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<!DOCTYPE html>
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<title>Biography - Jacob Wu</title>
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<span class="jacob-name">J</span>
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<!-- Floating Navigator -->
<div class="navigator">
<a href="#prologue">Prologue</a>
<a href="#chapter1">Chapter 1</a>
<a href="#chapter2">Chapter 2</a>
<a href="#chapter3">Chapter 3</a>
<a href="#chapter4">Chapter 4</a>
<a href="#chapter5">Chapter 5</a>
<a href="#chapter6">Chapter 6</a>
<a href="#chapter7">Chapter 7</a>
<a href="#chapter8">Chapter 8</a>
<a href="#chapter9">Chapter 9</a>
<a href="#chapter10">Chapter 10</a>
</div>
<div class="biography-content">
<h1>Biography: The Path of Principles</h1>
<p>© Jacob Wu</p>
<p>All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.</p>
<p>First Edition: 2024</p>
<p>This is a work of nonfiction. The events and experiences described in this book are based on the author's life, with some minor adjustments for literary cohesion. Names and identifying details may have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals, at the individual’s request.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: This book was written with the assistance of AI. While the key themes and major events accurately reflect the author’s life and experiences, certain details have been adjusted to ensure narrative flow and literary cohesion.</p>
<p>Jacob Wu<br>
<a href="http://jacobwu.org">jacobwu.org</a><br>
<a href="mailto:jacobwu@berkeley.edu">jacobwu@berkeley.edu</a>
</p>
<p>For my parents, whose sacrifices and love have shaped every step of my journey.</p>
<p>And for the mentors, friends, and Christian families who welcomed me with open arms, guiding me with faith and wisdom when I needed it most.</p>
<div class="chapter-title" id="prologue">Prologue</div>
<p>Introduction: Echoes of a Journey Unseen</p>
<p>In the shimmering skyline of Shanghai, where towering structures meet the persistent hum of progress, my story begins—not with a conspicuous sign, but with a whisper of the extraordinary cloaked in the guise of the ordinary. Born into a world where practicality reigns and the pursuit of education is revered above all, I embarked on a journey shaped by relentless innovation and the unspoken yearnings of the soul.</p>
<p>As a child, the rhythmic cacophony of the city was a lullaby that spoke of potential and the promise of what could be. Yet, amidst the concrete and the clamor, there was a silence—a space untouched by the accolades of academia or the accolades of commerce. It was in this silence that the seeds of a deeper quest were sown—a quest not just for knowledge, but for meaning.</p>
<p>This story is not a linear narrative of success or a conventional tale of triumph through adversity. Rather, it is an exploration of the nuanced interplay between the seen and the unseen forces that shape our lives. It is about the serendipitous moments that seem inconsequential but are, in fact, threads in a larger tapestry that guides us towards our destinies.</p>
<p>As you walk with me through the streets of Shanghai to the corridors of Berkeley, from the bustling markets of Milan to the quiet awe of a pandemic-stricken world, you will see how a foundation built on rigorous education and a legacy marked by both conflict and compassion led me to discover a faith that transformed my understanding of the world.</p>
<p>In the chapters that follow, I will take you on a journey through the landscapes of technology and innovation, through the realms of economics and business, and into the heart of what it means to serve and uplift communities. This is not just my story; it is an invitation to explore the possibility that there is more to life than what meets the eye. That perhaps, in the intricacies of our journeys, there lies a call to something greater—a call to explore, to question, and ultimately, to believe.</p>
<p>So, as the first chapter unfolds, look for the breadcrumbs of a greater story, the echoes of a deeper song, and allow yourself to ponder the possibility that amidst the noise of the world, there is a melody that calls each of us to discover the harmonies of a life fully lived.</p>
<div class="chapter-title" id="chapter1">Chapter 1</div>
<p>Growing Up in Shanghai</p>
<p>Foundations of Practicality and Curiosity</p>
<p>Shanghai was a city in constant motion, a place where the future seemed to be always just a step ahead, urging everyone to keep up. The streets bustled with the sounds of progress—construction cranes swinging through the air, the endless hum of traffic, and the relentless chatter of people who, like the city itself, were always reaching for something more. It was in this environment of unyielding ambition that I grew up, absorbing the unspoken creed that success was not just an option, but an obligation.</p>
In our home, this drive for success was personified by my father. He was a man of quiet strength and determination, someone I both admired and, at times, feared. His life had been shaped by a series of sacrifices, decisions made out of love and duty but which had cost him dearly. He had once been a promising student at a prestigious university, with a future that seemed all but assured. But when his parents fell ill, he made the difficult choice to leave his studies behind to care for them, setting aside his own dreams in the process.
