Be the best of yourself

This is how 2026 began—
in warmth, in presence, in the quiet power of seeing and being seen.

That evening, principals sang and danced, teachers picked up instruments, students filled the air with music and movement, and self-proclaimed “master chefs” brought their creativity to life. Yet the most remarkable moment was when the stage itself seemed to disappear. It expanded beneath the feet of every performer, into the careful motions backstage, and across the audience where glow sticks rose like waves. In every pair of eyes, light reflected light—flowing, shared, alive.

As the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, the defining moments of 2025 came back into view. We revisited a year shaped by sound and color, effort and imagination. Five chapters unfolded—Starlight, Grace, Rhythm, Passion, and Spectrum—five dimensions overlapping like beams of light, illuminating the night from different angles.

More importantly, this was a year in which each of us became the first author of our own story.
In laboratories marked by silence and breakthrough.
On fields and courts filled with sweat and cheers.
During application season, balancing uncertainty with hope.
And in every moment we chose to say, “I'll give it a try.”

So we paused. We immersed ourselves. We remembered. We resonated.
This night belonged not only to the stage, but to every student who is growing—deliberately, courageously—on the path toward a dream.

A single spotlight fell, and four teachers in vintage outfits instantly transported us back to the early 2000s. Led by Principal Wan, their performance of *Meteor Shower* revived the sincerity and emotion of a generation that once looked up at the same stars. The rhythm then shifted—*Gravity* carried the optimism of the 2010s, while *DITTO* brought the ease and clarity of the 2020s. Three eras, one stage, woven seamlessly through song and movement.

Music opened an “ascending age”—a time when opportunity feels within reach, the future feels possible, and even melodies seem to hold galaxies inside them.

The sharp resonance of the erhu surged forward like galloping hooves in Horse Racing, filling the hall with unstoppable momentum. A clear flute followed, unfolding the poetic heroism of *Red Dust Inn*. Then the stage grew quiet. Red Bean emerged gently, each note tracing subtle emotion with restraint and grace.

There was no grand spectacle in that moment—only the refined beauty of Eastern aesthetics, expressed through tone and timing, tenderness and restraint. From the openness of the grasslands to the drifting spirit of the martial world, and finally to the quiet depth of longing, students reinterpreted cultural traditions with contemporary voices, reconnecting with something deeply rooted and enduring.

The screen lit up, and suddenly teachers appeared as students had never seen them before—vivid, expressive, fully alive beyond the classroom. A video led by Principal Wang revealed a playful, confident side of the faculty, drawing laughter, applause, and countless phones lifted to capture the moment. When they stepped onto the stage, synchronized and smiling, the message was unmistakable: educators, too, are multidimensional—creative, approachable, and deeply human.

A stylish duet followed, then a high-energy group performance whose storytelling and precision brought the audience to its feet. Applause lingered long after the final pose.

Driven by passion, powered by love, music took center stage once more.
Two student musicians—once newcomers under the spotlight, now confident performers—returned with Love Me When…, their voices steady and assured. The atmosphere shifted as the band 3:30 a.m. (Faded) cut through the silence with a stark, driving rhythm. Their performance of Disciple felt ritualistic, every beat an inquiry. Another band followed with Tornado, sweeping the audience into a moment that was at once youthful impulse and reflective hindsight.

As the lights gradually dimmed, memories grew brighter. We recalled the clarity and intensity of White Moonlight and Red Mole, the kinetic energy of a dance medley painted in motion. And when the powerful drums of Heaven and Earth: Dragon Scale began to pulse, a deep red filled the stage—rich, solemn, unwavering.

This was more than a color. It was recognition.
A sense of identity rising from shared heritage, carried forward by young voices singing ancient symbols. In that moment, the present converged with history, and the stage aligned with centuries of landscape and memory.

Standing at the threshold of 2026, we listened for the sound of wishes taking root. We believe that wishes spoken sincerely deserve to be received with care. In this finite evening, we tried to honor infinite hopes—about luck, companionship, moments worth preserving, and the small, certain joys that make life meaningful.

Perhaps we do not truly believe that gifts can change everything. But we do believe in the feeling of being chosen—the quiet signal that life still holds unexpected kindness and surprise. Fragrances, plush toys, keepsakes, mugs, and instant cameras were shared not as prizes, but as tokens of goodwill, distributed with intention and joy.

Cries of “I want the plush one!” echoed from every corner—pure, unfiltered, wholehearted. Teachers and principals moved through the crowd, placing soft companions into eager hands. The best gift was not just being selected, but being seen.

Light took on form. It rested against the New Year backdrop, shimmered through sequins and velvet, and finally settled on shoulders, hair, and smiling faces. “Look here.” “One more—ready.” In the seconds before each shutter clicked, time seemed to slow. We saw light reflected in one another's eyes. We saw smiles still undefined by the year ahead. We saw “2026” glowing gently behind us.

That moment was captured like a luminous fragment—meant to be revisited by our future selves.

Students formed circles, debated song titles, celebrated right answers and laughed off wrong ones. Familiar bonds—built in dorm rooms, on fields, over lunch conversations—surfaced naturally through play. Alumni returned briefly, families arrived to watch and support, and the new year filled with pride, care, and love.

A new year opens. Time turns another page.
As we say goodbye to 2025 and step into 2026, may we hold on to what we love and continue to look forward with intention.

May you always have eyes that can see the light—
and may you always shine brightly enough to be seen by it.

Good morning. Happy New Year.
Until our next chapter.