Saturday. I woke early, drawn by the promise of something new this weekend.

For the past week, I had watched the mist, low cloud, and rain move slowly through the mountains that cradle the school. Today felt like the right time to finally explore the valleys and ridges that had been calling to me.

A cab ride, a bus, a cheap hotel — and then a day spent walking through a mountain atmosphere that felt otherworldly.

Friday. The last two training sessions of the week. The funny thing is, I feel better today than I did yesterday.

If training is really a roller coaster, then today feels like a smoother ride. The waves of good and bad, the cycle of progress and pain — it’s all here. And then there’s the list of never-ending injuries, which never quite seems to get shorter.

I know what I signed up for. At this point, it’s just time to get on with it.

I woke up with a very sore leg. No surprise — something’s sore every day. It’s part of the job. I had a coffee and massaged it for a heartbeat, but that was about it.

While doing that, I watched a YouTube video about how people are using ChatGPT for almost every aspect of their lives. The results were clear.

Using AI instead of your own brain leads you to become... brain-dead. You lose the ability to think critically. It’s as if you convince yourself you’re becoming smarter, while in reality, you’re just becoming more inept.

Are we living in a growingly detached world? A world where the only thing that seems to matter is money and significance? I don’t want to believe that, but from where I’m standing, it certainly looks that way.

Are we foolish, self-centered, or just deluded? I’m starting to think we’re all of those things, wrapped up in a little meat puppet, running tirelessly on a hamster wheel.
Talking about change while staying firmly planted exactly where we feel most popular.
Sad, but true.

When the week starts on a Tuesday, I have to admit it feels almost like cheating. A little extra room before the rhythm takes hold. A long way to go, but this week, I hope to take real steps in my new form. It’s time to keep learning and moving forward.

The rain has been relentless this past month, and while today is still cloudy, at least it’s not raining. It’s a welcome change, even if it’s small.

Time to train. Time to move forward. Time to appreciate whatever moments this journey has to offer.

Monday morning arrived with a shift. Today is a day off — the Mid-Autumn Festival, and the school is hosting a big dinner. The funny thing is, I have no plans to attend.

I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s just my mood. But today, I feel like being alone. Just me and my thoughts, no plans, no expectations. A simple day where nothing in particular has happened or will happen.

Instead of the grand lunch, I’ll settle for a simple sandwich and then head home to watch a film. Maybe a nap after.

Lazy days — they feel like Sundays, even when they aren’t.Monday morning arrived with a shift. Today is a day off — the Mid-Autumn Festival, and the school is hosting a big dinner. The funny thing is, I have no plans to attend.

No writing yesterday. Felt a little tired, uninspired. Those days often come at the end of the week. It’s nothing new.

This morning, I woke with a thought: Right now, this is my job. Not a holiday. Not an escape. An investment in the future. The question that came up was simple but sharp — Am I doing enough? Am I working hard enough?

Yes, I’m doing what’s asked of me. But is that truly enough? Deep down, I know I could push more. Work harder. Bring more intensity to what I do. The results would come, and so would the reward.

Time seems to be passing quickly at the moment. I’m training hard and seeing improvement, but there’s always that underlying feeling of a ticking clock, moving just ahead of me.

An invisible gate sits deep in the shadowy corners of my mind, questioning progress, commitment, everything. I want to move faster, to learn more. But I also know that slow movement is necessary as I navigate the twists and turns of this journey.

Maybe it’s because I’ve had a few days off. Or maybe I’m just looking for something new to lift my spirits. What I know for sure is that I want to know these forms intimately — to feel them woven into my being. And the only way to get there is by taking the time to learn, to practice, and to stay patient with the process.

It’s a new day, and I’m curious to see what it will reveal.
Slowly, I’ll take the small steps, finding something to enjoy along the way. The rain is back, but it’s hard to say whether it’s a return or just another part of the rhythm right now. Either way, it’s here again.

“Soon my free fingers will fumble, and in them will lie my life”.
I heard this quote while watching an old man craft handmade cameras with careful, steady hands. As he worked, I realised: life is passing through our hands, moment by moment. Not in sorrow or regret, but in the quiet truth of its flow. We create, we hold, we let go, all in the span of a fleeting breath. It’s not something to mourn, but something to acknowledge — the reality that each moment, as it slips through, is a part of what makes us who we are. Life doesn't ask for perfection, just for presence, and the ability to hold it as it is.

That brings a long, gentle weekend with RiRi to a close. We didn’t do much, but we did enough. Resting together felt natural, unforced. The highlight was a few quiet hours wandering through a bamboo park, letting the world slow itself down around us.

Life with RiRi feels simple. And yet, this time I noticed something new. A sense of speed. As if she’s spinning just a little faster than before. Or perhaps we both are. An unspoken imbalance created not by friction, but by momentum.

