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My Journey to the Sustainable Energy for Safety...
I’ve always been drawn to energy, the kind that moves through wires and the kind that moves through people. Even as a kid, I was obsessed with how things connected, how flicking a switch could light a room, or how one decision could ripple through a system. That curiosity slowly turned into purpose.
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At Vinschool, I built my first small experiment in sustainability: turning rice into biodegradable straws. It was clumsy, uneven, but it worked. That project made me realize that solving problems didn’t always need grand gestures; sometimes change begins in a kitchen, in a notebook, in the hands of someone who just cares enough to try.
Transferring to TH School challenged me in a different way. For the first time, I was surrounded by students who debated everything, from ethics to economics, and teachers who asked why before how. I came to understand that clean energy wasn’t just a technical goal but a human one. The school’s balance between science and the humanities taught me that sustainability isn’t measured only in watts or carbon, it’s also measured in understanding.
When I founded Solar Generation, I didn’t see myself as an innovator. I just wanted to bring light to places that didn’t have it. Installing solar lamps in a small mountain village showed me what energy really means: safety for children walking home at night, families able to gather outside again. That moment changed how I viewed engineering, it wasn’t about invention, but about belonging.
Background to my Faith
Faith has always been the quiet constant in my life, not something loud or showy, but steady, like the low hum of a circuit. I grew up learning that belief isn’t just what you hold; it’s how you act, how you build, how you care. Singing in the Emmanuel Choir since 2015 taught me that lesson in its simplest form. Every Mass felt like an act of balance, dozens of voices, all different, listening and adjusting to one another. It showed me that harmony isn’t the absence of difference; it’s what happens when difference learns to listen.
That same rhythm guided me outside the church walls. When I helped start the Divine Artistry Club, the goal wasn’t to perform, but to share. Teaching music at Saint An Orphanage became less about chords and more about connection, about giving children a way to turn sound into something that belonged to them. Watching them sing off-key but full of life reminded me that beauty is rarely perfect; it’s alive because it’s human.
Art gives me language for what numbers can’t say. When I directed The Regrets, I wasn’t trying to make something impressive, I was trying to understand guilt and forgiveness, the same way I once tried to understand current and resistance. Film became another kind of experiment, except the variables were people. Through writing and music, I learned that every system, mechanical or emotional, needs balance to sustain itself.
My faith ties it all together. I don’t separate science and spirituality anymore; I see them as mirrors. Faith gives reason meaning, and reason gives faith direction. Whether in a lab, a classroom, or a choir loft, I keep chasing the same quiet goal: to build things that bring people closer, to light, to hope, to each other.
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