The question that brought me to Weishan wasn't really about music. Over the past year, I've spent a lot of time reading philosophy and psychology, and one thing has always bothered me. Many of the most insightful ideas about grief, identity, meaning, or how to live seem to stay inside books, lectures, and universities. You know, academic institutions. Yet the people who face those questions most directly often don't encounter them there. They rarely turn to philosophy when so

I met Amwaj at a summer program at Carleton College in Minnesota. I arrived several hours earlier than she did. Before her arrival, I saw the name tag on our dorm door. This is a Muslim name, so she must wear hijab. But when she finally appeared, she had her hair down, immediately challenging the assumption I had made. We were roommates for the next three weeks of the program, both taking the same course about the Renaissance, though in different cohorts. As we got to know ea

“A few years ago, by a fortunate coincidence, I stood in an archaeological site still under excavation.” That moment was the spark that lit up Gloria’s passion for her life. That moment sparked Gloria’s lifelong passion. “It felt different. Other works are just several artefacts; you don’t feel near or far away from them. They are just there.” But in that Turkish tomb, she said, “I felt as if I’ve really walked into history, as if the lore of the past is happening in real ti

“I watched my homeland fade away out the window.” For Isabella, the memory of leaving Venezuela is not a distant image she can easily place behind her. It is still close: the feeling of boarding a plane, watching the land below grow smaller, and knowing that returning would not be simple. "I would say when I left my country and traveled to the US," she said. "I remember boarding the plane and leaving Venezuela, knowing I wouldn’t be able to come back for many, many years."

There was no dramatic turning point that made Wang care about the environment. It started quietly. Growing up in a small village in Jilin, the freezing breeze of the north filled her childhood with warmth and joy: jumping into snow piles, slipping across ice sheets on frozen rivers, hiding in snow caves. Back then, environmental protection was hardly a topic of discussion. Nature was intertwined with everyday life. As she grew up, leaving for work in Shanghai, nature also

Dissent, according to the Cambridge Dictionary, is defined as a strong difference of opinion on a particular subject. With the rise of mass media, the cacophonous environment has made both conservatism and progressivism increasingly seen and spread at the same time. Dissent is never a modern term. Throughout history, ideas that existed have been repeatedly debated, challenged, and eventually overthrown. From the Protestant Movement to the Renaissance and Enlightenment, and fr

Most of us have experienced the true effects of climate change: shrouded skies, unbearable summer temperatures, disappearing green spaces, or extreme weather events that once seemed rare… Climate change is no longer an abstract idea; it has brought tangible change. Yet, a paradox remains. While many people have witnessed environmental degradation and understand the urgency of environmental issues, awareness does not always translate into action. Between what people know and w

What is art? Ancient Philosophers believed it’s “the imitation or representation of nature and human life.” Andy Warhol said it’s “producing things that people don't need to have”. I believe it’s anything created to indirectly communicate ideas, emotions, and shared human experience. The definition of art is not eternal, yet it can become eternal. Every new piece of work, every existence of an artist builds up the river of art and history. We are taught to appreciate art, to

I met Yuan on the Inner Mongolia Million Tree Program trip. Our group photo on the Million Tree Program trip He was the first one who stepped forward and spoke among everyone sitting down there. There was nothing rehearsed about it. His story, like many young professionals today, is not defined by a single breakthrough but by a series of practical choices, adjustments, and persistence. While many people from Jiangsu prefer to identify with specific cities or even counties, em

She was sitting very still when I first noticed her. Inside the community center in Xujiahui, the noise of conversation echoed faintly off tiled floors, but she seemed to exist in a quieter pocket of space. A brown baseball cap rested low on her head, and she wore a flowery, patterned cotton jacket—the kind you might see in older photographs, or in villages far from Shanghai’s glass towers. Her hands lay folded in her lap, as if holding onto something invisible. I hesitated b