Now it’s time to return to school. I’m heading back carrying a sore shoulder and elbow — nothing dramatic, just the dull reminders of imperfect technique. I’m taking it as information rather than failure. Something to work with.

The day began lazily, even though it started at five. A gentle training session at dawn, unhurried and quiet. The silence at that hour has a way of rinsing the mind, making space for the day to arrive without resistance.

The morning passed on the couch, working through some photographs. Nothing urgent. Nothing heavy. Just enough engagement to feel present without being pulled into effort.

I know I’ll need to take photography more seriously again soon. Commit to it properly. But today didn’t ask for that. Today felt like it wanted very little.

After a long walk last night, I slept better than I have in months. Deep, uninterrupted sleep. I hadn’t realised quite how tired I was until my body finally stopped arguing. The reason hardly matters. The rest was exactly what was needed.

Sunday unfolded gently. A sleep-in, an easy breakfast, then a short hour of practice. I didn’t feel drawn to Tai Chi today — my arm and hand are still sore, and it feels wiser to let them recover. I seem to have created something that will resolve itself with patience and a few small adjustments.

There are no real plans for the day. Maybe a walk by the river later, once the sun softens. A quiet Sunday, unambitious and restorative. Exactly right.

A new day dawned in a different place. I woke early, simply because I’d fallen asleep early the night before. By 20:30, I could barely keep my eyes open. No clear reason — just a body that decided it was done for the day.

There’s nothing planned. Eat. Drink. Practice. Enough, but not too much. Days like this still take some getting used to. After a life shaped by doing and achieving, simply being can feel oddly unfamiliar.

I’ve been turning over a thought from yesterday — the idea of living more in line with a Daoist way of seeing. Of sensing what’s coming before it arrives. Not in a dramatic sense, but through the quieter idea that thoughts shape the world we move through. It’s a notion many have held before me, and I can feel why. The idea itself brings a certain calm.

The time has come for the first break of this trip. I’ve enjoyed the stretch of work so far, but I’m ready for a few days away. Not as escape — more as a change of rhythm.

The training itself isn’t particularly hard, but it can be relentless. A steady grind that tests commitment as much as desire. There are good days and difficult ones, often side by side. It’s always a study in contrast.

That’s something I’ve come to appreciate about China, and about learning Tai Chi and Kung Fu here. Everything feels clearly defined — effort and rest, strength and softness, ease and resistance. Living inside constant contrast feels like a physical expression of yin and yang rather than an idea to be understood.

Thursday morning arrived with sore legs, a tingling hand, and bright sunshine. A good combination, all things considered. It felt like the kind of day that invites practice rather than demands it.

My hopes were simple. Stretch with ease. Train with a smile. Take small steps forward. Nothing ambitious. Just enough to feel that the day had been lived on my own terms, moving quietly toward whatever comes next.

Wednesday morning arrived bright and calm. Sunlight instead of rain. One of those openings that makes the day feel possible before it even begins.

There was only one real choice to make — train at the school or head to the park and enjoy the quiet. Part of me wanted to carry yesterday’s lightness forward and soften my relationship with training here. In the past, this place has never been a problem. It’s only the current conditions that have stirred these reactions.

Tuesday morning arrived with a quiet sense of counting days. Just a few more sessions before I head off to see RiRi. That thought alone feels like a small pocket of light.

Lately, I’ve felt ready for a change. Nothing dramatic is wrong here, but something has felt slightly off. Training continues to progress, yet my smile has been thinner, my energy lower, my outlook a little clouded. The school hasn’t changed. Which suggests that I have.

Monday arrived with rain again. At this point, it almost feels routine. I’m a little tired of giving the weather so much attention, even if it continues to shape the day. Energy is still low, but experience has taught me that it often shifts once training begins.

There are things I’m quietly looking forward to this week. Mostly the chance to spend some time with Ri and create a little space. This trip has felt more tiring than the last two, and I can’t quite place why. Maybe it will change. Maybe it won’t.

Sunday sleep-ins seem to be a thing of the past. My eyes opened well before the alarm had any intention of going off. After a few moments staring at the ceiling, it was clear there’d be no drifting back. I got up and headed downstairs to work on the sword form that continues to resist easy recall.

Training alone in the yard, without obligation, has its own quality. The atmosphere is different. I’m there by choice, working through something that isn’t really a problem — more a matter of patience and memory finding each other in their own time.

Saturday arrived in a slightly unfamiliar shape. Normally it’s a day for performance or rest, but today training carried on as usual. Still, I knew I needed to approach it lightly. A short, gentle session with the sword felt enough. The tiredness this week has settled deep.

Rest — real rest — doesn’t feel like a luxury here. It feels necessary. By the end of the week, I’m often worn down and quietly searching for something other than what I’ve been doing day after day. That awareness of limits seems to arrive with time. Both a privilege and a burden.