Home Cooked Food


The best weekend afternoons are created by a mixture of a scrumptious home cooked food, good conversations and the warmth of friendship. On our yearly Hari Raya affair, we congregated at Amalia’s house for our annual feeding, this time with so much ayam goreng (fried chicken) that the trashcan looked like the Paris Catacombs of ayam bones.

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Thank you for hosting us so graciously! It’s a literal pain in my ass when I take the hour-long MRT ride to the East of the island to your place but it’s always a joy to reconnect with the people from my iLEAD (now NOC SG) batch.

It’s been 2 years since our program and it’s really encouraging to see us little fledglings now spreading our wings, flapping them and taking flight! I have complete faith in all of us, that we have the heart to make a difference in a world, on tightropes beyond the box of the conventional life view, braving the waves and tumults of uncertainties.

To bring up a phrase which have been rolling off my tongue quite a bit ever since graduation from university and the entire formal education system, “the future is SO exciting!


The one you feed

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.

“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

This is one of my favourite stories which packs a punch every time.

It’s almost 3 months into my life as a full-time working adult and I found the need for mental wellness paramount to building a good foundation for how you approach your life for the next 30-40 years. And also what your every day life is going be painted by.

There can only be food for the good wolf.

Eating and Surfing in Kuta, Bali

The day Laurencia left, I found myself in Kuta, Bali, walking the notoriously crowded streets with abject loneliness in my heart. We’ve spent six full days together, gallivanting all over the southern part of the island, frolicking on beaches, braving storms and scaling great heights.

It was the sixth day of overcast skies since the start of our trip. The dreary dark clouds were the perfect analogy of my mind as I walked down the nasty cobblestone streets, feeling the chill of having my security blanket pulled from around me, brows furrowed, ignoring the calls of street vendors who had seemed to morphed into vultures hungry for my tourist money.

Why did I choose to be alone in Kuta, Bali, otherwise dubbed as the the “most vile place on Earth“? My palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. No vomit on my bikini but my anxiety crippling. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a solo trip anywhere. I had forgotten how to be alone with myself and in a state of panic, I had devolved into a total child afraid of every fucking thing. What better place to be feeling lost and frightened than in Kuta?

But you know what, Kuta came and took me into her warm, loving arms like a mother. I was not only comforted by her touch. Reads like a cheesy rom-com but this is really a documentary of how I fell head over heels in love with Kuta.

Continue reading “Eating and Surfing in Kuta, Bali”

getting a bird tattoo

If you’re lost and lonely
Go and figure out why
Take a trip to your dark side
Go on and have a good cry
Cause we’re all lonely
Yeah we’re all lonely

I want to see your sadness,
I want to share your sins
I want to bleed your blood and
I want to be let in
Don’t you just,
Don’t we all just
Want to be together

Leave what’s heavy,
What’s heavy behind
Leave what’s heavy,
What’s heavy behind

If your face is down
Take a look around
Do your fingers move
Do your lungs inflate
Are you tired are you weary
Of the hidden hate
You’ve been holding

Did you lose that love
Or have you never had it
Are you feeling sad
because you did a bad thing


Are you feeling fearful brother
Are you feeling fearful sister
The only way to loose
That fearful feeling
Replace it with love that’s healing
Are you feeling fearful brother
Are you feeling fearful sister





So here I am on the rickety wooden bridge where every shaky step takes me further away from my days of being a girl, of barefoot running on meadows chasing butterflies circling the flowers in my hair, and another step closer to being a woman, of bosoms heavy with responsibilities, overflowing with possibilities.

It is a hard lesson to learn, graduating at the highest of tiers of formal education, to find not the promised land of fulfilled dreams dancing on white marble floors but me on all fours on grimy linoleum grounds, a paddle scrub in hand. The ivory tower in the clouds hovers above me and I inspect the winding stairs leading up to it, most of it obscured by shadows and thunderous clouds, virtually vertical.

It hurts my neck, holding my head up to keep my gaze upon the tower of dreams, which then hurt my eyes. I take a deep breath, keep my head down and scrub the steps that will pave my way to the tower up in my clouds.