Bio

Rob's Really Long Bio

(Can't sleep? Read this--you'll be snoring in no time.)

The Early Years in Taiwan

I was born in Taiwan in 1972. My childhood could be described as rocky, as I was bounced around from parents to step-grandmother, grandparents, father/stepmother, then mother/stepfather. This resulted in fragmented memories of drastically different lifestyles and adult figures that caused both pain and happiness. The darker times were very dark indeed--I wouldn't wish what I had gone through on anyone. Fortunately, at different times in my childhood, there were kind souls that made it all bearable and were positive influences on me, showing me that instead of violence and abuse there could be kindness and fairness instead.

One of the earliest memories I have was doing a crayon drawing of Mazinger Z (an old Japanese animation TV show about a giant robot) in kindergarten (I was four), and everyone noticing that skill wise, it was years ahead of what the other children had drawn. Ever since then, I hadbeen identified as "that artist kid" in school.

I was the kid that sat in the back corner who daydreamed a lot, living in my own little world. My first love letter was at age seven, which resulted in my first puppy love girlfriend--the pretty girl who played piano very well and became class president. Funny thing--I ended up marrying someone with the same last name as her.

When I was nine, I fell in love with the piano, and would listen to piano music (Richard Clayderman) at night in bed, trying to stay awake a little longer just so I could keep listening. I begged my mother to let me take piano lessons, and she refused. I had no access to a piano, and as a kid, you're not exactly free to roam around and find yourself a piano to practice with, so that dream was effectively put to an end.

Dennis (my younger half-brother) and I share fond memories of our childhood days together in Taiwan. We'd build plastic models together, play with them, and I'd carry him on my BMX bike and we'd ride around the neighborhood, seeking adventure in less-traveled roads. Of course, we also watched a lot of TV and movies together, collected action figures, reading Fighting Fantasy books, and did all the play fighting that most kids do. I think our favorite generic plot was the martial chivary classic of a kung fu master dying in the arms of a heart-broken student, who will then go on to avenge the master's death. Often, an accidental hit with a weapon to the knuckle will quickly end the session, or sometimes the plot just fizzled out, because we just weren't very inventive back then. As we got older, it was all about Japanese animation and music, scouring the used CD shops for obscure jems, or borrowing/renting anime from various odd sources (back then the domestic market of translated subitle/dub stuff in the U.S. simply didn't exist).

Grace (my older step-sister) and my step-father are saints--plain and simple. They are two of the nicest people I've ever known--kind, responsible, fair, rational, generous, and compassionate. My step-brother Stephen was also pretty cool to me in the short years he lived at home after college. My step-uncle (step-mother's younger brother, whose nickname was "Kong-Jio," which is short for "The Monkey King Uncle," because my first impression of him was of him jumping off the top of a bunk bed) was a real class act too. He was so nurturing, patient, loving, and even tempered. He'd take me and Michael (my older brother) everywhere--from watching military marching parades to attending his college social activities, and taught us many things by showing us examples (like taking various sized fruits and arranged them on the floor to teach us about the solar system). He'd even protect us when we were being punished.

I'm very grateful to have wonderful people like these being the positive influences in my life, and I'm sure they helped shape my better attributes. Of course I have other siblings, half-siblings, step-siblings, real parents, step-parents (it's complicated--both my parents had multiple marriages, and my step-father had a previous marriage), but I'm not about to make you read an actual full-lengthed autobiography.

Our family moved to the U.S. when I was eleven. I didn't know a word of English, and it was quite a culture shock in many ways. I learned very fast, and by the second year, I was already speaking perfect American English and being mistaken for an American born Chinese. One of the reasons I learned so fast was because my mother yanked me out of a middle school with ESL (English As Second Language) programs, and switched me to a school that didn't have ESL, where I had to attend classes with other American kids without the additional help with English. I had to either sink or swim, and it was frightening. One turning point was when I discovered a series of books called "Choose Your Own Adventure" books in the library. It was like a primitive form of the computer adventure games, except you made your choices by turning to different pages. I was hooked on these books, and would try to read through them with the help of an English/Chinese dictionary. Then I "graduated" to the Fighting Fantasy books, which were more mature and advanced, and had Role-Playing elements in them. After reading enough of these books, my English improved by leaps and bounds. During those growing years, I was also exposed to science fiction and fantasy novels, Role-Playing games, Heavy Metal magazine, American and European comics…etc. As much as I enjoyed them, it was Japanese animation that set me on the path to become who I am today.

