Books
The quiet fear nobody likes to admit Once, my grandmother tried to help around the house instead of sitting quietly and doing nothing. She washed the dishes. But they were not clean. They were still oily. My mother asked her to stop, because it was making things worse. I imagine
Satire
“What’s the rush?” In Singapore, doing nothing feels illegal. If you sit too long, even your own conscience will ask, “Are you sure you shouldn’t be doing something?” If you tell people you spent the afternoon doing nothing, they look at you the way they look at an
Satire
But the strange thing is, nobody told the people still climbing it. So every morning, we’re still polishing resumes, tweaking LinkedIn headlines, and waiting patiently for the next rung. It’s like showing up at an airport with a perfectly packed suitcase, only to realize the airline shut down
Satire
You probably have a small window in your day that feels like it belongs to you. For you, it might be late evening. The house is quieter. The work noise fades. You finally sit down with the idea that now you can think, read, or work on something that actually
short story
The chair was one of those plastic stackable ones, grey, slightly curved, with a crack near the backrest that pinched if you leaned too far. It sat outside the meeting room on the eighth floor, next to a potted plant that had not been watered in a long time. I
micro memoir
When I went looking for companionship, the person in the mirror spoke first. “Don’t forget me,” she said. “I’m still here.” So I wrapped my arms around myself. She had been waiting all along, patient and unseen. It wasn’t loneliness. It was forgetting. PS I write books
micro memoir
I always picked the broken crayon. No one else wanted it. Just like me. PS I write books too. They live here: https://payhip.com/samchoo
micro memoir
The day I quit, the air felt lighter. By evening, my stomach asked questions I couldn’t answer yet. PS I write books too. They live here: https://payhip.com/samchoo
micro memoir
Whenever I smell dumplings, I am back in my mother’s kitchen, learning that love was something you made with your hands. PS I write books too. They live here: https://payhip.com/samchoo
micro memoir
I told my son to man up and stop making excuses. I thought I was teaching strength. I did not know I was yelling at someone who was already sinking. I only understood later, when his bed was empty, and the quiet in his room stopped feeling temporary. P.S.
micro memoir
“How much do you love me?” I asked my five-year-old daughter. “Two dollars,” she said. I laughed. Years later, I realized it cost far more than that. PS I write books too. They live here: https://payhip.com/samchoo
Satire
In Singapore, “can” means yes. It also means maybe. It also means no, but I don’t want to explain. It also means I heard you, I acknowledge your existence, and I would like to exit this conversation peacefully. “Can” is not a word. It’s a multi-purpose tool.
