Blog

This morning began with tension. I said I’d pray later, as I was busy, but Mum snapped — saying I never help, even with small things. She scolded me for sleeping late again and called me stubborn. When I did pray, I placed the joss stick wrongly. She corrected me — said it should go in the middle — that I never listen.

She asked about my throat, told me again that I always refuse to drink the aloe juice. I ate my breakfast quietly. She stood there, silently watching. I took the lift down.

...

This morning, someone reminded me not to push in a chair.
Another quietly moved her funds to support something I needed—
an act of care hidden in numbers.

I took the same bus.
Someone made noise,
but I smiled through it.
Not for them—
but to keep my own peace intact.

I noticed two women holding hands as I passed.
Then bumped into a row of bicycles,
my own clumsiness making me laugh inside.

I greeted someone.
She nodded, said good morning.
Her warmth felt reserved for another—
and maybe that’s okay.

Nearby,...

The morning began with quiet conversation. She spoke about her past work, and though my mind wandered, I listened. I mentioned how someone once told me — to separate work and personal life — and she nodded, said that was good. I shared about an outing by the sea, and she said she might call to check on it.

The vacuum cleaner started before I was ready. She told me to go behind the toilet. It was abrupt, but she still stood there to send me off. I carried the recycling down to the lift.

Later,...

The rain came down softly, but the world still felt loud.
A bag bump, a glance too long, a quiet “hi” that meant something.
My arm ached, my flu lingered, my thoughts stirred.
Even so, I walked on — towel washed, shuttle caught, card topped up.
I did what I had to. I showed up.
Not just at work, but for myself.
Even when the blues crept in quietly.
Even when the room felt watchful.
I am learning to stay soft, even in the noise.

This morning was stormy with emotions.
Mum lectured me — again.
About spending, about the sink being wet,
About the plastic bag I accidentally threw.
She said I made her pants wet.
She wanted me to do things properly.
She brought up my award money —
$2,000 given, and now I’ve spent over $700.
She reminded me how others save for a year.
She wants me to save $3,000 to go to Japan.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m reckless.
I banged the toilet door.
She said I could use the kitchen toilet next time.

Then came...

The day started with a sudden rush — a voice urging to hurry, a routine of tea, essence, and quiet preparation. Emotions stirred early, and the world already felt a little heavy.

At work, someone special said goodbye. There were photos, laughter, soft goodbyes. But also tasks and missed moments, as duties pulled me away. I managed to return for the photo, but not without feeling a little unseen.

There were difficult encounters. A colleague reminded me of the rules. Another kept a distance....

This morning began with care — a gentle nudge to wake someone else, a forgotten pair of pyjamas tossed into the wash, lights flickering off by accident, then turned on again by someone who still quietly notices.

Out the door, the sky felt heavier than usual. The bus was crowded, and I stood the whole way, surrounded yet apart. A girl pointed me out to her mother, maybe annoyed that I was in her path. I didn’t mean to be in the way.

At the overhead bridge, I sat alone for a moment. A Malay lady...

I woke with a tilt in my breath,
the room spinning slightly
a quiet kind of unsteadiness
that only I could feel.

There were words again about control,
about phones,
about rules that sound like protection
but feel like walls.
Still, there was honey on the spoon,
and I took it without protest.

The bus I meant to catch left me behind.
I didn’t chase.
Another route appeared, and I followed it,
slow feet on worn ground.

A name echoed behind me
was it mine?
The air brushed past
as a stranger’s hand grazed mine by...

Today, the world slowed down.

The clinic lights felt distant, and the doctor’s voice was calm—“Rest two days.” I nodded, my eyes heavy with more than sleep.

In the payment queue, a Malay lady nearby smiled and said, “Can use any machine.” Then, with a hint of warmth and humour, she asked, “Hello—have you wake up?”

I blinked, half-dazed, and nodded. We both laughed quietly.

Sometimes strangers hold softness too.

Back home, I had porridge and upside-down siew mai. I napped through the early...

Hi everyone, this is Celine. Welcome to another episode of Juliet’s Life.

Today, I want to talk about something we all go through — challenges.
This morning, I woke up tired. I dropped a few things… the goji berry container, my pads, some plastic.
I had stomach issues and felt anxious. I rushed to bathe because I was afraid my mum would come back and scold me.
She did come back — right after I finished everything.

These small moments — they add up. And sometimes, they weigh more than we expect.

But...