I was hooked on Robotech, like many other kids at the time when it was aired in the U.S. in the mid-80's. For me, it was like eating food after years of starvation, because ever since we moved to the U.S., we had no access to Japanese manga and animation anymore, and we really missed them. Although Robotech was horribly dubbed, and the storylines mutilated, it was still better than anything else on TV for kids at that time. In the summer before eighth grade, a kid showed me a VHS copy of Macross: Do You Remember Love? --a Japanese animated feature film that changed my life. Although his copy was probably a copy of a copy of a copy, with blurry pictures and sound, it was still the most amazing thing I had ever seen. It had complex industrial and character designs, a wonderful score that combined orchestral, jazz, fusion, and pop, and the story of a love triangle amidst an alien invasion. Collectively, they created this exciting fictional world that you could escape into. That film became the catalyst that made me decide to become an artist, composer, writer, and director, and my goal in life was formed--to create works that will not only entertain, but resonate with people emotionally and intellectually. I couldn't decide which aspect I loved the most, so I ended up dividing my time and energy between art, music, and writing/storytelling.

Throughout high school, I was mostly a lone wolf. I kept to myself, drew in my sketchbook, practically lived in the art building or the library to work on my paintings, screenplays, short stories, and drew elaborate and highly detailed storyboards for animation. I was what you'd call passionate and obsessed. I started a Japanese animation club where we'd have showings during lunch, and even got our art teacher, Mr. Johnson, to play Akira (a landmark Japanese animated feature film, still considered one of the greatest achievement in anime) for the art class-without subtitles or dubbing, in its original form (there were no translations available at the time). Mr. Johnson treated me differently from the other kids. He recognized that I was a precocious little freak, respected my passion, and never once tried to point out the fact that I was an arrogant little prick (As soon as I attended my first comic book convention at eighteen, I realized I was nothing special. The world is full of so many talented people, it's scary). Maybe he saw a lot of himself in me, because he was a bit of an irreverent prick himself (and I say that with affection).

At home, I mostly locked myself in my room, either drawing/painting, writing, reading, or listening to music. My mother hated that. She thought I was an anti-social freak who refused to obey the Asian ideal of studying to become a doctor, lawyer, or engineer, and she tried to beat me into submission, which understandably, failed. Of course, she'd beat me for many other reasons too--ones that she eventually apologized for many years later. But the scars from domestic violence and emotional abuse run deep, and it's something you carry with you for the rest of your life. When not in my own little world, I spent quite a bit of time with Dennis. I'd take him with me on my countless trips to used CD shops, looking for rare gems, or we'd buy a mountain of junk food and watch anime or horror flicks late at night. I even took him to his very first rock concert--The Sundays at the Warfield in San Francisco. Dennis and I share similar music taste as adults (although he lost interest in the more aggressive side of music as he got older), and I think those years are part of the reason. I also had a few friends who shared some of my interests, and they were ones I hung out with a lot.

