July 3 – Strange Mornings, Small Strength

 

This morning, I prepared everything quietly, trying to start the day right. But my stomach ached so badly I had to put medicated oil, hoping it would settle. I mentioned that I only had a single $2 note left for lunch — and that was when I got scolded, told that I had already received over $20 for the week. The voice was firm, the presence withdrawn. “Don’t let me catch you spending on food again,” they said. No one stayed to see me off today.

At work, I simply ordered lunch. One step forward, quietly.

Outside, the sky looked dark. A lady pointed her umbrella near my side — I heard someone call my name. Strange. I kept walking. Lately, I’ve been hearing odd sounds, and sometimes they startle me — just a little. Not enough to scare me, just enough to notice.

When I arrived, someone sat near me, greeted another person first, then held out their hand when they saw me. I held it gently, even though we didn’t speak after that.

Then came shouting — someone nearby was kicking, loud and distressed. I tried to stay grounded. I greeted someone politely, and they greeted me back with kindness. I bowed. I spoke to a friend about what happened. The behaviour, the energies — sometimes confusing, sometimes hard to hold space for.

That friend said they’ll be on leave tomorrow. They rarely take breaks. I’ll notice the silence.

But for today, I’m here — steady, present, trying my best to be kind even when the morning starts with pain, with tension, with quiet confusion.

📖 July 1 – Gentle Strength

 

Today, I faced moments that tested my emotions — from unexpected teasing to tense silence and awkwardness. I felt the weight of others’ words and silence. I made a small mistake, but someone reminded me gently: "It’s not your fault." And maybe I needed to hear that — not just for today, but for all the times I’ve blamed myself too quickly.

A quiet comment came later — meant to comfort me, even if I wasn’t sure how to receive it. It reminded me that not everything has to be solved right away. That people do care, even quietly.

I supported others, even while feeling uncertain myself. I spoke up, stayed kind, and kept learning, even when I was unsure. That is soft strength. That is grace.

Tonight, I remind myself:

I’m not perfect, but I’m growing.

I deserve kindness, even from myself.

I’m allowed to take up space, even when it feels uncomfortable.

“A Day of Noise, a Glimmer of Calm”

Today felt like a whirlwind 

comments tossed, chairs moved,

teases that stung, and silences that echoed.

But there were also moments 

A kind word from someone,

a compliment on my phone cover,

a Pikachu coloring effort,

a friend sharing their ideas.

Even when people don’t respond,

or when others act distant,

I remind myself:

Not every moment defines me.

Some people just pass through the frame 

but I stay, I grow, I keep my light.

🌥️ June 30 Morning Reflection – “Even When It’s Hard”

This morning, I didn’t sleep well,

but I got up anyway.

I moved through the routine 

breakfast, a dropped spectacles case,

a splash of water,

and my mother tending to the plants.

I took the bus, ran a little,

sat in front as the vehicle bumped along,

trying to steady my thoughts.

At the toilet, someone banged on the door 

too sudden, too loud 

and I walked across the overhead bridge

with a strange feeling in my chest.

Someone looked at me, then looked away

like I wasn’t worth seeing.

It stung a little.

I sat and watched as others went about their day.

A cyclist rang the bell and I lifted my phone,

not to film, not to scroll 

just to stay aware, to protect myself.

Later, someone greeted me,

but it felt hollow.

Another said something untrue about me 

and I had to remind myself

that not everyone speaks from truth or kindness.

I stepped in when someone needed help.

I didn’t know exactly what to do,

but I acted.

Because sometimes, trying

is the best kind of courage.

Through all this,

I stayed gentle with myself.

Today, I showed up.

And even when it was hard,

I didn’t give up.

“I Chose for Me”

I made a choice —

not to rebel, not to defy,

but to listen quietly

to a part of me that’s often unheard.

Not everyone will understand.

Not everyone needs to.

But I am learning

to trust the voice inside

that says:

“You matter, too.”

Even when the world says no,

Even when love feels sharp,

I hold my heart with quiet hands

and whisper,

“You were only trying to care.”

A Soft No Is Still Mine

 

She raised her voice,

but mine was trembling—

not because I was wrong,

but because I’ve been silenced too long.

I wanted something small,

a choice, a care, a breath—

but thunder came instead

and wrapped my heart in dread.

I am not a threat

for asking to feel whole.

My wish was not rebellion—

just the tending of my soul.

Even when they don’t hear me,

even when fear is loud,

I hold a quiet knowing:

I am allowed.

Someday I’ll walk freely,

without needing to explain,

and the soft yes I whispered

will echo after rain.

