- KMU Senior Vice President / CHIH-LUNG LIN , M.D., Ph.D.-

Life Is Full of Warmth

Love finds its way ashore when you least expect it.

A little after six in the morning in Kaohsiung, the sky had only just begun to brighten. I clutched my bag and jogged into the HSR station, running today’s schedule over and over in my head: a meeting, a presentation, a visit—each one too important to miss.

When I reached the ticket gate, I reached for my phone—

and in the next second, my heart sank.

My phone was gone.

And I had bought my ticket on the app the day before.

Without my phone, I couldn’t even enter the station.

In that instant, the platform was right there, not far at all—yet I felt trapped outside an invisible wall.

Behind me, a steady surge of people flowed through the gates.

In front of me, the ticket scanner flashed red.

I was only one step away, but I couldn’t get in.

In my panic, I noticed a kind-looking elderly couple.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and stopped them.

“Excuse me… could I borrow your phone to make a call?”

My voice carried both urgency and a desperate hope.

To my surprise, the gentleman simply smiled and handed me his phone.

The trust in his eyes felt like a key offered without hesitation.

With trembling hands, I called my wife. When she heard what had happened, she didn’t scold me. She only said, “Wait for me. I’m coming back.”

In less than ten minutes, she returned with my phone.

Her headlights flickered outside the platform entrance like a small harbor light.

When I took the phone from her, it wasn’t relief that hit me first—it was a sudden sting in my eyes.

Because I realized: what we call “security” is, sometimes, simply someone willing to turn back for you.

Fate left a gentle foreshadowing

I tapped through the gate, ran to the platform, and got on the train.

My heart still hadn’t settled; my breathing was still unsteady.

After I sat down, I turned my head—and froze.

Sitting right beside me was the very grandmother who had lent me her phone.

It was as if fate had quietly tied a thread between us, pulling us back into the same carriage. I thanked her again, and learned that her husband had decided at the last minute to board the train, which left the couple seated apart.

So I got up, spoke with others, and switched seats,

so the two of them could sit together again, side by side.

When they reached for each other’s hands, the scene was simple—yet deeply moving.

I realized then that happiness isn’t about where you arrive, but about who is beside you.

And what I learned was this—

In the rush of life,

there will always be moments that remind us:

we are not alone.

Someone will pause to help you pick up the clues you’ve dropped along the way.

Someone will turn back and become a bridge for you.

And sometimes, because of one small choice you make, someone else will feel that the world has been gentle to them.

That day, I received kindness—and I returned it.

And I suddenly understood: love doesn’t have to be grand or earth-shattering.

It is hidden in a phone offered by a stranger,

in headlights that come back for you,

in the quiet silhouette of two people leaning toward each other in a train car.

Kindness travels in circles, and eventually returns to your hands.

So does love.

In this chain of small moments, I felt the warmth between people in a way I won’t forget—whether it was the unspoken understanding between a husband and wife, the generosity of strangers, or the strange, beautiful coincidence of meeting again. All of it made me believe, once more, that love is everywhere. That we can meet, and help, and be helped—this is love’s quiet power, connecting us without a word.

And in that moment, love was passed on—softly, almost unnoticed.