Jia Xinn

Quando dico alle persone che ora lavoro nel crypto, presumono che sia arrivato qui inseguendo guadagni. La verità è meno glamour. Sono arrivato qui inseguendo responsabilità.
#APRO $AT
La mia vita precedente era un lavoro rischioso nella finanza tradizionale. Non un lavoro da film. Tante foglie di calcolo, test di scenario, notti tarde a discutere su punti base e casi limite che non hanno mai fatto notizia. Rimarrai sorpreso di quanto tempo una banca possa spendere semplicemente ponendo una domanda in mille modi diversi.

Su cosa ci basiamo realmente quando premiamo invio.

Se devo essere onesto, il mio rispetto per APRO non è iniziato dall'ammirazione. È iniziato dall'imbarazzo.

Un po' di tempo fa, ho lavorato su un piccolo strumento DeFi con un paio di amici. L'idea era semplice: aiutare gli utenti a gestire le posizioni e impostare azioni automatiche basate su certe soglie. Niente di rivoluzionario. Ci siamo concentrati su interfaccia, opzioni strategiche, commissioni, le solite cose.

I dati sono stati aggiornati per ultimi nella lista.

Abbiamo collegato un paio di feed di prezzi, fatto un po' di levigatura leggera, e ci siamo detti che era “sufficiente”. Per settimane in fase di test, lo è stato. I prezzi sembravano a posto. Le simulazioni funzionavano. Ci siamo convinti che la parte difficile fosse fatta.

I remember the first time someone asked me a very simple question that I couldn’t answer without dodging.

“If you stopped trading today and didn’t touch anything for a year, what part of your crypto would you actually trust to be there for you?”
#FalconFinance $FF
I laughed it off in the moment, but that question stuck with me.

When I looked honestly at my setup, everything was wired for activity, not durability. I had decent entries, a few strong conviction bags, some mid-risk plays, and stables lying around in different apps. But there was no single place I could point to and say, “This is the solid part. This is where my work turns into something I can depend on.”

FalconFinance entered my life right around the time I got tired of pretending that constant motion equals progress.

I didn’t come in through a shill. I came in through irritation with myself. I realised I knew more about obscure tokens than I knew about my own risk structure. So I decided to experiment with something very specific: what happens if I give one protocol the job of handling my “serious money” and judge it entirely on how calmly it does that job.

The first thing I did was choose an amount that mattered.

Not everything. Just a slice that, if it vanished, would change my life, not just my mood. Instead of parking it on an exchange or scattering it across random stable pools, I moved it into FalconFinance and turned it into their stable-side setup. I told myself that this chunk was no longer “trading capital”. It was the part I wanted to stay in my life no matter what meta was trending.

What surprised me wasn’t the interface or the yield. It was what disappeared from my head.

As soon as that value sat inside Falcon, I stopped mentally spending it five different ways. Previously, every stable balance I had was secretly reserved for some fantasy: “if this farm launches, I’ll go in”, “if that token dips, I’ll rotate”. Inside Falcon, those voices went quiet. That balance was finally allowed to just exist as money, not as permanent bait for the next move.

The structure helped. Falcon is built around the idea that stability and sensible yield are not side features, they’re the main product. When I looked at my position, I wasn’t wondering what gimmick was keeping it afloat. I was checking simple things: is the value intact, is the protocol behaving as expected, is my capital still accessible without drama.

After a month, I started to notice a pattern.

Good week, bad week, sideways week – it didn’t matter. The part of my net worth sitting in Falcon felt the same every time I logged in. It was the rest of my portfolio that changed my mood. Falcon became something like my “default answer” to the question, “Where should this money live if I’m done risking it?”

That’s when FF started to feel relevant.

Up to that point, I treated protocol tokens as optional extras. Nice to have if you want exposure, but not essential. With Falcon it felt wrong to stay on the outside. If I was going to let this system handle a chunk of capital I cared about, the decisions made around it suddenly mattered a lot more to me.

FF is where those decisions live.

It’s the token that gives shape to governance, priorities, and long-term direction. It doesn’t magically hand you profits; it gives you influence and exposure to the growth of the ecosystem you’re already relying on. The more I used Falcon as my quiet corner, the more it made sense to own some FF so I wasn’t just a customer – I was tied into what happens next.

