I have been a photographer for over thirty years, but I never thought that my most productive period would begin after I planned to stop photographing Taiwan. Not long after the earthquake hit Taiwan on September 21, 1999, I held an exhibition that I named Farewell to the Twentieth Century. Like many people, I could not see even a trace of hope for Taiwan, and so I intended to leave the island.

To me, photographs are a means to forever preserve the values I believe in and to eulogize the goodness of human nature. However in 1999, a time when recession, political instability, and the distortion of traditional values worsened, I could not find a moment that I wanted to capture. Thus, I decided to stop photographing Taiwan.

In despair, I joined Project Hope.

Since then my camera work has been revived. In the past two years, I have frequented the forty-nine schools of Project Hope in eighteen towns in Taichung, Nantou, and Chiayi counties. I witnessed the harsh environments that students were forced to study in. For those studying in tents, there was sand blown by merciless wind; for those studying in prefabricated sheet-metal classrooms, there was unbearable heat which seemed hot enough to melt them. From breaking ground, to erecting steel frames, to grouting, laying bricks, furnishing the interior, and finally to the opening ceremony, my camera lens took everything in. Seeing students graduating from the newly constructed schools, happiness and a little sadness mingled inside me.

The past two years have been very fulfilling. Children taught me that vitality comes from innocence. The teachers and principals showed me the selfless devotion of educators. From Tzu Chi people I learned the meaning of Great Love. Because of them, I found hope in this island again.

The forty-nine schools of Project Hope were founded at different points in time, the oldest being over a hundred years old, the newest only thirty. Today, they have all become new schools of the twenty-first century. In June of this year, these "new" schools had their first commencement ceremony. In order to take pictures of this first batch of graduating students, I visited each school, carrying a medium-format camera and tripods like the ones used in the old days.

Chichi Elementary School held its graduation ceremony on June 19. The graduating students, twenty of them, waited in the auditorium. The teacher asked me how they should pose. An idea flashed through my head. "Jump as high as you can," I instructed them. And a really interesting moment was preserved. In the picture, every child is like a sprout breaking out of the ground.

My dear children, after enduring so many hardships in those prefabricated metal classrooms, your time in the comfortable new school seems too short. Now you have graduated. This picture carries my blessings for you. May you store all those hardships as energy to be used for a better future. When you look at this picture later in your life, then you will understand that every single child is the future of mankind.

Sheliao Elementary School

A quiet child

When I look back at the events of the past two years, some particularly stick out in my mind.

August 31, 2000, a year after the earthquake struck, was the first day of Sheliao Elementary School's new school year. When the construction of the new buildings began where the old school once stood, students and teachers, altogether 274 of them, had to move to a nearby barn. The barn had been left unused for many years, and the nauseating odor of stale grain permeated the air. The school hired workers to clean, disinfect, whitewash and partition the barn. After electric wires and fans were installed, crude classrooms were ready for use.

As Tsai Che-chi, a sixth grade homeroom teacher, handed out new textbooks to the students, he asked them to brainstorm ways to decorate the empty room. Everyone except Chu Feng-ching raised their hands to speak. Chu just quietly stared at the floor. Later I was told that his father had passed away in the earthquake.

He remained silent after class and waited for me by the newly painted red wall. I was going to pay his family a visit.

As we walked home together, I kept the conversation going. Although I tried to phrase my questions cautiously, I nevertheless opened his wounds. I asked him if the class was ever asked to write about earthquakes. He said he only remembered two sentences he had written in his composition class--"On September 21 the earthquake killed many people. Will there be another quake like this again?"

"Do you enjoy being with your classmates?" I asked. He replied that both he and his father had always preferred quiet environments. Then I asked him what came to his mind when he thought of his father. "Earthquake," he answered.

To this little child, the disaster was painfully associated with his dear father. What was the child to do with such an early experience of losing a loved one? I sincerely pray that he will learn to be strong and to let go of the pain.

We walked along a long country track and arrived at his home, a tiny shed beside a farmhouse. This dim, lifeless shed where they had been living belonged to a relative. The family of five slept on three worn tatami mats. Beside the coal-black kitchen stove stood a little dining table. On it was their lunch--a plate of stir-fried vegetables and a pot of thin soup.

