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.