I’ve stumbled, fallen, flunked,
gotten lost and tried again.
I’ve overthought and overfelt,
been told I was too much — or not enough.

But I’m still here.
Still breathing.
Still creating small pockets of light
in a world that rarely slows down.

My story isn’t a straight road.
It’s full of curves, corners,
pauses and pivots.

But every step I take
even the quiet, hidden ones
means I haven’t given up.

And that is strength,
soft and real.

This morning, I felt tired and behind time. Mum handed me honey before leaving for work — a brief gesture of care. I rushed through breakfast and squeezed onto Bus 29. The toilet wouldn’t flush easily — I tried several times. Outside, near the overhead bridge, someone tried to kick at my side again. I peeled something off and let it fall to the floor — my own way of brushing it off.

It wasn’t the first time. Even yesterday, at the outing, a boy tried to kick me. And today, another boy again. I...

This morning, I rode the van to the gardens with some colleagues. The journey felt calm, even though I didn’t bring a power bank. One of them forgot his too. I asked someone else, but he seemed a bit uncomfortable, so I apologized and let it go. A baby touched someone’s backside unexpectedly — it was a strange moment.

Later on, I accidentally blocked someone, and a supervisor gently reminded me not to do that. I said sorry. I think things settled after that.

At lunchtime, I had a chilli crab...

I woke a little late,
missing not one, but two passing buses.
Bus 29 finally came
I stood beneath the morning sun,
crossed the overhead bridge,
and took my place a little apart
between distance and discomfort.

A woman with a pram moved near.
I stayed still, but something in me stirred.
A glance, a weightless tension
sometimes, dislike is quiet but felt.

On the shuttle, I sat with someone familiar.
She noticed another before me
her greeting floated toward someone else,
soft but distant.

I forgot to turn...

This morning started heavy — a dull headache, a restless stomach, and a reminder that not every discomfort is visible. I spilled tea during breakfast but cleaned it up quietly, not wanting to be scolded again. I was called troublesome before the house was filled with the sound of mopping. I walked out, crossing paths with rushing cyclists and occupied toilets — even the little details felt rushed.

On the way to work, I missed my usual bus but caught another. A lady made space for me on the...

Today felt like too much.
I tried to keep up — with people, places, memories.
But my body was tired, and my heart even more so.

There were voices louder than mine.
Comments I didn’t ask for.
Moments where I just wanted to disappear quietly.
But I stayed.
Even when I felt misunderstood, scolded, or small.
I stayed.

I noticed the things that made me smile too
a soft plush, a bear I love, a message from a friend.
I let those small joys remind me
that not everything has to be heavy.

I am learning:
It’s okay...

The morning began with Bak kwa bread and a glimpse into someone else’s joy — a baby turning nine months, her smile lighting up a Facebook live. Mum rushed us out as the workers arrived, and we caught bus 28 instead of 29. I bumped my arm while alighting, wincing from the sudden sting.

We took the MRT toward Paya Lebar, then bus 24 to Ang Mo Kio — a journey of transfers and unexpected touches. I bumped into someone on the train, holding the bar as strangers quietly stepped aside. Mum inquired...

The day began with tension — a family member started the vacuum before I left, saying they wouldn’t wait. On the bus, the driver yelled for people to move in, and memories of past workplace incidents made my body tremble. As I got off the bus, someone unexpectedly hit me from behind — I wiped it off and hurried away, still shaken.

At the toilet, one cubicle was dirty, another had no paper. Thankfully, the third was usable. I dropped a 10-cent coin but picked it back up — a small recovery. I...

Today was heavy.
Emotions collided like waves — too much, too fast, too loud.
I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.
I think I was hurting too.
Maybe I wanted to be heard...
Maybe I just wanted someone to see how overwhelmed I’ve been.

But I’m not proud of the pushing or the shouting.
That wasn’t who I want to be.
I want to learn how to stay calm, even when I’m afraid.
I want to speak, not scream.
To be firm, not harsh.
To be understood, not feared.

In this quiet moment, I choose to breathe.
To be honest with...

She says she’ll bathe and come out.
I nod. I say okay.
But I’m still not sure what “okay” means anymore.
Maybe it means don’t make trouble,
Or maybe it means I hope you’re really alright.

I stay still. I wait.
There’s a show waiting for me
A quiet moment, a slice of calm,
Where I don’t have to answer anyone.
Just sit. Just feel.
Just breathe.