Box after box of packed belongings occupied most of the space in the tiny living room. Tomorrow the family could finally move out of this simple shed that had sheltered them for a year. The mother rushed home from the mushroom farm where she worked in order to have lunch with her children. She told me through her tears that she and her children did not wish to rebuild their toppled house because that was where the father had been killed. Fortunately, with a government subsidy, they could have a new home. I took a picture of their last day in this harbor of refuge.

A few weeks later, on September 21, I returned to Sheliao Elementary School. I walked home with Feng-ching again, but this time to his new home.

The new home, a three-story apartment, was very spacious. Everyone had their own rooms. The mother had given the most brightly lit room on the second floor to Feng-ching. Every day after school since they moved here, he had looked out the window at passers-by.

Thanks to their new environment, the mother was in good spirits. She constantly urged us to have more snacks. The Chus are a good example of the positive change that can be brought about by a new environment. It was nice to see that their hope in life had been rekindled. When I was about to leave, I took a picture of them. Feng-ching said he wanted to stand by the window, which was his favorite spot in the whole house.

Shuangwen Junior High School

Knots in their hearts

By November of that same year, twenty-eight schools had been inaugurated and students could finally study on safe campuses. One of these was Shuangwen Junior High School.

On July 2, 2000, I went to Shuangwen with Fr. Jerry Martinson, a Catholic Jesuit priest. He led the graduating class to a big banyan tree for a heart-to-heart talk. However, the students, shy about opening up, just silently listened to Fr. Martinson. To warm up the atmosphere, the priest took out his guitar and taught the students a song.

I can understand the students' reserved attitude after the heavy blow dealt by the earthquake to the whole farming village. Their homes had been turned into rubble, and the vegetables and fruits they had arduously grown were left to rot, since transportation routes to other places had also been destroyed. The villagers' hearts were heavy with sorrow.

The meeting was fairly uneventful. However, when it was about to come to an end, a student blurted out impishly, "Fr. Martinson, you must come to our commencement ceremony on June 23. If you don't show up, another earthquake will strike." Everyone, including me, laughed heartily at this unexpected remark.

As everyone was leaving, the teacher asked Lai Li-chuan and Chiang Ya-hui to stay behind. Their fathers had passed away: one had been killed in the earthquake, the other had committed suicide after the disaster.

As we talked, Li-chuan said between sobs, "Why did heaven take away my father? It's so unfair!" Fr. Martinson kindly replied that he had asked himself the same question many times, but he had not found the answer yet. "Everything in life has its reason," the priest reassured her. "Although we might not know why things happen, through time we will find the answers."

Now, one year after that meeting, both of the girls are in high school. Every time I visit Shuangwen, which won the silver medal in the Far Eastern Outstanding Architectural Design Award, I try to find the spot where I took their picture. But has either of them come back to visit their old middle school yet?

Tungshih Elementary School

Shattered childhood memories

Founded in 1897, the historical Tungshih Elementary School had just celebrated its 102nd birthday when the September 21 earthquake struck. The temblor damaged school buildings that housed the childhood memories of generations of villagers who had studied there.

At the crack of dawn on December 6, 1999, I made my first visit to Tungshih. A row of prefabricated classrooms stood on the playground. The buildings destroyed in the quake had been demolished; the ones that had received only minor damage were still in use. I went up the stairs and looked out. Students filed into the school. They had to pick their way through a large debris-covered area in order to enter the prefabricated classrooms.

It was a cold day. A teacher wearing a thick jacket walked out of the office. She shrugged her shoulders, crossed her hands behind her back, and gazed at the prefabricated classrooms.

Although I could only see her back, I could sense an unyielding strength within her. Apparently the earthquake had not wrecked her spirit. Tzu Chi offered much-needed support to the students and the faculty. Looking at her, I realized that when there is hope, all suffering becomes endurable.

I was there to film the school's Chinese orchestra. Although the orchestra has been ranked number one in Taichung County for over a decade, this time everyone was slightly nervous. The earthquake had seriously damaged the music room, so the orchestra had not been able to practice for more than two months.

Although the students had to be crammed into a small classroom to rehearse, their spirits had not been dampened. Chinese instruments, including the pipa lute, erhu fiddle, suona horn, and even violins, vibrated harmoniously. If we had not seen it with our very own eyes, the Tzu Chi TV crew and I would not have believed that such a professional performance had come from such young musicians.