I set myself a simple rule: any time I increased the amount I trusted to Falcon, I was allowed to scale my FF position a bit. Not the other way around. I didn’t want to chase the token; I wanted it to track my actual reliance on the protocol.

That rule kept me grounded.

It meant FF wasn’t something I stared at every hour. It was something I looked at when I asked, “Is Falcon doing the job I hired it for?” If the answer was yes and my stable position inside the protocol had grown, it made sense that my FF holding grew slowly alongside it. If I ever lost faith and dialled back my Falcon usage, I’d have to be honest about trimming FF too.

Over time, that relationship did something subtle but important: it made me more patient.

When a new narrative hit the market, I didn’t instantly feel that I needed to uproot anything from Falcon to participate. The bar was higher. Opportunities had to be strong enough that taking money out of a calm, structured environment felt justified. A lot of things that would have tempted me in the past just looked noisy by comparison.

Falcon also changed how I talk about my portfolio to other people.

Before, my explanation would start with coins: “I’m in this, I’m sized into that, I’m watching this level.” Now I start with structure. I say, “I have a chunk that lives in FalconFinance and isn’t allowed to be touched lightly. Around that, I have things I’m experimenting with.”

It sounds less flashy, but it’s actually the piece I’m proudest of.

Because that chunk in Falcon represents something I never really had before: proof that I’ve learned to keep part of what I earn. Not in theory, but in code. The protocol doesn’t care if I’m bullish, bearish, tired or excited. It just keeps doing what it was built to do.

FF, sitting in my wallet next to that position, is a reminder that I’m not just passively hoping this stays true. I’ve chosen to be exposed to the upside and the responsibility that come with that design.

If you took away every other token I own and left me with only two line items – my FalconFinance stable position and my FF bag – I wouldn’t feel wrecked. I’d feel like I still had a foundation and a vote.

For me, that’s what makes this pair competitive in a sea of DeFi options.

Most protocols try to impress you with what you might make. FalconFinance and FF quietly compete on something else: how much of your work they can help you keep, and how much say you want in how that
@Falcon Finance

I used to have this ritual every Sunday.
$FF
Make coffee, open the laptop, drag all my wallets and exchanges onto one screen, and do a personal “state of the union”. On good weeks it felt satisfying. On bad weeks it felt like I was sorting through the aftermath of a party I barely remembered.

No matter what the numbers said, there was always this one feeling underneath everything.

Distance.

All of these positions felt like strangers I had met at different times for different reasons. That token was from a narrative I used to believe in. That LP was from a farm that was hot two months ago. That bag was from a conviction play I no longer had the energy to track. Even my so called stables were scattered and inconsistent.

Then one Sunday, after a long scroll through charts and tabs, I caught myself thinking something I had never actually said out loud.

I do not have a relationship with any of this. I am just visiting.

That thought bothered me enough that I started asking what it would look like to have at least one position that felt like home rather than a hotel. Somewhere I planned to stay, not just pass through.

FalconFinance is what eventually filled that role.

What drew me in was not a flashy APR, it was the tone of the whole thing. The protocol is built around stable value and structured yield as if that is a serious job, not an excuse to emit a token for a few months. It gave me the feeling of a place that expected users to be around next year, not just next week.

The first time I deposited, I did it differently. No quick in and out. I chose a sum I knew I wanted in my life for a long time, moved it into Falcon’s stable system, and quietly told myself, this is not a trade. This is me choosing where I live, financially.

From that moment on, that balance felt different from the rest of my wallet.

When I opened Falcon, I was not asking what I could do next. I was asking how my home was doing. Is it intact. Is it growing in a sane way. Is anything about its behaviour making me uneasy. It was less like checking a position and more like checking a bank account I actually trust.

Over the next few months, I started to route my choices through that feeling.

Closing a good position no longer meant “what token do I buy next.” It meant “how much of this belongs back at home.” Some money went to new ideas. Some stayed outside as dry powder. But a portion always made the trip into Falcon, into the environment I now thought of as the stable neighbourhood where my future self lives.

That shift is what made FF feel personal.

The token had been there the whole time, of course. At first it was background noise. Once Falcon became my home base, FF started to look like the deed to a small piece of that neighbourhood.

I realised that I did not want to be just a tenant in a system I was leaning on so heavily. I wanted my incentives to line up with its long term success. If more people made the same decision I made, if more capital chose to live there rather than wander forever, that growth would show up in the way the world valued FF.

