Celine Ong Jie Ying is an award-winning author, podcaster, and artist from Singapore whose works blend poetry, reflection, and quiet strength. Through her Memory Lane series, self-love journals, and creative handbooks, she explores themes of healing, identity, and gentle resilience.
Her storytelling bridges everyday moments with emotional depth — where silence, memory, and love intertwine. Beyond writing, Celine designs her own merchandise, creates illustrations inspired by sakura and moonlight, and shares heartfelt reflections through her Juliet’s Life podcast.
A former environmental ambassador and lifelong creator, Celine believes in the power of art and words to remind us that even in stillness, we are growing — softly, beautifully, and at our own pace. 🌙✨
Celine Ong Jie Ying is an award-winning author, podcaster, and artist from Singapore whose works blend poetry, reflection, and quiet strength. Through her Memory Lane series, self-love journals, and creative handbooks, she explores themes of healing, identity, and gentle resilience.
Her storytelling bridges everyday moments with emotional depth — where silence, memory, and love intertwine. Beyond writing, Celine designs her own merchandise,...
This morning was whirlwind I was at home alone My mum was out running errands She came back with our lunch and some stuff I ate and went out with her for my dental appointments She was harsh and fierce I was very tired The dentist made me uncomfortable Asking questions Checking all my teeth Pulling my mouth I was feeling anxious Pulling away Communication with mum was challenging I bought my bread for tomorrow I went away to the printing shop without telling my mum People laughed and avoided me I board...
I deleted the message. Not out of anger, but because my heart deserves a softer room.
They sent a video to call me dance monkey, typed my name like a punchline. I said, Stop it, and when “sorry” came, I still chose peace over replay.
This is not overreacting. This is my quiet no. My small, sacred shield.
At night, Mum speaks before sleep, a few brief words held between dramas and sighs. I answer anyway. Somewhere under the sharpness there is still a thread, and I am the one who keeps it from breaking.
This morning began quietly — the kind of quiet that sits softly in the bones. I stepped out with a simple reminder from home: wear a mask, many people are sick. So I carried that small care with me onto the buses, watching the day slowly unfold through moving windows.
Along the way, the world felt a little sharp. People bumped into me, laughed near me, kept their distance. Some moments were just clumsy accidents, others were strange and confusing. I reminded myself that not every sound belongs...
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