Years later, a chance to reclaim his future appeared in the form of an opportunity to study abroad. But this hope was cruelly dashed when he was scammed, leaving him financially devastated and emotionally scarred. Despite his immense skills and dedication, my father found himself marginalized, facing repeated unemployment—not because he lacked talent, but because he lacked a college diploma. The world, it seemed, valued credentials over character, and my father bore the brunt of this harsh reality.
I remember one evening vividly, sitting across from him at the dining table as he sifted through job applications. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his hands steady but tired. It had been months since he had last worked, and the strain was beginning to show. I watched as he circled yet another job listing, one of many that he was overqualified for but still considered out of necessity.
“Dad, why don’t they see how good you are at your job?” I asked, my young voice filled with frustration and confusion.
He looked up at me, his eyes softening for a moment before a small, tired smile appeared. “It’s not about how good you are, Jacob. It’s about what they think you are. And without that piece of paper, they don’t think I’m worth much.”
Those words struck me deeply, leaving a mark that would influence my understanding of the world for years to come. I began to see how society was treating people like my father—those who had the skills, the work ethic, the dedication, but who were overlooked because they didn’t fit into the mold that society valued. It was a harsh reality, one that made me question the fairness of the world I was growing up in. My father’s struggle wasn’t a reflection of his abilities; it was a reflection of a system that placed more value on credentials than on character.
Despite these challenges, my father never gave up. He continued to work tirelessly, doing whatever he could to support our family. And while he often reflected on his life with a sense of failure—focused on the money he didn’t earn and the career he didn’t have—I saw him differently. To me, my father was a success, not because of what he had achieved in his career, but because of the love he showed me every day. His love, though sometimes manifest in harsh and unexpected ways, was the foundation of everything he did.
This love was both a blessing and a burden. My father’s experiences had instilled in him a fierce determination to ensure that I wouldn’t face the same disappointments. He placed high expectations on me, pushing me to excel academically and to succeed where he felt he had failed. This pressure was never more intense than when I was preparing for the SSAT, the test that would determine my entrance into a prestigious international school.
The preparation was grueling. My days were consumed by a rigorous routine—balancing schoolwork with the extensive study needed for the SSAT. Vocabulary lists, verbal reasoning exercises, and reading comprehension drills filled every spare moment. The weight of expectation bore down on me, and I could feel myself straining under it.
One evening, after a particularly long day of studying, I sat at the dining table, my SSAT workbook open in front of me. The words blurred together as I tried to focus, my mind weary from hours of memorization and practice. My father entered the room, his expression stern as he looked at the workbook.
“Why are you not making more progress?” he asked, his voice tight with frustration.
“I’m trying,” I mumbled, my eyes fixed on the page. But the truth was, I was exhausted. My mind felt like a rubber band stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.
My father’s gaze hardened. “Trying isn’t enough,” he said, his voice rising. “You have to succeed. Do you understand? This is your future!”
The tension in the room was palpable, and I could feel the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. I wanted to explain how difficult it was, how overwhelmed I felt, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I just nodded, hoping it would appease him.
But it didn’t. With a sudden, furious motion, my father slammed his hand down on the table, knocking a ceramic plate to the floor. The plate shattered on impact, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. I flinched, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at the pieces scattered across the floor.
For a moment, there was silence—an awful, suffocating silence. Then my father turned to me, his face a mix of anger and something else I couldn’t quite place. “You don’t have the luxury of failure,” he said, his voice trembling. “You can’t afford to make the same mistakes I did.”
I sat there, too shocked to move, my eyes fixed on the broken plate. I understood, in that moment, the depth of his fear—the fear that I would end up like him, with dreams unfulfilled and a future stolen by circumstances beyond his control. But what I felt most acutely wasn’t motivation or resolve; it was fear. Fear of disappointing him, fear of failing, fear of what would happen if I couldn’t meet the expectations he had set for me.