So I started treating FF like an identity check.

Holding it meant saying, this is not a random stop for me. I am part of this place. I want its rules to stay sane. I want it to expand carefully. I want it to become the kind of neutral, reliable layer other protocols can build on.

I bought FF softly, over time, in step with how much I kept using Falcon. No big gambles, no heroic entries. Just a slow accumulation that matched how much of my emotional weight I was giving to the protocol.

The interesting thing is how that connection changed my standards elsewhere.

When another stable product appeared, I did not compare its yield to Falcon’s in isolation. I asked a different question. Would I feel comfortable living there the way I live here. Do I believe in the way they talk about risk. Do I trust their future decisions enough to consider moving my home.

Most of the time the answer was no. The more I got used to Falcon’s attitude, the more obviously flimsy other offers felt. That did not mean I ignored them completely, but I knew they belonged in the “guesthouse” section of my portfolio, not in the main residence.

There was one rough month that really taught me the value of this setup.

Work was heavy, life was complicated, markets were choppy. I did not have the energy for perfect decisions. I made a few sloppy trades, missed some entries, ignored some news. Old me would have spiralled into guilt and over trading. New me had something else to look at.

I logged into Falcon and saw that my home had barely noticed any of it. The balance was stable. The yield was still arriving. Nothing in that environment cared that I had been off my game for a few weeks. That calm felt like someone had stepped between me and my own bad habits.

FF felt similar. Price moved, but my reason for holding it did not. I still believed that a world filled with volatile protocols needs at least a few places that specialise in being dull and dependable. I still believed Falcon was trying to be one of those places. I still wanted to own a piece of that attempt.

Now, when I look at my wallet on a Sunday, I see the difference.

Most of what is there are still characters in a story. Some I like, some I am tired of, some I am still getting to know. FalconFinance is not a character anymore. It is the setting. It is the town my financial life lives in.

And FF is the little badge that says I am not just passing through. This is my address.

#FalconFinance @Falcon Finance

#APRO $AT @APRO Oracle

La prima volta che ho davvero capito cosa sta facendo Apro, non stavo guardando un contratto intelligente. Stavo guardando una lavagna piena di frecce.

Stavamo cercando di mappare come si verifica effettivamente un singolo evento di liquidazione nel nostro sistema. Non solo “il prezzo va qui, la posizione viene chiusa.” Volevamo ogni passo.

Quando abbiamo finito, il diagramma sembrava più una mappa logistica che un abbozzo finanziario. Dati dagli scambi. Transazioni on-chain. Calcoli degli indici. Feed che li aggregano. Il nostro motore di rischio che li consuma. E tutto ciò aveva un punto fragile al suo centro: il numero che stavamo chiamando “il prezzo.”

I didn’t realise how messy my so-called stable stack was until I tried to answer one simple question:
#FalconFinance $FF @Falcon Finance
If I disappeared for three months, which part of my money would I expect to still be exactly where I left it?

I opened my wallets and it hit me how bad the answer was.

I had stables sitting on an exchange “just for a bit.” Some in a lending market I hadn’t checked in weeks. A chunk in a farm that only made sense as long as emissions stayed high. A few random positions I mentally labelled as safe because they didn’t move that much on the chart.

None of that was real structure. It was just clutter that happened not to be extremely volatile.

FalconFinance is where that clutter finally turned into something that behaves like a proper balance sheet instead of loose change.

The thing I like about Falcon is that it doesn’t treat stability as branding. It treats stability as the product. The entire design revolves around turning collateral into a solid dollar unit on-chain, and then giving that dollar two clear modes: one as spendable liquidity, and one as a yield-bearing position that still respects risk.

When I first took it seriously, I didn’t start by moving money. I started by redrawing how I wanted my financial life to look.

I wrote down three categories in plain language:

Money that lets me sleep.
Money that lets me build.
Money that lets me experiment.

Up to that point, all three lived in the same soup. If something looked interesting, I’d grab whatever funds were closest. That’s how you end up taking a bet with rent money without consciously deciding to.

Falcon became my answer for the first category: money that lets me sleep.

I took a deep breath, did the boring math, and picked a number that actually means something to me. For me it was “a year of non-negotiable expenses.” Not dream lifestyle, not degen lifestyle. Just a year of “I am fine even if I earn nothing.”

