I Give Up

Somehow my internet is acting up, so I’m taking the opportunity to update my blog.

I’ve decided that my site is going to be more on my “personal” updates. Whatever that means.

I feel everything about my life is more mapped out now as more and more things make sense. It’s still very slow, but I appreciate the moments I’m able to slowly sip and breathe life.

Time and time again I see how giving up is always a great thing to do because giving up doesn’t mean THE END. It means leaving all the dusty old collected thinking I have about something and allowing room for new thoughts to come in.

A few weeks ago I was sort of blocked in “ideas” and I just had no idea what I was to do with a project I’m working on Insight Waves. My mind was just blocked with DO DO DO DO DO and found myself sort of frustrated from the fact that I didn’t know what to DO. A lady from a faculty of the University of Minnesota contacted me and told me she was interested in what I wanted to do.

The Question on Jodoh

Recently a close friend from secondary school got engaged.

I don’t know many details because distance grew us apart, but I’m very happy for him. He’s a nice guy, he told me I will like her.

Two people have decided to take the next step in their relationship and commit to a life of forever and after.

While I haven’t even found anybody.

He told me “You don’t need to be in a relationship to give a relationship advice.”

All right. I’ll just need to be open then.

So in the quest of being open to accepting someone in my life, someone else told me about seeing signs that someone is meant for you.

Valentine’s Day Confessions

I don’t remember the first time I liked a boy, but I remember the first time a boy liked me.

He was my classmate in my last year of primary school. Everyone knew but me. I was the only one left clueless, and when I found out, revolted.

When asked why, from friends, he said it was because I was “smart and pretty.”

Thanks to him, my self-confidence actually heightened. I entered secondary school where another guy from another class liked me. It was a fun texting-only puppy love friendship where we talked about songs and life, and I was mad at him for skipping assembly and he told me it was cute. I asked him why he liked me. “Your smile,” he said. “Not my eyes?” I asked. “Yes your eyes, but your smile lights up the room.”


Hung out with someone I might be doing business with. Last year we were in a regional group discussion to empower our youths and had a good first session. I was the only token Malay girl, three Malay guys and one Indian guy. The other 7 were Chinese. The leader was a Chinese guy, the co-leader a Malay.

I grew up in Singapore, and in school I was the only Malay girl in class too. Nothing new. When I was in America my roommates were Mexican and the other a white-married-Iranian lady. So what is race? Nothing! To me, at least.

When I learnt about racial segregation my head thinks “Old people and their old ways. Us young, global-minded people will change that.” I’m so optimistic about that. We’ve travelled the world! One colour is not better than the other! Right?

Until I’m not included in the follow-up of this regional, youth empowering group, I asked why. I know I gave good input, because the Indian guy exclaimed “Here we are looking for answers when you know about them!” and another Chinese participant approached me and said “I want to invite you to our event. I WILL call you.”

The co-leader explained that it’s actually a race thing, why I was left out. That the leader was only interested in building ‘his race’. Even the token Malay guys were left out even though we were supposed to be a team.

“Your mind is different, it’s great, but some people can’t take it,” said the co-leader, who invited me to join the discussion in the first place because he knew I could offer something else.

I see. Oh well, I told myself. I don’t know the full truth anyway. It’s all right.


I really do not know anything about my race’s culture because I really do not think it’s something I care about. I was at Old Town White Coffee and the server gave me chopsticks to eat my noodles with. I then realised that while I knew how to use these, do they know how to use hands to eat? I know how to use a fork and a spoon too. Do YOU KNOW HOW TO USE YOUR HANDS TO EAT?

I finally see what people are fighting for. Race superiority. Undying. Continuous living. Culture. Forever.

But it makes no sense. It really is not something I can digest. It’s not like a blade cuts different skin colour differently.

Am I supposed to wait for my children’s generation to see people realise that no race is better than the other? My child is a Persian yet he befriends the kucing kampungs no problem. Oh come on, I thought y’all have degrees and Master’s Degrees and some going to PhD and becoming doctors, wanderlust, travellers, influencers, you guys are better than this!

Oh well.

Tween Love-Making, Teenage Story Resurfaced and Desires

One of the most disturbing things I’ve seen on the internet a few months or weeks ago was a boy on top of a girl, and the next video the girl on her knees while doing something to the same boy who was then lying down.

While I was fifteen at a chalet party, we all had gathered and the boys turned on some adult video on someone’s laptop. It looked painful, and I was more concerned over being caught because they were using MY mobile data. I walked out of the room to hang out with the others about one or two minutes after the video, and didn’t care much about it anymore. When I was 10 I had accidentally clicked on a bait that downloaded lots of nude pictures into my computer. My dad was about to have lunch when I told him about it and he got up to have them deleted. Before that I had come across the profile of a girl from Singapore named “Amirah” who also posed in her birthday suit and I told my mom about it. After that I didn’t really care anymore.

But this time it was different.

A Stranger Got Sick

Some time ago I was at a surau at my prayer mat to pray when I instinctively turned around to find a young teenage girl looking down at her pool of stomach contents. I watched her mom roll her eyes at her and left her just like that. My mother was a perfectionist woman who gave me that look whenever I did something wrong as a child too. The look that only heightened fear and diminished any sense of real confidence in a person. I did not want the cycle to go on.

Immediately I abandoned my praying intentions and rushed to the alone girl with my bag. I’m known as Doraemon in my family, so my bag has everything. Lots and lots of tissues I offered her and even helped her push the spew away from other people who were there to pray. We covered it with tissues. She looked confused, alone, and I can probably tell, sad.

“Are you having a headache?” I asked.

She nodded solemnly, and I offered her a mint. I happened to have a paper bag and I opened it up and taught her to scoop up her vomit (using the lots and lots of tissues) into the bag.

Her mother returned with a cleaner and pointed it to the cleaner, and she brought her daughter to the washing area where she gave her daughter another lecture. I think she briefly thanked me (or didn’t, I remember the girl saying thank you quietly though). They left, and the cleaner mopped the floor. The girl and I had picked up 90% of the gag.

There I was, about to pray, but went to clean up a stranger’s vomit instead.