From that day on, I threw myself even harder into my studies. Every waking moment was spent preparing for the SSAT, my life narrowing down to a single, all-consuming goal. But the price was high. I began to withdraw from my friends, seeing them less and less as I became more isolated in my pursuit of success. Relationships, once a source of joy and connection, began to feel like distractions—things that could pull me away from the path my father had set for me. My health, too, began to suffer. I lost weight, struggled to sleep, and constantly felt on edge, as if I was always one misstep away from disaster.
Looking back, I can see that my father’s actions, though harsh, were driven by the best of intentions. He wanted to protect me from the disappointments that had shaped his life, to give me the opportunities that had been denied to him. But the result was that I became driven by fear rather than by a genuine desire to learn and grow. The pressure to succeed became a burden that weighed heavily on my young shoulders, leaving little room for the joys and connections that should have been a part of my childhood.
It wasn’t until much later that I began to understand the full impact of those years. The success I achieved came at a cost—one that I would have to reckon with as I grew older. But it also taught me an important lesson about the nature of success and the price we pay to achieve it.
I realized that while my father’s intentions were rooted in love, the way he expressed them had pushed me to a place where success was the only thing that mattered, to the exclusion of everything else. It took me years to undo the mindset that had been instilled in me during those formative years—to learn that relationships, health, and happiness were not luxuries, but essential parts of a life well-lived.
This experience also planted the early seeds of intellectual curiosity in me. I began to question the nature of success—what it truly meant, and whether it was worth the sacrifices we made to achieve it. I started to explore these questions in the books I read, seeking answers that went beyond the practical and the tangible.
One evening, years later, as I sat reflecting on my journey, I realized that the fear and pressure I had felt weren’t just about the SSAT or my father’s expectations—they were about something deeper. They were about the unspoken belief that our worth was tied to our achievements, that failure was something to be feared rather than a natural part of the learning process.
This realization became a turning point for me. I began to shift my focus, learning to see success not just as the achievement of goals, but as the pursuit of growth and understanding. I learned that it was okay to fail, that it was okay to take time for relationships and for myself. In doing so, I began to find a balance that had been missing from my life for so long.
As I moved forward, I carried with me the lessons of those early years—the importance of perseverance, the value of hard work, but also the need for balance, for connection, and for a broader definition of success. My father’s sacrifices and the intensity of his expectations were part of what shaped me, but so too were the moments of reflection that allowed me to grow beyond them.
In the end, the shattered plate became a symbol for me—not of failure or fear, but of the breaking of old patterns and the beginning of a new understanding. It reminded me that while the path to success is often difficult, it is also one that must be walked with care, with compassion for ourselves and for those who guide us along the way.
This chapter of my life was one of learning, not just about the world around me, but about myself and the values that would come to define me. It was the beginning of a journey that would take me far beyond the expectations placed upon me, into realms of thought, faith, and self-discovery that would challenge everything I had been taught to value.
<div class="chapter-title" id="chapter8">Chapter 8</div>
<div class="sub-title">Struggles, Reflections, and Reorientation</div>
<p>Overcommitment and Burnout</p>
<p>On the surface, it seemed as though everything was going according to plan. I was in my senior year at UC Berkeley, carrying the weight of three demanding majors—Computer Science, Economics, and Business Administration—with a 3.9 GPA. The pinnacle of my academic record should have felt like a crown of achievement, yet each day I found myself increasingly anxious, as though something essential was slipping through my fingers.</p>
<p>My life had become a delicate balancing act, a high-wire routine performed without a safety net. Mornings started early with classes that demanded my full attention, and yet my mind was often elsewhere, racing ahead to the next task, the next obligation. By afternoon, I was shifting gears, applying to graduate schools, tailoring each application with precision, hoping that the perfect combination of words and accomplishments would open the doors to my future. As the evening set in, I was either buried in the depths of startup development, wrestling with the complexities of AI-powered information management, or attending service events through my church, where I was expected to be fully present and engaged.</p>
<p>But as I tried to keep everything in motion, the pressure began to mount. The demands of my academic work were relentless; each assignment felt heavier than the last, requiring more time, more energy, more focus than I had to give. Graduate school applications became a daily reminder of the uncertain future I was hurtling toward—an uncertain future compounded by the sting of each rejection letter that found its way into my inbox.</p>
<p>Then there was my startup, a venture that I had poured my heart into, believing that it could be the key to something greater. But the work was grueling, the progress slow, and the results often disappointing. The burden of leadership weighed heavily on me, exacerbating the strain of balancing my academic and personal life.</p>
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