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“I had two choices. Wait and blame, or rebuild and continue.” I thought the hardest part about being an author would be the writing. I was wrong. The hardest part came after. For four years, I worked on a manuscript about making finance easier to understand. Late nights became routine.
short story
I thought my life had already begun. I was wrong. I grew up in Myanmar, where the path seemed simple and clear. Study hard, graduate from a good school, get a stable job. For many of us, that was not just a plan. It was the dream. When I was
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Do you know that about one in three young people today struggle with anxiety, stress, or depression? We often ask why it is happening so early in life, but we rarely question the way we are raising and leading them. As an Outdoor Adventure Learning instructor with Outward Bound Singapore,
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After Siew Lan passed away at 72, her daughter was clearing the flat in Toa Payoh. Everything was as expected. Folded clothes. Labeled containers. Old calendars still marked with medical appointments and birthdays. Then she found the tin. It was tucked behind a stack of recipe books in the kitchen
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THE SHIRT YOU CANNOT HIDE In primary school, I belonged to a club I never asked to join. It was called TAF, Trim and Fit. If you spelled it backward, it told the truth no one wanted to say out loud. FAT. We knew what it meant. Everyone did. During
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I was a manager. I had a steady job, a decent title, and a life that looked like it was working. And every morning, I stood in front of the mirror and forced myself to smile. My father passed away when I was five. After that, something in me went
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My father once called me a “borderline son.” He was not the kind of man who softened his words. He spoke directly, without pause, without apology. To him, discipline was not a concept. It was a way of life. At home, he carried himself like a school discipline master, firm,
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I should be dead. At least, that is what it felt like. I lost the two things that mattered most in my life. I lost money. I lost my health. There were moments when I thought I had lost every reason to live. But I am still here. I suffered
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My name is Daniel. I am from Barcelona. If you ask my mother, she will tell you I made it. On Sundays, I call home from my balcony in Simei. The MRT runs behind the block every few minutes, a low metallic rush cutting through the humid air. I have
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My name is Farid. I live in Johor Bahru, but my days belong to Singapore. Every weekday, my loceng—the alarm—screams at 4:30 a.m. I don’t wake up to the sun; I wake up to the cold reality of the Second Link crossing. By 5:00
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My name is Li Wei. I am from a small city in Fujian. When I first came to Singapore, I thought it would feel familiar. Same face, similar language, similar food. I told my mother, 很快就适应了, don't worry. I believed that. I work in a mid-sized restaurant
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The sun in Singapore doesn’t rise; it just switches on like a fluorescent bulb. My name is Sari. Back in my village near Solo, the air smells like damp earth and woodsmoke in the morning. Here, it smells like Clorox and the lavender spray Ma’am likes. The first