The horizon lies low in the Ganjig, a city surrounded by grasslands. Wind from the grasslands gently blew, filling the city with a sense of openness that felt almost endless. I met Qi during a meal, where she performed traditional Mongolian songs, as if the landscape of the vast steppes emerged from the depths of her eyes. For a brief time, it felt as though we were not simply listening to a song, but stepping into a living fragment of a culture. “Performing and singing is

The State hospitals in downtown Shanghai bustled with people’s murmurs and the mechanical voice of the queue management system. Yet nearby, a Traditional Chinese Medicine clinic sat quietly inside People’s Pharmacy. The clinic Dr. Hu works at Dr. Hu was sitting by the counter, speaking ardently about modern development and medical principles of Chinese Medicine with a medicine book opened in front of her. “Traditional Chinese Medicine is not developing very well now,” she s

“The project is like a pig,” Lourdes described how the Boruca Indigenous Women Artisans Association So Cagru operates, “To participate, you have to feed it. If you want to take something from it, like a pig’s leg or head, then the pig would die.” So Cagru partners with the Costa Rican NGO Diwo Ambiental This vivid analogy, shared on the first day of our Anthropology trip at the Boruca Indigenous Reserve, captured the community’s essence of collective care. Nestled in the Sou

Going upstairs, we stepped into Tapatapa, a Spanish restaurant known for its classical Paella. There’s nothing more appealing than its cozy atmosphere. Amidst the chitchats, every space is filled with warming light bulbs, pine trees, and gleaming decorations, soft cushions lying on the wooden chair. “Hi! I’m Kevin, the manager here. Table for two?” The greeting was done in his glimmer of a smile, corresponding with the warmth of the surroundings. We followed him to enter the

The Security Guard’s View from his Post As the night descends into deep blue, wrapping neighborhood houses in sleepy, shadowy silhouettes, the security guard’s post—a tiny, steel-windowed booth—stays adrift in a bubble of warm light. Knock, knock . Surprised and uneasy towards visitors at this hour, he tentatively opened a crack of the window and quickly stepped out of the booth. He looked quite young, as I later learned he had only recently begun working in the neighborhood

I’ve been talking to this man for half an hour and still don’t know his name. “The name is not important,” he says, with a smile that flickers like a half-remembered melody. “What’s worth remembering is the story, the alcohol, and the music.” So, I’ll call him Mr. Stray. After all, he’s a stray singer, running a little music bar by the shores of Earhai. It’s the third day of my journey through Dali. My footsteps slow as I wander beside the moon-lit lake and hear mingling voi

Demolition areas are cracks in the glamorous porcelain veneer of a city. It was in one of those cracks where I met him. Strolling along the Suzhou River, I watched the towering skyscrapers of the Bund gleam in the sun. Yet, glancing around the neighborhoods around me, it was as if the sun had never reached these corners. A few shops were hidden under scaffolds, their fading signs blinking weakly. His shop stood out — tucked away in the depths of a food market. Most of the sho

8 o’clock pm, he was standing solemnly in the grey, box-like security booth, eyes firmly fixated on the road and the gate of the residential area. Now or then, a courier or a deliveryman would pop up at the gate, and he would ask them the precise delivery information, and pick up his walkie-talkie to inform his colleagues of who to expect at the residential buildings. Then, he would return to his original stance, gazing at the twinkling street like a dedicated sentinel. The s

In the age of online shopping and next-day delivery, a different rhythm of commerce persists in a cozy shop. Colorful paintings, pigments, and brushes, stacking over each other on the wooden shelves; the slight cozy vibe blends through the twenty years passed by, in which Mei and her husband have owned this store, a treasure trove. the shop She looked around this place, “Every single day, for the past twenty years, from nine to nine, we are always here.” The regular routine

At 10 p.m., the grocery store is still awake. The fluorescent lights hum softly above narrow aisles stacked with instant noodles, bottled drinks, cigarettes, and snacks that seem to exist for moments like this—moments when hunger is small but persistent, when sleep feels close but not quite reachable. Outside, the street has thinned out. Inside, the owner stands behind the counter, unhurried, waiting. Ms. He has been here since morning. She will close at midnight, and return