindset underwent a significant change. I’ve learned to accept non-stellar results with composure—passing is now my victory mantra. This newfound equanimity contrasts sharply with my past obsession with grades. When I talk to classmates under 20, I notice how some are still intensely focused on GPA. While their diligence seems commendable, I remind them that unless they aim to pursue a PhD or similar academic endeavors, grades aren’t as crucial in the job market. I often advise them to focus less on exam scores and more on internships and projects—work experience is the real game-changer.

In terms of work, the past year has been uneventful, akin to the slow boil of a frog in warm water. I was fortunate to work on an AI project, but as I delved deeper, I experienced a mix of awe at AI’s power and unease at its potential to replace us. This ambivalence may reflect a somewhat pessimistic view of the future, but there’s no denying that the AI wave is sweeping in with unstoppable force. Both my work and studies rely heavily on AI. Watching AI complete tasks in seconds that would take me hours reminds me of Lee Sedol’s defeat by AlphaGo. The future remains unpredictable, but the trajectory of AI is unalterable. This realisation motivates me to continue learning and leveraging AI. I read AI Superpowers by Kai-Fu Lee, which focuses on AI trends in China and the West. Though I don’t entirely agree with all his views, the book broadened my horizons and deepened my understanding.

A recent metaphor for life’s unexpected twists became popular: as a young teenager, you find a real gun and naively pull the trigger, thinking it harmless. Years later, walking down the street, you hear the wind behind you, turn around, and find that bullet hitting you squarely in the forehead.

I recall a discussion from about ten years ago: do people who emigrate regret it? A classic example cited someone selling a Beijing Siheyuan (courtyard house) in the 1980s or 1990s to emigrate to the U.S. Years later, upon returning, they found that the house, once worth three million yuan, was now valued at over 100 million—leading to deep regret. While the story’s authenticity is unverifiable, it vividly illustrates the power of informational bias. A single perspective shackled me, blinding me to the broader context. Examining the economic backdrop of Beijing 40 years ago or the Nasdaq’s growth over the same period reveals how such comparisons are merely illusions.

I also came across an explanation for online criticism from overseas IPs targeting China: some emigrants denigrate their home country to justify their decision, a phenomenon known as “zeal of the convert.” In reality, many foreign identities not only allow visa-free entry to China but also confer privileges in education and healthcare. These policies, coupled with pervasive propaganda, create the illusion of external threats to exploit public resentment and obscure deeper contradictions.

Reading Studying Abroad in America: A Story of an Era offered me a glimpse into the lives of Chinese students studying abroad 30–40 years ago. Written by Qian Ning, the son of former Chinese Vice Premier Qian Qichen, it recounts his scholarship-funded experiences at the University of Michigan.

In 2024, several of my accounts in China’s digital ecosystem were banned. Being banned meant vanishing from that online world—others couldn’t find me, though I could still log in, albeit to an isolated echo chamber. While I could create new accounts, doing so tacitly acknowledges the platform’s arbitrary power to ban users. Opening a new account would require heightened self-censorship—a manifestation of the Li Jiaqi paradox, which suggests that avoiding political taboos entirely necessitates knowing all of them.

Fortunately, I’ve discovered a thriving ecosystem of Chinese media outside the firewall. The content’s quality and depth are often exceptional. In 2024, I regularly watched and was influenced by creators like Ununderstand Podcast, Gossip Rabbit, Chai Jing, Old Zhou’s Sharp Eyes, Second Master Stories, The Bureaucracy Files, M2 Archives, Toronto Square Face, Mr. Li, and others. While I don’t fully agree with all their content, I appreciate their contributions to enriching Chinese media and broadening perspectives.

“Had I not seen the sun, I could have borne the shade”. But once light has shone, it leaves an indelible mark on the heart. It reveals how thoughts can be untamed, speech can resonate powerfully, and expression can burn with intensity. When gazing back into darkness, it’s no longer mere darkness but an unbearable oppression. The contrast between light and dark prompts one to question: why can’t the other side of the light be a plain where everyone can bask?