micro memoir
My mother used to sell kueh kueh near Lorong Tai Seng, starting in the quiet hours of the morning and ending just before lunch. I remember the image clearly, her balancing the baskets, walking from house to house, bringing food right to people’s doorsteps. She was just trying to
micro memoir
I was 17 years old, still a virgin, still innocent about the world. Long hair. About to enlist in National Service. Living with my parents in a three-room HDB flat at Sims Drive.
micro memoir
Yesterday, students opened their envelopes. Forty-eight years ago, I opened mine. I was studying at Our Lady of Lourdes English School. For two years, after school, I headed to Toa Payoh library and stayed until closing time. Studying was torture because I hated studying. I could not remember what I
micro memoir
Three minutes saved. A building erased. A generation’s reading memories relocated. We optimized the road. I’m still mourning the memory.
micro memoir
Reunion dinner used to be rowdy at Lei Hwa Restaurant. Three tables, every year. Today, it is only a memory. They have left.
micro memoir
These shoes were my faithful companions. They walked with me through life’s snow and storms. Now worn out, left behind while I continue on alone.
micro memoir
I asked the lawyer for a photocopy. His clerk pressed a button. One minute passed. The bill was $50. That minute was worth more than some people’s entire day. PS True story
micro memoir
I can’t give you a pendant. But I can give you my heart. And, honestly, my empty wallet too.
micro memoir
knock knock. survey. no, thank you. door closed.
micro memoir
Minister said a lot. Motherhood statements. About nothing. Full of air. Press conference successfully completed.
micro memoir
This picture reminds me of the days when life felt smaller, and safer. Afternoons like this were quiet and warm. No rush. No pressure. Just the sound of wheels on the road and the feeling that everything was okay because someone steady was in front. I remember sitting there, feet
micro memoir
I love pork. Especially roasted pork. But before I eat, I pause. I give thanks to the pig who gave its life so that I could be fed. Behind that love is a memory that never softened. In the late 1960s, behind my kampong house, there was a small pig