In my sophmore year in high school, I took an off-campus Japanese language elective class, and I became very close to my Japanese language teacher, Yumiko Tasaka. She was in her mid-thirties, very elegant, soft-spoken, and pretty. She also taught piano at home (the instrument that I so badly wanted to learn but had no opportunity back then). She was a romantic and had the kind of sensitivity that I could sense from a mile away, because I was the same way. As kindred souls, we naturally got along very well, and the more we got to know each other, the deeper our bond became. She admired my artistic talent and precocious maturity, and was very supportive of me. I would talk to her about my troubles at home and she'd worry about me. When her family had to move back to Japan, I was devastated. She wanted to adopt me and take me with her, and every fiber in my body wanted to go with her, because at that point, she was the only person who really understood and believed in me. She saw a sensitive boy who was unloved, abused, had big dreams, showed a lot of potential and promise, and she really wanted to rescue me and give me a chance to be who I wanted to be. But in the end I didn't go with her. The main reason was because I was afraid I'd cause tension in her family, being the stranger she forced upon her daughters and husband. I had only met her two daughters once, and I had never even met her husband, although she said hewas even okay with the idea, as long as I changed my last name to his. I didn't want to be an intruder in her family life, even if she assured me it wouldn't be a problem. I also felt guilty about just packing up and leaving my family. Even though my mother was like a dark and violent storm cloud always hanging over me, the rest of the family was good to me, even if they seemed oblivious to the abuse my mother inflicted on me. I didn't even know how to bring up something like that with them--that I was going to Japan, take on a Japanese last name, and leaving my entire life behind.

After Yumiko and I said our teary good-byes, her family moved back to Japan. We exchanged letters and gifts to each other for a while, but then one day I stopped hearing from her. I still don't know what had happened. Her family was builing a new home at the time and I suspect they moved and she somehow lost my contact information. I had no way to get in touch with her, and throughout the years, I would often remember her and search online for her. She was someone that showed me love and support during a time when I really needed it, and she was able to see the real me--the me that no one else could see. Over the years I would occassionally ask myself how my life would've turned out if I had gone with her. I will never know. Wherever she is now, I hope she's happy, fulfilled, and in good health.

Looking back now, she was in many ways a soulmate. In another life, she could've been the mother I should've had, or a lover that I'd spend a lifetime with. But in this life, she was a teacher, and the first person in my life to openly express love and affection for me in a way that really warmed my heart. It may sound odd to those of you who had happy childhoods and came from happy families, but for me, it wasn't until I was sixteen--the year I was Yumiko's student, that I felt truly loved for the first time in my life.

When I was sixteen, I begged my mother again to let me take piano lessons. She refused, saying that I could only do it if I got straight A's. There was no way in hell I could get straight A's, because I was drawing, painting, and writing all the time, and did just enough homework and passed enough tests to have average grades. My stepfather was kind enough to buy me a tiny little keyboard (one of those where the keys are very small) that I would tinker with, trying to write songs.

When I was eighteen, I saved up and bought a second-hand Roland D-10 synthesizer and a Roland PR-100 (two-track sequencer). I had no idea what I was doing, but my desire to make music was burning a hole in my mind and in my heart. I started composing and arranging by ear, and read every thing about music theory that I could get my hands on. I managed to teach myself guitar, keyboard, drums, and bass over the years, and I'm sure more instruments would follow in the future. Michael once commented on my amazing tenacity when it came to music. He would get up early to go play tennis, and see me sitting in front of my music gears composing music. After spending a whole day outside and coming home late at night, he'd walk in and see me in the exact same position, still composing music, as if I hadn't moved.

Unfortunately, music is also one of the most painful regrets in my life. I understand very well that I started very late--too late, unlike others who had been taking music lessons since they were children, had support from parents to attend music conservatories, and had private teachers spending countless hours helping them. These people can sight read, have perfect pitch, understand all the complex and difficult to grasp music theories, have Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Debussy flowing from their fingers, and are virtuosos on their chosen instruments. To say that I have a lot of catching up to do would be an understatement. But I try--reading books on music theory, arranging/orchstration, practicing instruments, and of course, by actually composing, arranging/orchestrating, performing, recording, mixing, and mastering as much as I can. There are a number of accomplished and respected composers out there who are self-taught, and if they can do it, why can't I?

