Friday night, my buddy pulled me into a voice chat room, and the background was filled with the sound of candlestick reports. He was speaking anxiously, "PEPE has surged to 0.00000609," his voice trembling—not out of fear, but from an uncontrollable excitement. "Look at that resistance at 0.00000634; once we break through, the FOMO will explode. I tell you, this time is really different." On the screen were rocket and frog emojis everywhere. He said he went all in.

I looked at the long string of zeros after the decimal point, and my heart skipped a beat. I’ve seen this scene too many times—on the night before a certain animal coin went crazy last year, it was all about this fiery passion, this "breakthrough and take off" mentality. I casually asked about the trading depth and the project's fundamentals, and he shot back directly, "In the world of Meme coins, feeling itself is the fundamental."

That sentence hit me hard. We were sitting in the same room, yet it felt like we lived in two parallel universes. In one universe, prices are driven by community hype, influencers setting the rhythm, and feelings like "I feel this will go up," like riding a rocket without navigation—thrilling, but no one knows if the destination is the moon or the ocean floor. In the other universe, behind the numbers are traceable on-chain activities, real ecological demand, and logic written into protocols that can’t be changed.

This split makes it hard to sleep at night. If the story of the crypto world ultimately boils down to constantly chasing the next Meme coin that "feels like it will rise," what’s the difference from gambling? Is it possible to participate in this digital wave while building bets on a more solid, analyzable foundation? I haven’t figured out that question yet.