Hello 2018.

You said, “there is life and there is work”.

From as long as I could remember work was everything to me. I derived immense pleasure from the challenges I face in the course of my career and I prided myself to being the needle in the haystack, not the haystack.

But as we enter the year 2018, a year which would have me turn 43 years of age, I thought to myself, that I should perhaps choose “life”? And maybe if I see enough and write it down, I would finally remember what it means, to be me. For me, living is a glittering lure, of surprises and opportunities, where you meet people who change your direction, or force you, to take a pause.

Wish me luck as I embark on a new challenge: to love and understand the people in my life, including myself.

Have a joyous 2018, and may we all get better with time.

Life is nothing but a series of hellos and goodbyes. Smile anyway.

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Up or Out. 

I’ve stopped dreaming. I just do. Do all that I’ve been thinking of. Make it happen. I don’t want to play the “what-would-you-do-if-you-have-6-more-months-to-live”- game anymore. I don’t want to die a dreamer.


You will never be ready or ready enough. To make a leap you have to first jump. No amount of preparation will be sufficient. You can weigh all the pros and cons you and your friends can think of. But you will never advance, if you do not make the first step. Jump, and regret later.

The thing is, there is no regret. Once you braved your fears and move from that stationary point you held on to so desperately, you will laugh at how unnecessary your hesitation was. There will be no looking back. I did it. Now your turn.


Everyday we struggle between the sensitivity of art in front of our eyes and the conneries of the world. Parents, there is absolutely no way you can protect your children from materials you deemed inappropriate on TV or online. I encourage you to teach them to be open and discerning instead. I don’t have children hence you might say I have no right to talk about upbringing. Alors i was brought up in one of the worst circumstances myself. When I was 5-7 years old I even stayed with my grandma in a brothel because she ran the place.

And content creators, if you don’t have any point of view, you are just a messenger conveying what everyone already knows. You are wasting our time.


I don’t know why I am writing this. I just want to that’s all. Paris opens me up. Singapore, however your beauty is best appreciated from afar. And I still love you. From afar. #UpOrOut

New beginnings are blessings. They come from endings. Remember that.

Let’s Misbehave.

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The march towards liberation started three months ago. And the universe brought me back to the place where I first knew what passion was. Awakening, it is all about timing.

I went back in time, to Paris. Spirit soared. Love the vibes of the city, light and yet soulful. I took many walks, I hungered for her scent and her lumière.

There I found the inspiration to communicate and to connect. In a deeper way that is. Neither through captions on Instagram, nor via emoji-ranting on Facebook. I am motivated to write, for those of you who are reading this right now.

Some friends told me that my last post “The Art of (Not) Giving Up” was painfully moving. I am glad my words did something for you. The thing is, what one takes away from a piece of confession actually depends on your perspective in approaching the piece. The objective of said blog entry was to motivate people, who like me, found themselves involuntarily stuck in a moment. However it received some unfavourable feedback from certain quarters of my life, who felt I should be more discerning of what I air on my blog, even if it was a personal one.

I guess that was why I have not able to pen my thoughts since, for I was unsure of what might or might not be acceptable, anymore.

We all have our own battles to fight.

But today I’ll say, let us end the inner-struggle. For once in your life, let us go where the heart leads us. We face enough external conflicts everyday. Why then do we still want to fight with ourselves. It is simply not natural.

Don’t tell me what to do. I am tired of following rules. This is my blog. Hear me roar.


She sent me a poem she saw engraved on a park bench, an extrait from Gaston Miron’s La Marche À L’amour:
je marche à toi, je titube à toi, je meurs de toi
lentement je m’affale de tout mon long dans l’âme
je marche à toi, je titube à toi, je bois
à la gourde vide du sens de la vie
je n’attends pas à demain je t’attends
je n’attends pas la fin du monde je t’attends

Love, it is a grand experiment. One that lights up your heart in delight. One that aches your soul with longing. This is the art of waiting.

Choose pleasure, not hurt.

Make love, not hate.

Do not wait for tomorrow, wait for me.

Wait, and hope.

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Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These.

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My sleep, like everyone else’s, is often occupied by not one but a montage of dreams. Last night I had a few random ones and as part of my self-inflicted therapy, I decided to write it down for the first time and see if they make any sense.

  1. Obama spoke to me “be kind, be useful”.
  2. I saw a musical starring my favourite comedian Julia Louis-Dreyfus and after the show I queued up for an autograph and she obliged. Her co-star gave me his number and invited me to call him.
  3. A doctor paid me nightly visits at home because I was ill. I did not feel sick at all. But he was awfully young and good-looking.
  4. I offered someone an olive-branch.
  5. I was supposed to meet someone really important and I did not have my make up on, and I felt doomed.

Oh well….maybe I am over thinking this. Dreams are remnants of the millions of insane thoughts in our head, and so I was told.