Looking Back on 2025: A Year of Growth in Code and Poetry

As another year draws to a close, today, after adjusting the final pixel of my blog’s theme and gazing at its serene, minimalist interface, I suddenly realized this digital haven has accompanied me through yet another cycle of seasons. I spent some time, like organizing a bookshelf, browsing through the 23 articles from this year. I discovered they clearly bear the marks of two parallel paths: one leading deep into servers and command lines, the other meandering through the streets alive with the hum of daily life and the crevices of thought and emotion.

A Digital Amphibian’s Record

This year, I wrote a total of 23 articles—not too many, not too few, mirroring the natural rhythm of life itself. These writings roughly fall into two categories: 11 entries of “Human Observation”, akin to a journal of the soul, capturing fleeting emotions and reflections; and 8 pieces of “Technical Notes”, which serve as my toolkit, documenting methods and thought processes for solving specific problems.

This categorization wasn’t deliberate but emerged naturally, reflecting my dual existence. By day, I might wrestle with server failures and buggy code; by night, I immerse myself in inner quiet, pondering questions with no standard answers.

August marked an interesting turning point. I published my first video, “The Sound of Waves Remains”. The rippling water and familiar melody in the footage captured the feeling of that moment in a way different from words. It was as if, from that point on, my blog ceased to be solely a territory of text and began to embrace more diverse forms of expression.

The True Reflection of a Creative Rhythm

Examining my creative rhythm reveals an intriguing pattern: I was far more active in the second half of the year than the first. Particularly in August and October, several articles were born, while a long stretch of silence lay between March and July.

That silence wasn’t idle time but a period of life’s own sedimentation. During those days without written words, I might have been experiencing the “despair” mentioned in an article or relishing the satisfaction after solving a technical challenge. The blog’s rhythm, it turns out, so truthfully mirrors the undulations of life.

I’ve paid special attention to reader habits and noticed a growing number of old friends visiting via RSS subscriptions and direct access, while casual visitors from search engines are decreasing. This warms my heart—in this era of fragmented information, some still choose to regularly visit this little corner, to think and solve problems alongside me.

The Quiet Revolution of Minimalist Design

This very December, I undertook to modify my blog’s theme. It wasn’t the first time, but it was perhaps the most thorough.

I removed all unnecessary social sharing buttons, complex sidebar widgets, and even simplified article categories and tags. I chose clearer fonts, more comfortable spacing, and more restrained color schemes. After countless nights of debugging, performance testing tools told me it achieved perfect scores in loading speed, accessibility, and best practices.

This is more than a technical optimization; it’s a declaration of attitude. I grew weary of the noise and extravagance of the internet, wanting only to preserve what is most essential: the texture of words, the flow of thought, the record of what’s real.

In the Forest of Blogs

Through blogroll links, I quietly visit the blogs of many fellow travelers. Some meticulously document “Urban Bird Observations” throughout the year, some persistently update “Philosophy Reading Notes,” others share “The Process of Woodworking.” We all seem to have independently chosen “slow media,” stubbornly guarding spaces for deep thought in an age obsessed with rapid consumption.

Some blogs I frequently visited this year:

雅余 | 张洪Heo | 轻雅阁 | 老街里

Each visit feels like a quiet conversation. Seeing them record life and share reflections in their own ways reminds me that in this digital world, many are still carefully cultivating their own spiritual homes.

A Digital Avatar

This blog has now truly become my “digital avatar.”

It remembers how I solved those thorny technical problems; it archives my discoveries, and candidly holds my confusions and regrets.

Sometimes I wonder, if someone years from now were to understand me through these writings, what kind of person would they see? A modern individual constantly switching between code and poetry, a pragmatic yet romantic contradiction, an ordinary person striving to maintain a sense of authenticity in the digital world.

This is precisely why I cherish this blog—it doesn’t cater to algorithms, doesn’t chase trends, it only honestly records the thoughts and growth of an ordinary person against the backdrop of a specific era.

Three Seeds for 2026

Standing at the junction of old and new, I have no grand plans, only a wish to plant a few small seeds:

1. Deepening Content: Perhaps I’ll start a “Monthly Human Observation” series, more consciously recording subtle changes around me. For technical notes, I hope to make them more systematic, like compiling a “Personal Server Operations Guide.”

2. Experimenting with Form: Considering recording audio versions for some articles. Text has its rhythm, sound has its warmth. I’m curious how different mediums might alter expression.

3. Connecting Community: While not pursuing bustle, I hope to establish sincere exchanges with more like-minded bloggers. Perhaps I’ll try writing a couple of “blog interviews,” documenting how these digital-era craftspeople think and create.

Finally, I recall the line I wrote at the beginning of the year: “There is a kind of gap: You are not worthy of your own ambitions, yet you have also betrayed all the suffering.” Looking back now at year’s end, I may still not be worthy of my ambitions, but at least I haven’t betrayed those honest records.

In 2026, may my digital garden continue to grow, blooming with more genuine flowers at the intersection of code and poetry.