I had my first "real" girlfriend when I was seventeen (although my family will disagree and say that it was actually in the first grade), and then came the long stream of romantic involvements, which promptly ended when I got married at age thirty. Some would say I was a player, some would say I was a foolish romantic; I say I was both, and also a confused perfectionist. I don't regret any of it, because I had a romantic past that was probably more interesting than some people's several lifetimes combined. Having your heart broken and breaking the hearts of others can be some of the most intense and dramatic things we go through in our lifetime, and if we're wise enough, we're bound to learn something from those experiences. Dennis, more than a few times, kept silent company by me and chain-smoked with me through my misery when I had my heart broken. Looking back, I wish I could've handled past relationships differently. I wish I had been kinder to those who were hurt by me. I wish I had the strength to walk away from those that hurt me. I wish I could've been more mature, more understanding, more responsible, less selfish, and more patient. The silver lining is that by the time I had met my wife, I'd learned enough of those lessons the hard way, and if it took all of that experience to pave way for the very happy marriage I have now, then it was all worth it.

During high school, I wanted to move to Japan to work in animation, except Toren Smith, who ran Studio Proteus (they translated Japanese comics into English), told me to forget about it, due to the difficulty of being accepted as a gaijin (foreigner), and the impossibility of getting a work visa. I had no interest in American animation, since it seemed like "kiddy stuff" compared to what the Japanese were doing, so I went into comics instead (of course, me being a huge Appleseed fan influenced that decision. (Appleseed is a brilliant science-fiction manga by Masamune Shirow).

Shortly after I became a full-time comic book artist (just months after graduating high school), my mother kicked me out of the house because I didn't follow her idea of what I should be. I wasn't going to college to become a lawyer or doctor, had long hair and earrings, and she couldn't stand the sight of me. I was penniless and moved in with a friend and his family, and that began my seven years of being a starving artist. I moved around quite a bit in those seven years from different cities in the Bay Area, to Taiwan, back to the Bay Area, and the longest stay was five years in San Francisco.

The first four years in comics I could only get work as a freelance artist, but the next four years, I got to be a creator, writing and illustrating my own series (titled Enchanted, a dark gothic/fantasy epic), which was what I really wanted--to tell my own stories, on my own terms.

During the comic book years, I played in an industrial band called Factor One, and tried to make a career change as a musician. I used all of my savings and recorded a demo tape with some of my songs, flew to Taiwan, and started knocking on the doors of record companies. I ended up selling a song to a big production company, who bought it for Nicky Wu, a very popular Chinese pop-star/actor at the time, and almost signed a contract with another record company to be a recording artist and producer/songwriter. But, after four months in the music industry there, writing songs for pop-stars and hanging out with underground rock bands, I noticed anything that wasn't mainstream had no chance of survival in that market. Since I had zero interest in the mainstream music in that market at the time, I packed my bags, went back to the States, signed the contract for Enchanted, and spent the next four years working on Enchanted.

Income was laughably low in the underground/indie comic books scene (unless your book was a huge hit), and I became tired of putting my heart and soul into my work, only to end up not being able to pay the rent or buy food to eat. I had tried to transition into the mainstream but it just didn't take, since my heart wasn't in it--superheroes just wasn't my cup of tea. I remember once I opened the fridge to a couple leaves of dried up lettuce and half a bottle of ketchup, with only a few loose change in my pocket, negative balance in my bank account (they deducted service charges, and my balance was already zero), and my head spinning because I hadn't eaten all day (my friend Em once showed up with a poorboy sandwich, knowing I was starving. Man, that was a welcoming sight). My relationship with the publisher was also deteriorating, due to faults on both sides, and the whole experience just became less and less enjoyable. Finally, I decided I had to make a drastic change, because I was twenty-five years old and starving, and and I had to quit the comic book industry. I thought long and hard, and then made a plan to get into the video game industry, purely to have a nice paying job where I could still be somewhat creative, and make enough money to build a recording studio. I wasn't even a gamer, but I ended up becoming a hardcore gamer while working in games. I have Half-Life to blame for that.

After quitting the comic book industry, I worked various full-time jobs (telemarketing, retail, sales…etc) for a year, while also going to college full-time. It was absolutely insane doing full-time work and full-time school, leaving me always tired and worn out (I'd fall alseep standing up on the bus), but my plan was to qualify for financial aid, so I could buy a top of the line PC to learn 3D with. I ended up getting a Pentium2, 400 MHz, 256 MB RAM, with a Hitachi Elite-Scan19" monitor (the whole rig cost me nearly $5,000 at the time). Soon after getting that computer, my roommate at the time, Jason Felix, got me a job painting textures for Prince of Persia 3D at Red Orb Entertainment. Thus began my years in the video game industry. I went on to work for various game companies.

