we are infinite

In the year of 2015, I fell in love with a man from a faraway land. We met on a regular Wednesday night, in the middle of the week. These were evenings that I kept for random dates, most of whom I don't ever see again after one drink. Weekday nights were easy because we live in a busy city where the corporate life consumes us and that's okay. Urban life shield us with its countless obligations and endless schedules.

In the hours leading up to the first date, I was fidgety and restless at work, charged with anticipation and curiosity. We've been talking for a long time and our conversations were flirty and intellectual, and I was terrified that we might turn out to be awkward strangers in person. My phone buzzed with a reminder of you, a joke between us on my inability to be punctual. I grabbed my bag, slipped on my heels and touched up my makeup. And there you were, sitting in the middle of Raffles Place, amongst a sea of people. Hello, finally. 

We would walk through Fullerton Hotel to my favourite bar and have a table facing the bay and the skyline of this beautiful city. As the evening drew on, we watched the bar fill up with the evening crowd and empty out as the regular city dwellers finish their happy hour beers and head home. I can't remember what we talked about but I remember looking into your blue-green eyes and watching the city lights spark in your eyes. Neither of us wanted to leave, so we took a long, long walk and stayed out way too late. The night fell deeper and the city slipped into an inky blue veil of silence and tranquility. We sat down by the river, watching the shimmering darkness of stars dancing on the water. I waited and waited for you to kiss me but you were too much of a gentleman, and eventually we left for home at 2am, still reluctant to part ways. 

Eventually you would kiss the side of my mouth like a shy school boy; eventually I would hold you in the middle of the night, getting to know you for the first time; eventually you would kiss me on the morning before you left for Bali and Paris, 10 days later. In the 3 months you were away, I missed you with an ache in my heart and a frustration at the gods that decided to play this terrible joke on us. We wrote long emails and had longer fights and we almost lost each other. 

And then on a Saturday morning, I woke up to horrifying images of Paris under siege. You were my first thought. I broke our long silence and sent you a small prayer, hoping that the senseless terror left you untouched. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was meant to be, and like they said, the rest was pretty much history.

We spent the last moments of 2015 over a bottle of wine at my favourite restaurant, watching fireworks light up the sky to welcome the new year; and the first weekends of 2016 exploring the parks and forests all around Singapore. Sunday mornings became our favourite time of the week, cooking breakfast, making coffee and starting the day with a light banter. We had the time of our lives on our first trip to an island in the Philippines, despite finding ourselves standing on a dirt road with a broken tricycle after 12 hours of traveling, while the sun threatened to set. Between snorkeling in crystal blue waters and lazing on the pristine beaches and haggling with mercenary local 'businessmen', we got to know each other better and learnt to love each other better too. Shortly after our trip, I turned 27 and you made sure I had the most romantic night with a 3 course dinner and tealight candles in old French jam jars on your terrace. 

And then on a Tuesday morning, I woke up to your lovely sleeping face and felt tears trickle down my face, knowing it would be the last time I would wake up beside you in a long time. I snuggled up to you and hugged you a little tighter, hoping to keep you with me for a little longer. Like before, life threw us another curveball and you had to go back to France. Unlike before, we were sure about each other, even if nothing else in life is certain. And that is more than enough. 

You're 10,000km away now and I've never loved you more. 

In the year of 2016, I am in love with a man from a faraway land, yet it's him who feels like home. We met on a regular Wednesday night, in the middle of the universe, where our names were etched in the inky blue skies and our prayers are locked in the stars. In this moment, we were meant to be infinite, and we will find our way to each other again.

youth is wasted on the young

The twenties are the hardest. In your twenties, you're old enough to love, and to hurt.  In your twenties, you're mature enough to learn the love is about a bigger connection of the souls. In your twenties, you're young enough to give love up for dreams that seem eminent.

The twenties are a time for love because you're young and reckless and full of passion. You meet a soul whose light shines right into your heart, and you're fall hopelessly in love. In between exploring strange new words in your lecture notes, you explore the unfamiliar nooks of each other's bodies. You love with a wild fire, fueled by a spiritual, emotional, intellectual and physical connection. You feel your fingers entwined in his and you are convinced you have melted into his entire being, perfectly aligned in every single plane of existence. 