On the way to the contest, I asked the young musicians if they were out to get prizes. The students just smiled. When we arrived, contestants from other schools told me that they hoped to get second place, because they were sure Tungshih would win the championship. After a morning of heated competition, Tungshih won as expected. Apparently, the earthquake had not beaten them, but rather prompted them to beat the earthquake.

Luku Elementary School

An ever-changing campus

The groundbreaking ceremony for Luku Elementary School was very different. Since the town of Luku is noted for its tea, the school held a tea ceremony at the groundbreaking, something other schools had not done.

The day was August 31, 2001. Although it was well before eight, the sun was already glaring down mercilessly. The moment I entered the campus, a charming little girl offered me a cup of tea. A taste showed me that the tea was of excellent quality, and the skill of the tea server was first class. I thought the tea maker must be an experienced grown-up, but in reality it was made by a group of little schoolgirls sitting under a tent. Wang Yi-hsuan, wearing glasses, was the champion of the tea arrangement contest, and Sun Jung-tzu had won third place. Sitting beside Jung-tzu was Wang Hui-ching, her mother.

Wang is a master of the tea ceremony. When she has time, she visits different schools to teach children the art of tea making. All the girls present today were her disciples. I asked her why she didn't teach her daughter to be the champion.

"Tea making seems simple, but an expert can tell the temperament of the tea maker with just one sip. The tea ceremony has eighteen to twenty steps that require extreme precision. It was fortunate enough that my daughter, who is rather quick-tempered, could get third place." Wang stroked her daughter's hair, and the girl's face broke into a smile. Then she poured me another cup of tea, which was as sweet as her smile.

The tent where the students were making tea was where the new school buildings would stand. Each time I visited the school, it always looked different. Starting as a big hole in the ground, then evolving to a foundation, a brand-new Luku Elementary School finally emerged.

On June 20, 2001, the school had a graduation ceremony. Sun Jung-tzu was among the fifty-six graduating students. Looking at these children, my mind went back to the day of the groundbreaking ceremony. I could almost smell the aroma of the tea.

Tacheng Junior High School

The archery team

Tacheng Junior High School is known for its archery team. Last year when I visited this school for the first time, a class was playing dodgeball in a swimming pool. The pool had a long, wide crack, so it could no longer be used for swimming. But it was perfect for playing dodgeball because regardless of where the ball was thrown, it would always bounce back. The class had cleverly worked around the damage caused by the earthquake.

The archery team was greatly inconvenienced as well. Every day, the coach led some ten students to practice diligently at the place where the library used to be. Ninth-grader Yuan Shu-chi was the champion of a national competition. I asked her how she had attained such extraordinary skill. Her reply was simple: "There's no trick to playing sports. No pain no gain. Diligence can make up for the lack of talent."

All team members have to shoot at least three hundred arrows every day. If a player slacks off even just a little, their performance drops right away. This happened to Chiang Cheng-lung, who could not practice for over a month after his home collapsed in the earthquake. Yang Pei-shan's home was also destroyed, yet even while the family of five were living in a tent, she still practiced at the school every day. Her good performance was thus maintained.

I noticed that all the regular archers were ninth graders. Students in lower grades have to draw bows for at least one year before they are allowed to touch any arrows. It is certainly not easy to be an archer.

Chichi Elementary School

Hard to say goodbye

The students of Chichi Elementary School would soon move to their new campus. However, this meant that they had to leave Hoping Elementary School, where they had studied for almost a year and a half after the earthquake. Thus, this supposedly joyful event was also mixed with sadness as the Chichi students left their new friends and classmates.

On the last day of joint classes, I hurried to Hoping. First-graders were singing happily in music class. Students in second, fifth and sixth grades were all immersed in their studies as usual. However, sadness was building amongst the third-graders. And when I came to see the fourth-graders, who were having their music class, a sadness had descended upon them, too.

The whole class was rehearsing for a recorder performance for the opening of the new campus. Some students were sitting, others standing or walking around. Gradually little circles of friends formed. Lin, Chen, and Wang played around Cheng, who had forgotten to bring her recorder. Their songs seemed to be telling her their sadness.

On March 26, 2001, Chichi would leave Hoping. When I arrived, second-graders from Chichi were presenting flowers to Hoping teachers, who gave the kids warm hugs. Some students shied away, while others turned to wipe their tears.