Getting into the video game industry ended my seven years of being a starving artist. For the first time in my life I was not only scraping by, but actually had money to spend on things I've always wanted (books, CDs, DVDs). Prior to working in games, I had worked all kinds of odd jobs when I really needed money and comics didn't pay enough. I've done anything from being a security guard, door-to-door sales, cleaning industrial equipment, working at a bakery, VJ at karaoke bars, framing store at the mall, making pizza, video rental shop, and restaurants. My first job was at age eleven (delivering newpapers), and I never stopped working since that first job.

While working in video games, I had a metamorphosis as a writer. I don't remember how or why, but I suddenly lost interest in science fiction and fantasy novels, and became very passionate about literary fiction. I would read classic literature, contemporary literary fiction, and began writing novels. It was then I truly understood how intoxicating, cathartic, and emotional writing can be when you write from your heart and expose your soul on the page. That experience changed me as a writer, and it was one of the most powerful and profound experiences I've ever had as a creative person.

I became involved with independent filmmaking around that time as well (storyboarding, screenwriting, associate director of photography). I had always loved films, and one of my greatest dreams was to be a feature film director. Being involved with independent productions opened my eyes to a simple fact--that talent is not a prerequisite, and often the people who are making creative decisions are people that should never have been in the position to do so. These people might have money, financial savvy to obtain budget, or are film buffs, but they were not creatives, yet they could override your creative decisions, even when it's detrimental to the quality of the work. While it's fun and challenging all the time, it's was also often disappointing and stressful to deal with lack of funding and distribution, uncooperative weather, rejected applications for permits to shoot on locations, creative differences, and so on. Today, anyone with the will and the talent can build an audience on YouTube as a filmmaker, without needing a sizable budget, but it wasn't like that back then.

In 2001, a series of misfortune lead me to take a break from working in video games. Basically, I drove across America to be an art director at a game company in Louisville, Kentucky, just to be told the company was filing chapter 11 two months later. I had to move out of my apartment, with nowhere to go. I ended up staying with a Taiwanese friend I had just met. His wife was also very kind and welcoming, and their daughter became like a little sister to me during that time. The kindness of strangers is an amazing thing, and words could not express my gratitude for their help. I stayed with them for a month, and then drove back to California to work at another game company, just to be let go two weeks later, because "my personality wasn't a good fit for the team." I was shocked and furious, and wanted to file a lawsuit against them. But I decided to let it go and went on vacation to visit China with my mother instead. I had to reroute all my belongings that were already on its way to the new address to my mother's house in the Bay Area, paying double the fee, and it was just a real mess.

What should've been a few weeks vacation in China turned into years. My mother introduced me to a very well known woman in Fuzhou (she was described to me as a beautiful and successful entrepreneur who used to be a actress/model, and ads featuring her would be plastered all over billboard around the city). Prior to meeting each other, we had zero interest in being introduced, and thought the whole thing was an annoying social obligation. Other people's description of her had lead me to believe she was some kind of calculating and materialistic business woman who used her good looks as an advantage. It turned out these people didn't know jack about her, and assumed things based on appearances.

The first thing we talked about when we met were our predominantly black wardrobe, the architecture and sculptures in Europe, and the paintings in the Louvre--not exactly the kind of thing a shrewd business woman would be talking about with excitement and sparkle in her eyes. It wasn't the most romantic thing to be introduced by your mother, but we really surprised the hell out of each other. It was as if we shared the same brain on many matters. After my mother left us alone, we talked late into the night and kept on surprising each other, sharing the same views on a wide-range of topics--our similar bad relationship with our mothers, our views about parenthood, our anti-materialism views, our taste for clothing, interior design, architecture, our views about love, relationships, society, and so on.

