The year 2025 began the way daylight slips into a room, its subtle presence delicate enough to miss before revealing its warm awakening.
I learned to savor mornings again, not for their productivity, but for their calm. The soothing hiss of the kettle.
Sunshine glazing my grandmother’s kitchen orchids.
The stretch of my body before my thoughts had fully formed.
I moved through those early hours as if brushing silk, careful not to disturb the peace that steadied within me.
My Stanford coursework filled my room with case studies and scribbled diagrams, but something about the work felt different this time: less like climbing, more like listening. I would look down at my notes and see patterns emerging, threads weaving themselves into meaning I did not have to force.
In July, I placed my Apple badge on a return counter after five years with a surprising sense of ease. Like a quiet knowing that the chapter had served its purpose and was ready to be closed, it felt like turning the last page of a beloved book and placing it fondly back on the shelf.
With that ending came expansive days.
Ballet found its way back into my routine as naturally as breathing.
The studio floor felt like home.
My legs extended, my chest lifted, and I remembered what it felt like to let movement sit between prayer and poetry, to return to the rhythm of my heart.
My steps carried me across oceans,
From Tokyo’s elegance in bloom,
to New York’s resilient rhythms.
From Paris shimmering in the starlight,
to dreams and heartfelt wishes in LA.
Coming home to my grandmother’s house in Beijing grounded me in love and lived stories.
Each place revealed something within me I had not learned nor lost.
Then came the moment that stays with me most.
It happened during the local 5K for Girls on the Run on a cool spring morning.
The sky was the color of a silky gray fog, like resting on a gentle cloud.
As we began running, the footsteps of the girls around me settled into a steady syncopation of soles.
By the second mile, I heard strained sighs and saw determination flicker behind tired eyes.
I slowed my pace.
“You’re doing great,” I told a girl in a purple headband. “Just keep moving. You’re stronger than you think.”
She nodded. Her breath caught, but something in her steadied.
A little later, another girl struggled with her shoelace. I knelt beside her, tied it, brushed the dust off her knee, and gave her a small smile. When she looked up, her expression eased in a way I’ll never forget.
As I kept running, something shifted around me.
The air seemed to hold me.
My feet felt lighter, as if the ground lifted to meet each step.
A warmth gathered behind my shoulders, like an unseen presence running in stride with me.
I felt inexplicably accompanied, supported, and held.
The moment guided my steps to the finish.
I reflect on it often, not for its dramatic effect, but as a quiet reminder of a sacred grace that had been there all along.
Summer brought afternoons with my sisters discipleship group,
Warm tea between our palms,
Stories shared with honesty,
Laughter echoing in the church courtyard.
Rooted in scripture, generations connected seamlessly with lessons written in our hearts like comfort rather than instruction.
By autumn, I had begun angel investing in San Francisco, writing small checks with big hopes, for founders speaking with trembling conviction and ideas that could change lives and generations to come. Each investment felt like planting a seed in a garden flourishing long after my time.
I poured into my own work in the spaces between moments,
Ayuma sketches spread across the desk in Tokyo,
Ayla fabrics draped over chairs in Paris.
Nothing felt rushed or forced, only a tender unfolding.
When November arrived, I noticed something in my reflection.
Not just transformation, but a recognition of a lighter gaze and steadier posture.
I embraced, with a sense of remembrance, a power that does not need to be declared, but resides quietly in the heart.
This year did not arise with accolades or achievement, but with gentle displays of grace.
Light across a countertop,
A kind word from a stranger,
A prayer answered clearly, but not loudly,
Steps supported when I needed it most.
It was a year refined by moving in alignment,
Elevated by the grace of abundance,
And eternalized by the royalty I discovered within.
A year that whispered:
You are becoming.
You are returning.
And you are exactly where you need to be.
With that truth resting softly in my chest, I step into what comes next.