After the national anthem had been played, the band began marching towards the new Chichi school. Teachers and students from both schools followed behind. They had a morning of performances and partying. After lunch, the whole Chichi student body stood by the entrance to see the Hoping School students off.

Hoping might envy Chichi's beautiful campus, but I think that it is Hoping that should be the object of people's envy. They had wholeheartedly accepted the students of the Chichi school for over one year. Although they still have to study on the old campus, they possess the richest reservoir of love.

Wufu Elementary School

Happy farewell to small places

Wufu Elementary School is located in the middle of farmland in Wufeng Township. After reconstruction work had started on this little campus, there was little space left for the 250 teachers and students. Nevertheless, the confinement was not a problem for them. They thought of many ways to make the school function again: the principal's office was once a tent, hallways were once teachers' offices, and fences surrounding the construction site became an alternative place for students to post their paintings.

The students were attentive in class, but when classes were over, the children had their own different ways of having fun. No playground? No problem! They could find a corner to play jump-rope. Or they could simply throw balls high into the air if they were too close to each other. A space before me, which had a total area of only a few square meters, was the largest open ground on campus.

Here, two children were playing with each other. Then their friends joined in. Not long after, ten children were running around in a circle while holding hands. To the children, any place, no matter how small, can become enormously vast.

That day was November 24, 2000. The foundations for some of the buildings had been completed and their steel beams had all been erected. Like all other schools being rebuilt under Project Hope, Wufu Elementary School also used steel-reinforced concrete for its new buildings: steel bars were set up around a central bar, and cement was poured in. All the walls were built in this way, with no bricks used at all.

I didn't go to the school very many times, but I had fun each time I went. I remember once, it was the time when the moon had been its closest to the earth in 133 years. The moon looked very bright, big and round. It was the coldest weather ever. I was there taking pictures of a child playing a huchin, a Chinese instrument, with an adult. Mr. Wang Hung-te was the principal at that time, but the new principal is Ms. Hsu Wei-ming.

I told the new principal that Principal Wang, who had to stay in a tent as his office after the September 21 earthquake, was not fortunate enough to enjoy this new office. Principal Hsu just laughed and said, "That's okay. I'm his wife! It's justifiable for a husband to suffer so that his wife may experience happiness!"

I visited the school that time with Yin Cheng-yang and his wife, Li Wen-yuan, both well known in Taiwan's cultural circles. The two of them had developed friendships with the teachers and students at the Project Hope schools they had visited. Before we left Wufu Elementary, Principal Hsu asked us to take a photo together with her. But where could we find a good place to pose in this crammed school? She said to us, "The crops on the farms around the school have been harvested, so I guarantee the fields will be large enough for all of us." We then took this interesting photograph.

I heard that a few days later, more than two hundred teachers and students from Houpu Elementary School in Taipei County came to perform at Wufu Elementary School. What place in Wufu could accommodate so many people? Of course, it was that field where we took our photo! I was not there to witness the magnificent show, but I was still very happy to hear about it.

The graduation ceremony for the students at Wufu was scheduled for June 21 this year, but I went on the 19th because I wanted to photograph the first graduates of Project Hope before they went on to higher grades.

When I came to the playground, I saw all the children were completely wet from a water fight (a traditional part of the graduation ceremony). Suddenly, it started to rain, and the rain was getting heavier. However, no one left since they were wet already, and they laughed and enjoyed the rain in this confined area. It had been really hard on them to be restricted in this tiny place for a year, but fortunately, their dream of having a new campus had finally come true.

Buying and selling with love

On November 5, 2000, I attended a sculpture auction held by Ju Ming, a famous Taiwanese sculptor [see the Spring 2000 issue of the Tzu Chi Quarterly], to raise funds for Project Hope. Tzu Chi members around the world held many fundraisers, which were a very important financial source to Project Hope.

Ju generously donated 120 pieces of his work, including some from his "Tai Chi" series. However, he was not present at the auction, since he did not want to be in the limelight.

The auction collected more than NT$63 million [US$1.8 million]. Ju said he didn't have NT$500,000 [US$14,300] to donate, but he had a lot of sculptures in store. He told me, "Turning work into something useful is to bring out the light and the strength of the work."

At the auction, I witnessed many touching scenes. A five-year-old girl joined the bidding, her father raising her hand for her. They finally bought a piece for $2.4 million [US$69,000], twice the original price. I didn't know the girl's parents, but they had given her a very meaningful present.