The twenties are not a time for love because you're young and reckless and full of passion. You graduate and grow out of yourself and fall out of love. In between exploring different jobs and career paths, you explore the unfamiliar notion of your newfound single self. You love with the half-fucked attitude that our generation is so fond of, fueled by the fear of vulnerability and commitment. You feel your legs entwined with his and you are convinced you have to move on in a day, a week, a month, a year. 

You see, the rules of the modern dating game is such that there will always be winners and losers, and no one wants to be caught on the losing end. We are all afraid of saying too much, texting too much, caring too much, loving too much. We don't know where we will end up in a day, a week, a month, a year. That's the freedom of youth and that's the price we pay. How do you begin to think about building a life together with someone else when you're tumbling through the universe in free fall? In the random and haphazard course of your twenties, you might one day stumble upon a beautiful stranger whom you share a smile, a touch, a night, an eternity. But you're only infinite in this moment. Then we move on, chasing dreams and ambitions and destinations that we will never quite arrive at. 

And this is youth. Too often, they say youth is wasted on the young. We are too busy trying to be invincible that we forget how to be vulnerable. We kiss without meaning and we forget how to cry at night. We are a generation who have forgotten how to love, and often when we realise, it is much too late. 

of utter tranquility & boundless excitement

Sunday afternoon, I'm sitting before my window, watching the steam rise from my cup of hot tea and float to the outside world, joining the lazy light dappling in and the light rain falling. The world that I see is seemingly still, but not quite. The curtain of raindrops adds movement and life to the image before my eyes; tiny droplets dancing, fighting, twirling, spinning, and gravitating towards the earth. The sounds of cars and buses and trucks are amplified by the water that gathers on the ground, swishing and swashing, like a makeshift ocean in the middle of this suburban cityscape. The still frame of life ebbs and flows with energy, like the tide being pulled and pushed by the silent strength of the moon. 

In this moment, I'm equal parts of utter tranquility and boundless excitement. The afternoon was spent in solitude - I've turned the last page of another book, and I've begun writing the first page of my new story. This is me, sitting here almost motionless, yet putting another stage of life into motion. This is me, abandoning the outside world for a day, and looking inside before taking the next step. This is me, striking balance, and poised for flight. 

The rain has ceased to fall, and the skies are slowly dyed a light gold and deep pink by the setting sun. When I breathe I can feel the air that is clean, cool and crisp in my lungs, and I can almost taste the warmth of the golden hues in the sky. I watch the birds take flight and think to myself again - you are always free to fly. In a moment, night will fall, and the moon will reign over the inky skies that are not quite as dark as they should be because of city lights. And then Sunday comes to an end, and the morrow will bring the chaos of Monday. But take flight, young one, you can fly and soar above it all. 

Oh sunday afternoon, how good you've been to me. 

so long, 2013

For most of 2013, I've been trying to be a grown-up. At 24, I found more freedom than I knew what to do with. With a decent amount of money and zero responsibilities, I spent freely on things that made me feel good - holidays, dresses, gifts, makeup, skincare and various things that have come to symbolise a certain coming-of-age. I filled my weekends with coffee, expensive brunches, drinks and long days out, and my weekday nights with extra hours in the office and in the gym. My schedule was incredibly busy, and I was almost always exhausted. I was never alone, yet 2013 felt like a lonely year.

In a city of strangers and fleeting interaction, we put our whole lives on display so that in that single look you share with a stranger, you're assured with a nod of approval - yes, that dress; yes, that pair of 4inch heels; yes, that shade of coral on your regularly manicured hands; yes, that stroke of precisely applied eyeliner. Strutting along the crowded streets, you blend in and stand out as a young adult who has made it far enough in life to look the part of perfection and walk with confidence and comfort. Scrolling through Instagram, every moment of life has been cropped and filtered to perfection.

For most of 2013, I've been learning to be single. I was never the girlfriend who grew to be a dependent half of a whole, incomplete in singularity. Yet singularity was a foreign concept to me. I tried to embrace being a single young woman and savour the journey. So I struck one off the bucketlist and went to a speed dating event just because I could. I even ventured into the crazy world of online dating. Men who wanted to date me were aplenty, and their admiration fed my big fat ego. I went on first dates, but hardly any second and subsequent dates. I didn't pay too much attention to anyone because there was always someone else. I didn't let anyone come close enough to mean too much. I didn't know what I was looking for, so no one else did.

