Whether I’m working on my day job or on a personal project of mine, whether I’m coding a program or creating an interface, whether I’m writing a script or making a video, and whether I’m reading a book or merely thinking about a problem, the type of the work I do can usually be categorized into two.

Both look the same if you look from the outside, but they are two worlds apart. The first one is the misty world viewed from my window, the other one is the world lived in my familiar room behind the window.

The first type of work is a journey into that distant land. It’s wandering in an unknown territory. I go there, but not by my foot. I close my eyes wherever I am and my voyage begins. What I’m looking for isn’t in view in front of me; it lies somewhere deep inside me waiting to be unveiled.

It’s a lonely excursion—and a silent one too. The smallest sound makes me turn back and see myself in my familiar world again. I go there to find something, but I don’t know what. The world I enter has a secret to tell, and I’m the only one that can hear. I often return with empty hands, but sometimes I’m lucky and carry a small creation with me.

The second type of work belongs to the known world. I’ve been here and acquainted with the work already. Here, I generally know what I’m doing. I’m in a sociable realm where sights and sounds no longer cause much of a distraction. At times, a music I like can put me on the track, and a conversation can plant the right thought.

My being calls for the first type of work, yet my life isn’t complete without the other. Sometimes the two are entangled with one feeding another. I might not go near the first one for months. But someday I do and I get lost without finding a way back for a long time.

I create something new with the first type of work, and raise it to life with the second.