I also found a Tzu Cheng Faith Corps member who was serving as a security guard for the auction. He stared at one of Ju Ming's works for quite some time. Captured by the Tai Chi series, he began imitating the work. I suddenly recalled what Ju Ming had said: "All my accomplishments come from society, so I am giving my accomplishments back to society." The artist gets the ideas for his work from people, and his work in turn influences people.

I attended another bazaar in Nantou High School on May 6, 2001. It was the largest bazaar ever held in the area, and according to one news reporter, not even any political rally had ever attracted such a large crowd.

There were more than 150 booths on the school playground, and there were twenty-five performances on the stage from morning until late afternoon. Many schools being rebuilt under Project Hope also set up their booths there. The principal and the parents' association chairperson of Checheng Elementary School, as well as the local village headman, were all present to sell local products from their village. Students from Chunghsing Junior High School sold products from their homemaking class. Students from Shukuang Junior High School sold fresh flowers. Some Tzu Chi people sold ice cream at first, but when it started to melt, they decided to sell milkshakes instead. A long line of people waited for caricatures by cartoonist Hung Su-lan, and calligrapher Chang Tsung-lin was able to collect more than $700,000 [US$20,000].

I ran into many school principals, teachers and students whom I knew and who were either selling or buying things. What they were doing showed me another side of them. I was deeply impressed by Principal Chih Li-chuan of Kuohsing Junior High School: grasping a bag of bread in each hand, she began to shout loudly to attract buyers. But when she saw me, she laughed with embarrassment. People at the bazaar, both buying and selling, all had loving hearts. Such loving hearts can embrace the whole world with Great Love.

Master Cheng Yen and the Tzu Hui roof tile

After I joined Project Hope, I had many opportunities to visit schools with Master Cheng Yen. I observed that she had incredible zeal: we once visited fourteen construction sites in one day, but she was always full of spirit and never yawned.

The Master has carefully supervised Project Hope from the blueprint stage. She once said that when a disaster struck, two places had to remain standing: schools and hospitals. Schools were temporary shelters and hospitals were rescue centers. The Master called on the best architects in Taiwan to rebuild the damaged schools, reminding them to design the schools from the children's points of view.

The Master and I went to visit Checheng Elementary School on February 28, 2001. Huang Chien-hsing, the architect for the school, was very pleased to see that the school was about to be completed. He pointed to the roofs and told me that he was originally worried that the light gray color was too light; but in reality, the color matched the blue sky quite well. Most Project Hope architects had the same concern, but they later saw that the color looked very elegant against the pebble-dashed school walls.

The roofs of all the schools in Project Hope are light gray. At the start, the roof tile factory did not produce such a color, because buildings in Taiwan traditionally use dark-colored roof tiles. But at the Master's request, the factory came up with the color. Since it was the first color of its kind, the factory named it "Tzu-hui Color," after the name Tzu Chi.

Looking after the new schools

I visited Shuangwen Junior High School on Valentine's Day this year. I saw Liao Huo-chuan, who was already a grandfather, climbing a tree to chop down some old branches. Hsieh Su-chin, a grandmother, was using a kitchen knife to pry open the earth and loosen the soil. She told me that she was not used to using a hoe or harrow, so she used a kitchen knife instead. Huang Po-lien and her son were walking back and forth, picking up rocks. Tseng Mei-yu and her daughter were pulling out weeds. Whenever I saw families using their holidays to contribute their strength, I always felt I was fortunate to see such a wonderful sight.

On July 21 this year, close to two hundred Tzu Chi people came to Chunghsing Junior High School before dawn. They divided themselves into six groups and competed against each other to see who could finish their walkway first.

None of the Tzu Chi members' children was attending this school, but I sensed that they still took care of the school like their own homes. Sister Chen Mei-ling, a volunteer TV camerawoman, was a very good example.

Sister Chen lives in Taipei County, but she stayed in the teachers' dormitory at Chunghsing Junior High School in Nantou, central Taiwan, so she could document the reconstruction work at the school. She also called on all community volunteers to do recycling and to cook food to raise money for Project Hope. Under her encouragement, the mothers who lived in the community also prepared snacks twice a week for the laborers building the school.