By the fourth day we were already living together, and have never been apart since. Exactly a year later to the day we met, Elena and I were married. I must thank the people that made my life hell in 2001, because without them, I wouldn't have been at the right place and right time to have found happiness. (Here's our wedding album).

If you want to get to know her better, here's her bio. You can also check out the Kitty Cat Diary (a collection of photography I've taken of her over the years).

Elena is a rare soul--she is kind, compassionate, intelligent, caring, and 100% supportive of me in everything I do. We are each other's best friend, and we care for each other as if the other person is a precious child to be loved and protected. I sincerely believe that she's a gift from above, sent to me to make up for all the hurt and pain I went through as a child--my personal angel. This is what finding that missing half is like--you feel whole, complete, and everything finally makes sense.

Elena and I didn't want to be apart, so my little vacation in China turned into a long sabbatical while we waited for the U.S. immigration to process her visa so she could go back to the States with me. While in China, I wanted to make the most of all the free time I had, so I bought a new computer and started to learn Maya (a 3D program), in order to make my own animated short film. It is titled Promise, a modern fairytale about love, faith, and sacrifice. I also shot a lot of photography in those years, and took on professional assignments.

In the autumn of 2003, Steven Stahlberg, a world-famous digital artist and a friend, invited me to be a director at his company, Optidigit/Android Blues (CG animation studio). The terms of my agreement was that they would produce my short film, Promise, if I worked there. I worked there from 2003~2004, in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. While there, I was doing mostly writing/directing, art directing, and content creation/pre-production. The day-to-day things I did there consisted of directing animators, directing voice actors, communicating with the music composer, rewriting some of the music, writing and rewriting lyrics for songs used in production, conceptualizing stories, writing treatments and screenplays, meetings with clients, pitching ideas to clients, illustrating storyboards, concept designs, illustrations, and creating animatics. I wore more hats on that job than I ever did in any other job, and I was glad to put all of my skills as an artist, writer, composer, director, and photographer to good use. My short film Promise was planned to go into production there, but then funding fell through and the film was put on hold indefinitely. Soon after, the company was struggling so much that it couldn't pay the employees for months at a time, and had to take on low-end, soul-crushing projects just to make ends meet. I left Optidigit because I had worked with/for companies that were sinking ships before, and I recognized all the telltale signs. I realized that Promise would not go into production as I was promised (no pun intended), and I didn't see the point in staying longer just to sink with the ship, while working on projects that only stifled creativity. I left on good terms with everyone, and I'm still good friends with Steven and Alan (the owners of Optidigit at the time). Steven and I had a blast co-creating a sci-fi TV show while I was there, and maybe one day that project will see the light of day. (Not long after, Steven left the company too, since he had a family to feed and needed a reliable source of income).

After Optidigit, Elena and I went back to China to continue waiting for her immigration visa. The typical day then was filled with painting, composing music, writing screenplays and novels, photography, being involved in various online forums for creatives, and snuggling with the Mrs. I learned a lot about photography that year, as I really made an effort to get up to professional level in my skills. I did a few professional gigs that year and each one was a challenge that pushed me to step up my game. I'd spend an entire day just planning the lighting to be used the next day, sketching out compositions, and trying out different lighting configurations beforehand so the shooting day would go as smoothly as possible. I even seriously considered making it a career at that point, but eventually realized that photography is mostly about business and less about actual photography, unless you become extremely lucky and make it as one of the celebrity-status photographers.