This I learnt through the one boy who made it to second date. He was a lot of fun to hang out with, and for a while, it was nice to see the same handsome face on a regular basis and have someone reach for my hand while walking to the cafe for brunch. We had a casual thing going on for awhile, which was the best place to be, between singlehood and commitment. Then there was a hiccup and as with all grey relationships, this one died pretty quickly. For awhile I wondered what had gone wrong, and eventually realized we were two people who didn't know what we were looking for, and afraid of venturing into an unknown of our own doing.

For the rest of 2013, I reveled in the familiar warmth of friendship and family. Best friends took off for different continents and came home for the holidays. Old friends drifted apart and figured their way back to each other. Families squabbled and made up and found ways to stay together despite time and distance. Some nights I found myself in noisy bars, laughing over fancy cocktails about disastrous dates and reminiscing about better times and worse times. Some nights I found myself standing in the kitchen at a ridiculously late hour on a weekday night, telling Mom more than I had planned yet never enough. Some nights I found myself smiling as I fall sleep, overwhelmed by the love that's bigger than anything life could throw my way.

The best moments of 2013 were haphazard, unfolding in a way that I could never have imagined, much less planned for. Yet for most of 2013, I've been trying to orchestrate every moment of life to perfection. So in 2014, I will learn to let go and lose control, to let the best things happen as they come along. My calendar will be emptier, and my days fuller. It's 40 days into the new year, and I'm sitting at a new cafe on my own on a Saturday afternoon with nothing on my agenda.

For most of 2013, I wanted this moment so bad but was convinced that moments spent with no plans and company were moments wasted. But in 2014, the moment is here. To more of times like these, and to more of me. 2014, you'll be so good.

sleepless at changi

You know the trip is going to be an adventure when you start off with an overnighter in the airport of your own country. Yes, I did it again - I missed my flight. Work crisis, habitual lack of punctuality (this habit really needs to get out of my life pronto) and the horrendous taxi/traffic situation did it. Amazing race style, I planted my ass at the nearest Starbucks, plugged my batteryless iPhone in to charge, and booked the next flight out on my iPad. (I've already checked out the cheapest flight while stuck in the cab.) Thank goodness for technology.

With 12 hours to spend at the airport because I refuse to brave the commute to and fro the ends of tiny little Singapore, I sat at Starbucks people-watching, had my dinner with my huge backpack and pretended to be a traveller on a long hurl adventure. Later on, of all people, it was a colleague whom I met at work and have spoken to for a grand total of 10 times who came to pass time with me. At quarter life, they always tell you that it gets exceedingly difficult to make friends. But where I am, I keep finding myself surprise after surprise.

Anyway, quarter life crisis stuff aside and back to Changi, I was expecting the place to be magical after hours. I had imagined it to be a sacred place of transit, where tired travelers rest in comfort, but it wasn't. People were sprawled over hard benches and dark corners, pretty much like any other airport I've been to and slept in all around the world. The only difference is probably the police coming around to check your passport at 4am when you have a shawl over your face.

But there still is magic - straddling a space that's neither here nor there, everyone 's poised for flight. This is where the sleepless have dreams - of bathing under a waterfall, of reuniting with a loved one, of swimming with sharks in blue oceans, of starting on a new job in a new city, of walking on ancient ruins under the moonlight.

Then morning dawns and everyone moves on. A flurry of activity as people pack up their makeshift sleeping bags and rub the sleep out of their eyes. Bedsheets are transformed into scarves and pillows into backpacks. Shutters of duty-free shops are rolled up with a metallic twang. The morning light streams in through the huge slanted glass panes. The majestic birds of titanium remain in stillness, quietly awaiting orders to take flight.

I took a deep breath to take it all in, and thus ended my adventure in the space of in-betweens, and started on the first step towards a new one.

i love flying

I love flying. I love the moment when the plane lifts off the ground and quite suddenly, we are defying gravity. I love soaring above cities and tracing the outlines of the land against the deep blue oceans. I love how the ships and ferries leave streaks of white in the shimmering blue. I love being amongst the fat white clouds which make up the landscape of this alter world. I love the anticipation of emerging into a different universe while the whole time it feels like we've been in limbo, not moving at all. I love the international chatter going on all around me, people from all over the world converging at this point, which is really in the middle of nowhere. I love recalling the last phone call in the +65, imagining life going around around the small gap I've left, like a stream flowing around a bedrock. I love falling asleep to the lull of the engine and waking up in a new country.