When the last semester was about to end, Sister Chen received permission from the school to teach a service class. I saw her directing a group of student volunteers to clean up floors, work on the landscape, or paint the fences inside and around the campus. After the students were done, they all went back to the classroom for refreshments. Sister Chen then asked these students, who were soon to graduate, their thoughts about the day's activities. One replied, "I feel that the students that come after us are very fortunate, because they can enjoy the new campus." Another said: "This is what I will remember most of all the things I did before my graduation." Others made comments like, "It feels good to sweat after sweeping the floor," or "There are still many good people in Taiwan," and "The snacks were very good."

Before the class was over, Sister Chen asked all the students to close their eyes and to place one hand on the shoulder of the student before him or her, and then walk around the campus feeling everything with their hands. The students attentively used their hearts to feel the Great Love that had gathered from all over the world. I believe that was the most unforgettable experience they had ever had.

The reconstruction has been completed, and students who have not yet graduated can now have a safe, comfortable environment to study in. Sister Chen has moved back to her home in Taipei County, and Tzu Chi has removed its service station from the school. A Project Hope photographer like me will certainly move on to continue photographing other schools. Those of us who were once there have moved on to other places, but I believe we have all left our hearts there. The field that we planted with love is now sprouting with seeds of hope. I am sure one day, they will all grow into a forest of big trees.

The new schools are open

After the long summer vacation, all the elementary and junior high schools opened again in late August. Of course I attended the opening days of the Project Hope schools.

On August 31, 2001, students from Shihkang Elementary School gathered before the town library and walked happily to their new campus. The completion of the new campus was a big event in town, so the villagers invited traditional folk dancers to lead the parade, with close to five hundred students and their parents following behind. The students handed out pieces of paper which read, "Happy News!" to invite any person they met to come to the school for some snacks.

Next I went to Fengtung Junior High School. I ran into Principal Huang Li-wei at the main gate. He had just had an operation on one leg, and it was still in a cast. Nevertheless, limping along, he led me to all the new classrooms on all four floors to see the students at their lessons. Each classroom looked spacious and comfortable, with good lighting and ventilation. The students were all listening attentively to their instructors.

A few days later, on September 2, I attended the openings of Puli and Tacheng Junior High and Changho Elementary schools.

Puli Junior High School has forty-eight classes. On that day, the students moved to their new classrooms. Before seven in the morning, teachers and students were already gathering at the school's playground. On the ground was a huge pile of chairs and desks which had been moved from the temporary prefabricated classrooms. Students took turns picking up and carrying their own tables and chairs and moving into their new classrooms. The area around the main entrance was still under construction, so days of rain had muddied the whole campus. Nevertheless, the students were still delighted because they were finally leaving the prefabricated classrooms they had been studying in for a whole year.

The first day of the new semester at Tacheng Junior High School was completely different. Some prefabricated classrooms that had been scheduled for dismantling had instead been removed to serve as temporary homes for survivors of Typhoon Toraji. However, construction of the new buildings was behind schedule, and many students were left without classrooms. The school then had to find room for these students: it divided each available classroom into two, and students from two different classes then shared the same room. The night before the new term started, I still saw workers cleaning up classrooms and installing blackboards. But today the classrooms were already filled with students.

Changho Elementary School had a good start, except that they still had no electricity. Thanks to good natural lighting and ventilation, the students weren't affected. However a sixth-grade computer class could not be carried on as planned. To get around the problem, the teacher showed the students how to sort out all the computer cords. The teacher told me with a smile that he was not worried--the electricity would come the next day, and the class would still be on schedule.

A fourth-grade teacher was busy organizing routes for the students to return home after school. This was very important to the students, because the community around the school was badly disorganized: some houses were filthy, the roads weren't like roads at all, and a temple and its paper-money burner [a fair-sized structure in which the faithful burn paper money as offerings to the gods] sat directly before the school's entrance. It's worrisome to see students zigzagging through busy traffic on their way to and from school.

Although it looked disorderly outside the school, the atmosphere inside the campus was rather tranquil. The architect designed the school in a U shape, with three buildings blocking out the external chaos and a poetic central courtyard in the middle. environment is easy, but to be able to design a secluded school in a terrible environment like this one meant that the architect had to put in a lot of effort.

As I was leaving, I recalled how I had felt about the situation in Taiwan when I held a personal exhibition two years ago. I was quite depressed then, but now I have hope in my country again. The seed of Project Hope has taken root in my mind as well.