Time really flies. For the past six years since the pandemic began, I’ve been shooting things on and off (on my phone) while taking various film-related classes, from screenwriting and acting to directing, and now (pushing myself to learn more technical stuff through) video production and cinematography. I’ve been watching films for over two decades—long before I ever thought about making them.
I actually really like this kind of pace—it reminds me of how I jogged casually for four or five years before I ever started training for a marathon. I love beginning something without expectations, just doing it for the joy of the process itself. And as I naturally move toward a more “pro” direction, I start studying the craft more intentionally, refining my approach and drawing motivation from the sense of progress and the positive feedback loop it creates.
I think this kind of slow start gives me room to grow freely. It allows me to define my own experience without being constrained by preconceived frameworks—and in my opinion, that becomes incredibly important later on. It’s about staying true to my original intention. No matter what challenges come up down the road, I can always return to that beginner’s joy, and to why I started in the first place. It keeps me grounded. It keeps me honest with myself.
As for why I want to make films…
First, I’ve always been drawn to self-expression. I find joy in being on stage, in front of the camera, and just as much in working behind the scenes.
Second, I see filmmaking as something deeply holistic—like my favorite compound movements in weightlifting.
Film as a medium in itself is holistic. It carries movement, time, and transformation. It brings together images, performance, sound, music, and environment—every element quietly working together to create something that feels alive.
Maybe that’s also why it resonates with me so deeply. It reflects a theme I’ve noticed in my studies and work as well: I’ve always preferred working on things where I can develop an end-to-end understanding of a product or system, rather than just optimizing a single metric. (That’s why, back in graduate school, following the trend of doing machine learning—tuning models and running experiments—felt pretty miserable to me…)
Filmmaking is exactly that kind of system-level work. It’s a collaborative effort where different departments come together to create something great as a whole. It lives at the intersection of art, business, and engineering. There are constraints—timelines, resources, the realities of execution—much like in engineering. And yet, within those boundaries, there’s a kind of creative freedom that feels deeply artistic. At the same time, film is ultimately made for an audience—it’s a product that needs to resonate, which inevitably brings in the logic of business.
In a way, it’s similar to how Warren Buffett and Charlie Munger view investing—not just as a way to make money, but as an integration of one’s worldview and values. For me, filmmaking is the same. The stories you tell are a reflection of your life experiences and personal insights. Your style, your voice—they are uniquely yours. They can’t be replicated by a standard formula or template. That’s why I firmly believe that AI can never replace humans when it comes to pure creativity.
And this kind of craft and instinct is something that builds over time. It requires patience, resilience, and a certain degree of self-belief. If you’re naturally gifted or have great taste, you might start from a higher baseline—that’s a kind of luck. But for most people, it’s very hard to create meaningful work through short-term, intensive approaches like “grinding” or bootcamps.
I remember Ang Lee once said, “I want to live to 100—I have too many stories I want to tell.” I feel lucky to feel the same.