YOLO

Lately, I've been having many of those YOLO moments. Until recently, I wasn't quite cool enough to know what YOLO actually stands for. For the longest time, I'd thought it was one of those new words invented by the Internet, to express some nuanced expression through a combination of random letters. 

I ruminated for some time, and decided that I love the expression. YOLO is loud; it's a shoutout to the world, "HEY! LOOK! I'm doing whatever the hell I want because I want to." YOLO is fun; it's throwing caution to the wind and living in the here and now. YOLO is the zeitgeist of our generation. 

What has YOLO meant for me? In my newfound freedom, I discovered a girl who is 24 and gainfully employed, with time and money to spend on herself and the ones whom she loves. It feels good to say I can afford it - the 2 hours to laze in bed and do absolutely nothing, the few hundred bucks to splash on a bag, the afternoon to spend reading and crying with the fictional characters, the plastic card to charge Mama's present to.

Life, in every moment, is about me and my happiness. Having no one to account to but yourself, you decide how you want to live you life because you only live once. It could be the devil's partner-in-crime whispering in my ear, but lately I've been hearing little creatures asking in chorus "Why wait? Why not now? You only live once!" 

It has given me more courage to do the things that I've "always wanted to do", to strike things off the bucketlist without worrying so much about consequences and regrets, and go step outside of my comfort zone because when you consciously remind yourself that you truly only live once, you look at life differently. You no longer wait for that opportune date/time to do that one thing you'll want to remember for life. There is no grandiose moment; there is only the here and now. And you embrace it. 

So ladies and gentlemen, remember, YOLO. So whatever it is - a city you've always wanted to explore, the stranger you've always wanted to kiss, the tattoo that you've always wanted on your lower back - whatever it is, just do it, and do it right now. See you on the other side! 

hello 2013

It's been awhile, and much has changed. The calender has turned another page; it's 2013. Half a year later, the world feels like a different place.

2012 saw the closing of many chapters, including a particularly long one involving a certain man I met and fell in love with 4 years ago. Yes, it broke my heart, but we grow up into different persons from who we were and then life goes on. We move on.

On a happier note, 2012 saw me toss my mortar board into the air with great joy. I finally made it out of school, after 16 years. Woah, such a long time! My thesis was bound into a book and found a place on the library shelves. I'm immensely proud that I wrote on a topic close to my heart and dedicated the most important essay that I've ever written to the girls who fought and sweat and bled alongside with me on the field - my touchrug girls. In the same year, we also won the IVP championships, after a 4 year drought. Champions!

Enough of closures, 2012 marked many new beginnings as well, such as that of adulthood. In the span of 3 months, I went for no less than 10 interviews, got myself so stressed up that I almost decided to go back to school and then landed with 3 job offers, although not simultaneously. I rejected the first, accepted the second, tendered within a month and finally found myself back at HDB. It's the perfect first job, because it felt like homecoming, going back to where I knew I'd be happy.

I travelled a fair bit in 2012 as well. Right after graduation I took a holiday in Bali with the family, then G and I went to Vietnam in the later part of year as friends, and we also went to Bintan for a short getaway with our other friends. And as the year drew to an end, I went on a long trip to visit my lovely, lovely grandparents, who turned 80 as the rest of the world turned 2013.

It's been an arduously long time since I last saw my grandparents and spent time with my aunties, uncles and cousins who love me and dote on me as if I were the only baby at home. Oh, how I've missed them! I think somewhere along the way I've forgotten how many people in the world truly love me with all their hearts. Before 2012 ended, I remembered, thankfully. I found respite from all that heartache, and then strength to cross over to the other side.

The first moments of 2013 were spent with those who love me most and love me best. And for the rest of my life, I'll always remember the happy smiles on the faces of my grandparents as they clinked glasses at the end of the first day of the new year, wishing each other a long life of love and happiness. This is love, and in 2013, I hope I find love.

i miss new york

i miss new york

So many of my friends are all over the world on their grad trips now. And I've been just short of dying of wanderlust. I particularly miss New York. Something about that city is so amazing that you remember it for a long time after you leave. The smell of dreams in the air. The bustling streets that never sleep. The secrets in the nooks and crooks of the city. Ahh, what I'd give to be back there right now.

For now, I promise myself a decent post of the lovely city, complete with pictures and stories. We'll see what memories NYC has left me.

ten years and counting

ten years and counting

So thankful to have these girls in my life. 

It's been ten years and we're still going strong. How precious!