Elena and I moved back to the States (California) in May of 2006, after finally getting Elena's visa from immigrations. Moving to another country is always a pain in the ass, and we had our share of stolen or destroyed items during the move (My Takamine EAN10C Acoustic/Electric guitar and Xbox were stolen, and a few furniture were destroyed). We rented a room from a family friend for several months while I looked for a job. I thought it would only take a few months at most (because that's how long it usually took me), but it ended up taking nine months, which was really hard on us. I couldn't figure out why it took so long, since I was pretty well-known in the digital art community at the time, had co-written a book on digital painting, have quite a bit of experience as an artist, and had just gotten off two pretty big projects (Spiderman 3 and Surf's Up for Sony Pictures). Eventually I figured out that for full-time positions, it's very important to keep up a resume that consists of a steady stream of full-time employment as opposed to freelance work, otherwise you appear to be someone that can't stay still for a long time. I then briefly taught at art schools in San Francisco (Academy of Art University and Art Institute), and that was a strange feeling of validation, because I never went to art school and am self-taught, and when I was younger I used to feel a bit insecure about it. But there I was teaching a masterclass at a well-known art school, and I realized all of my hardwork and self-education had really paid off. Many of the students actually knew who I was and signed up for my class when they heard I was teaching there. But the teaching schedule clashed with my freelance work and I had to stop. Eventually, I got a job as the studio art director at iWin, a casual game publisher/developer, and that's where I worked for a bit over a year. You can read about what art directing in a game company is like in this article I wrote for Gamasutra.

Although my day job kept my pretty busy, I tried to put in as much time as possible in my free time to work on music--be it composing the score for a game or film, or my own personal work. Even during my day job as an art director, I still tried to get involved with music when I could. iWin didn't have an audio director, so I unofficially doubled as one when I could, reviewing and directing the music for our games. I often would listen to the cues delivered by the composers for our games and then provide them with feedback. The producers appreciated my help in that area since the non-musician ones didn't know how to communicate with composers effectively, and aren't well-versed in the art of scoring a game.

Around middle of 2008, Elena and I decided to move back to China so we could expand our business investments there, since China was growing fast and we wanted to ride the wave before it fizzled out (it's not everyday you get to witness a world power trying to grow into a modern developed country). While the decision was mostly one of business, it would also allow me the free time I badly needed to take my creative works to the next level. Working full-time in video games (or any full-time job) can sap away so much of your energy for personal works, and I always knew one day I would return to doing something on my own terms, telling my own stories, while keeping as much creative control as possible.

Once we had decided to relocate back to China, we decided to design a home that would be our little paradise, as we're introverts and being out and about in China can often be an unpleasant experience. Being homebodies, we knew our new home would have to be very comfortable and visually pleasing according to our tastes. The designing and construction of our new home and my recording studio took about a year overall. The studio was the most time-consuming in the design phase because I had to research and learn so much about acoustics and studio construction, but in the end it was all worth it because everyone that had seen the new studio loved the result, and it sounded absolutely amazing as well. We shopped for everything ourselves, driving all over the city to compare prices and designs, and I would do mockups in Photoshop and Sketchup to get an idea of how the finished result would look. I even mocked up where we'd hang art prints and what kind of frames we'd use. The finished result of my recording studio and our new home can be seen here.

Although I was determined to focus on the next phase of my creative journey, I realized there was something I had to do first--something that had been nagging in my back of my mind for a few years. I was asked to teach a workshop once by Leo Teo, the then owner of CGSociety, and I almost did it, but things didn't work out and it never happened. A few years later, I felt like I needed to revisit the course material and see what I could do with it. It was then I realized I had to do the workshop, because now the idea of teaching a workshop carried totally different meaning for me. I realized I was at a transitional period of my life, and this workshop would mark the end of an era for me. I would distill all of the most critical and valuable knowledge I've ever acquired as an artist into that workshop--the kind of knowledge that I would pass on to my younger self if I had a time machine. I wanted to reassess all that I knew as an artist, and also to help those who are passionate and driven just like I was when I was in my formative years. I ended up spending more than a year creating the course material, and to say that it contained blood, sweat, and tears would be quite appropriate. It wasn't just something whipped up to make money on the side like many people who teach workshops--I wanted to change lives and make a real difference. (You can find out the details about the workshop here.) The fact is, I've always enjoyed teaching and find it very rewarding and meaningful, and I had hoped my workshop will repeat for as long as there's demand for it. It ended up being one of the most popular workshops at CG Society/CG Workshops, and when it merged with CGMA (Computer Graphics Master Academy), I continued to teach it there. I ended up teaching the workshop for nine years.