Then I made a decision I had avoided for years: that number did not belong split across random platforms. It needed one home.

So I took that amount, converted everything I needed into Falcon’s stable system, and parked it there. That was the moment Falcon stopped being a “protocol I’m trying” and started being the place I expect to still look sane when everything else looks crazy.

What changed after that wasn’t just where the money sat. It was how I thought.

Whenever a new opportunity showed up – some farm, some new token, some leverage setup – the question stopped being “can this make more” and started being “does this deserve to pull from money that exists to let me sleep.”

Most of the time, the answer was no. That single mental filter saved me from a lot of trades that looked clever on a chart and terrible when measured against the idea of stability.

Falcon also gave me a clean unit to think in. Instead of juggling ten different stable tickers with slightly different risk profiles, I could think in terms of my Falcon balance. It became my internal dollar. When I thought about runway, I thought in Falcon. When I thought about long-term reserve, I thought in Falcon. Everything else was either upstream (collateral feeding into it) or downstream (uses of that stable value in other protocols).

The token side of the system, FF, only really clicked for me after I had lived with this setup for a while.

At first, I treated FF as a logo; something attached to the protocol that I didn’t need to touch. But once I was trusting Falcon with money that represented actual months of my life, it felt strange not to have any exposure to the asset that carries the protocol’s growth and voice.

Because here’s what I realised: every serious choice Falcon makes shows up twice for me.

If it stays conservative with collateral, my sleep money is safer.
If it drifts into risky territory chasing yield, my sleep money is hostage.
If it lands integrations and adoption, the system I rely on becomes more liquid and more useful.
If it stagnates, I’m anchored to something fewer people care about.

FF is the token wrapped around those choices.

So I gave myself another rule. I wouldn’t buy FF because I hoped for a quick move. I’d build a position only in proportion to how central Falcon had become in my real financial life.

Whenever I moved more “sleep money” into Falcon, I allowed myself to increase FF a bit. Not in a one-to-one way, but as a quiet acknowledgement that I’m not just renting the rails, I’m owning a small piece of the rail company.

That connection changed how I watch the project.

Protocol updates stopped being background noise. If Falcon adjusted risk parameters, expanded to new chains, or tweaked how its stable unit integrates with other DeFi protocols, I cared on two levels at once: as someone with capital inside, and as someone holding FF as a claim on the system’s future.

The real test, though, came when the market stopped cooperating.

We had one of those stretches where nothing behaved. Majors sold off then bounced, smaller assets got chopped up, yields shrank in places that had felt comfortable. In the past, that’s exactly when I’d make my worst decisions. Defensive panic sells. Annoyed revenge trades. Draining stables to “make back” what I’d lost elsewhere.

This time, I did something very simple whenever I felt that old stress rise: I opened Falcon first.

Every time, the picture was the same. The balance that represented my year of sanity was still there. It had inched up from yield. No hidden drama. No sudden haircut because some reward token died. No emergency governance thread begging for mercy.

Seeing that changed how I handled the noise outside. I could afford to let my experimental and build buckets experience turbulence because the sleep bucket was doing its job. The temptation to raid it just wasn’t there in the same way.

That’s when I realised how competitive this idea really is in a space like ours.

Anyone can spin a story about upside. It’s much harder to build something people are comfortable calling their base. Falcon competes in that most valuable category: being the default answer to “where does my money live when it’s not busy elsewhere.”

FF, in turn, competes to be the way you participate in that base becoming more widely accepted.

From a content perspective, I know everyone is trying to sound clever about the next big trend. For me, the sharpest thing you can show right now is not how aggressively you can position, but how clearly you’ve separated your sleep money from your play money.

Falcon is literally that separation for me. The token attached to it is my way of pinning that decision down instead of letting it drift.

If I had to reset everything tomorrow, start from scratch with a smaller stack and no baggage, I know exactly what I’d do first. I’d carve out a minimal sleep amount, send it straight into Falcon, and let that be the backbone. Then, only from what sits above that, I’d start rebuilding my risk.

Once you’ve felt that difference, it’s hard to unsee it. Falcon isn’t just another DeFi logo anymore. It’s the name of the place my money goes when I’ve decided it’s done being a pawn.