The night before finals is always long, filled with many dreams. For some reason, I've started to enjoy writing "short essays," though it’s not entirely spontaneous—it’s only after finishing most of my tasks that this impulse arose.

When I think of "short essays," the first thing that comes to mind is a diary. Unfortunately, diaries tend to be too emotional, making them less suitable for "data" purposes. I wanted something more reflective and rational in the gaps between words, so a weekly journal format seems to align better with my needs.

Since bringing AI into my life at the beginning of 2023, there has been a thought constantly lingering in my mind: when can I have a "twin" version of myself—one that can assist, understand, and merge with the original, helping to shape a more complete "self" that can face the various challenges of the environment? I am deeply curious about such a future. Perhaps this curiosity comes from being inspired by the bond between a set of triplet friends—watching their seamless coordination, I couldn’t help but wonder if humans could someday have a "second brain" to cross-check and assist each other, which might not be as far-fetched as it seems.

What’s even more exciting is that almost no one has realized how quickly AI is advancing. It’s entering people’s lives so rapidly, and yet most people haven’t figured out how to use AI effectively, even though markets are already showing strong interest in the new economic model. To those working in tech, the applicability of AI seems limitless; in academia, it’s even more outrageous, with major universities launching programs like AI+X, M+AI, AI PLUS, etc. If it weren’t for the sudden changes we witnessed during the COVID-19 era, the shock would have likely been even greater.

A memoir is both personal and public. It describes the individual’s life while also casually recording the state of those around them. After all, "environment is one of the biggest factors that change people." A person’s response to their surroundings can often reflect their personality and cognitive style. This is what led me, after several months of contemplation, to officially begin this project. Fortunately, I had already accumulated considerable AI debugging experience and had a solid foundation in cloud data and database management. It was as if "everything was in place, just waiting for the right moment." In the future, I might be able to do what some tech geeks do: write an article every day using different models, sharing my experience. But for now, I plan to make a year-end summary. After all, such datasets will be quite precious in the future: they are not fragmented pieces, but a continuous "chronicle." If more people record in the same way, it might provide a more reliable reference for studying the true nature of this era.

To conclude, I’ll raise a few questions (sometimes my arguments may sound slightly aggressive, but please believe me, it’s just a limitation of expression through text; otherwise, it would be too literary). I wonder how the digital version of me might feel about this. Would you accept this "version" of yourself? Sometimes I think that if this habit continues, perhaps one day in the future, I could meet a "me" from a different time. This could mean that even if I lose part of "myself" at certain points, I can still believe in the existence of "me." Haha, suddenly this reminds me of a few films I’ve watched, one of which involved a little girl’s future helping her past self save her father. The little girl was both there and not there—classic time-bending butterfly effect.