Life today mainly consists of teaching (art, photography, storytelling/writing, music, game and development, in classrooms, online, and private lessons), while writing novels in my free time. I also do a lot of photography too (mainly real estate and portraits).

Writing novels is currently my main creative focus, because after all these years, I've realized that it was always storytelling that was the driving force behind everything I did, and writing is also the most challenging yet the least complicated of all creative endeavors I'm passionate about. There are no expensive gears to maintain and operate, no computer and software crashes (writing software are not resource intensive and don't push your computer to its limits), no endless debugging, no troubleshooting hardware technical glitches, and no need for other people's funding and manpower (especially with the rise of self-publishing). It's just you and the story--that's it. The only thing that matters is your ability to create intellectual and emotional resonance with the stories you tell, and the only tools you need are words and something to write with. But it's also incredibly challenging, as you'd have to construct and balance a compelling dramatic structure, engrossing pacing, interesting conflicts and resolutions, characters that make people care, and convey themes that are both profound and entertaining. Even the way you put together words and sentences is a great challenge, for the art of prose is both elusive and affecting. Add to all that the need to research various subjects so your stories have credibitlity (geography, history, philosophy, military, weapons, law, politics, medicine, biology, physics, psychology, technology, the arts, various cultures, and so on), I can't think of anything else more challenging, creatively fulfilling, and straightforward than writing.

While I could never give up music completely, I have come to terms with the fact that today's society and music market is nothing like the one I grew up with (the Internet and pirating changed everything). I would be happier to just compose for myself first and foremost, and only take on professional gigs when it feels right to me. When I take breaks from writing, I'm working on stepping up my game as a musician--from advancing my compositional and orchestration skills, to excelling in my performance skills (keyboard, guitar, drums, bass, harmonica...etc).

Today, I'm a lot more relaxed about my creative aspirations and goals. After decades of working as a professional creative in various industries, the one truth that remains is you have to do it for the love, because too often even something you thought you loved will turn into a grind when you have to do it for a living. In many ways, I prefer the peace and quiet of writing novels in my home to the chaos, complications, and pressures of a busy production schedule. And being able to have full creative control without budget constraints is a dream, although it can also be daunting because you're the only one to blame if things go south.

One interesting project I might tackle some time in the future is one that combines writing, art, and music--something I'm tentatively calling the "multimedia novel" project. It's an idea I've had for a while now--one that takes the impossiblity of high-end one-man animated film and turns it into something that's within reach, although with a different format (sort of like a hybrid of digital graphic novels and animatics). It does not conform to any established commercial medium or platform, so whether it'll have any commercial value remains to be seen, but I know it'll be fulfilling and challenging, and I'm looking forward to it very much.

So now I'm at the end of my forties, and as much as I've changed, I've also remained the same. I'm still passionate and a romantic idealist at heart, and I still love and are driven by the same things that inspired me in my formative years, but I'm a lot more pragmatic and relaxed about them. I know what my limits are, and I know you have to pick your battles in this life. I already had too many dreams and had been stretching myself too thin, so I learned to accept the things I can't change.

Simply, I will go on creating. This is the only way I know how to live my life. Everything I do is self-taught, and I'm proud of that. I feel like I can teach myself anything I want to learn, and will go on teaching myself anything that fascinates me.

I'm usually an optimistic person, but I've also experienced enough darkness in this world that I know the universe is indifferent to your hopes and dreams and struggles. Throughout the constant tug-of-war between light and dark, idealism and pessimism, joy and pain, meaning and emptiness, we have to define the meaing of our own life.

I still have much to learn as a person, but I'm always making an effort to evolve, and I'm not afraid to admit when I've made mistakes. One lifetime is far too short to do all the things I want to do, so all I can do is to live this short live to the best of my ability and shape my life to my ideals.

I've always felt that the best way to live your life is when you're in your deathbed and about to part from this world, you can say with confidence and honesty that you have done all that you wanted to do in your life, felt all there is to feel, gave all you could give, loved without restraint, redeemed all your mistakes, and have no lingering regrets. I want to be able to say that with a smile before I die.