Quiet Progress

Even when the world rushes ahead, I remind myself that true leadership begins with stillness. Today, I showed up — even in small ways — and that matters.

Being unwell doesn’t make me weak. Rest is not the absence of effort; it’s the quiet courage to pause, reflect, and realign.

Leadership means listening — to others, but also to my own body and heart.

I’m learning to lead with gentleness. I’m learning to trust that even slow days hold strength.

🕊️ June 25 — Quiet Chaos, Gentle Strength

Today was full — of messages, tasks, and tangled feelings.

My book The Sky Belongs to Misfits Too finally went live. A milestone I should be proud of. Yet, amidst the celebration, life kept tugging at my sleeve — misunderstandings with Sherman, my mum’s sharp words, and the familiar ache of not being fully seen.

She scolded me for wasting food, for not waking up fast enough, for snoring — little things, but they stacked up like quiet weights on my shoulders. I wanted to explain, to be understood. But maybe today isn’t about being understood. Maybe it’s about understanding myself.

I reached out for a podcast guest — hoping to spark meaningful conversations on leadership and connection. I want to believe those conversations will find the right ears, and that what I build matters.

I didn’t order lunch, but I showed up with honesty.

I didn’t sleep perfectly, but I woke up and kept trying.

I didn’t get praised, but I still created something.

And maybe that’s enough for today.

🌤️ The Sky Belongs to Misfits Too

Book 30 by Celine Ong Jie Ying

A gentle, poetic journey for those who don’t quite fit in — pastel-toned reflections and dreamlike entries for the soft souls of the world.

You don’t have to change to belong. The sky is already yours.

📘 It's out

The Quiet Bloom

 

I was once a class monitor for two weeks —

not long,

but long enough to learn that watching over others

is also watching over yourself.

In Chinese class, I helped the teacher,

speaking softly,

hoping my quiet hands could carry meaning

even when my voice was unsure.

I stood once as an environmental ambassador,

hoping to plant change —

but not all seeds take root in the soil we’re given.

And that’s okay.

Some lessons grow later.

I tried to join the student council.

I became a Sergeant-at-Arms in Toastmasters.

Each attempt was a door —

sometimes gently closed,

sometimes opening into places I didn't expect.

Right now, I am not leading.

I am learning.

But that does not make me small.

Because leadership is not a badge.

It is found in:

– asking for help

– pausing before you rush

– checking in with those who guide you

– learning to work with those who think differently

– and still showing up with hope.

I rush sometimes.

I forget to break things down.

But I am trying again.

And maybe…

that’s what leading really is.

The quiet bloom of someone who keeps growing

even when no one is watching.

I Remember Too

 Some memories fade, but the feeling remains.

This is for anyone who ever served quietly, felt forgotten, or needed a gentle reminder that their presence mattered.

A poem for my St. John chapter—

still a part of me, even in silence. 🌿🤍

I remember the uniform,

crisp sleeves folded with care—

the way you stood in still lines,

even when your heart wavered.

I remember the weight of moments,

lessons held in folded hands,

the pulse beneath your gloves,

how you listened, how you stayed.

The page is gone,

the faces faded,

but you—

you are still here.

Not forgotten.

Not erased.

You were there.

You gave.

You mattered.

And even if the world

never claps or says your name—

your quiet courage

still echoes like a song

only the moon and I remember.

So cry, dear heart.

Cry for what’s gone.

And when you’re ready,

we’ll walk gently forward

together.

🌙 June 19 – A Soft Storm

Today was full.

I carried more than just a heavy bag —

I carried the weight of eyes watching,

voices raised,

and feelings I couldn't quite name.

A cough in the silence.

A coloring done with care.

A whisper of kindness,

and advice wrapped in gentle words —

“Smile through it. Breathe.”

I did not scream.

I did not cry.

But something inside me folded, like paper in the rain.

Still,

I smiled a little when someone said thank you.

Still,

I listened. I adjusted.

I tried.

Maybe tomorrow will be softer.

Maybe the weight will shift.

For now, I rest my thoughts in this page,

and hold on to a quiet truth:

Even storms pass.

Even petals bloom again.

A Morning Like This

Even when the world begins in a storm —

when voices clash,

when your throat aches,

when coffee doesn’t stay —

you are still here.

You stood up.

You caught the bus.

You noticed the Milo.

You saw someone fall,

and you stayed aware.

Your presence matters,

even in silence.

Even if no one says thank you.

Even when the chair just says your name.

Take one breath.

Then another.

Not every moment has to be strong.

Some can just be soft.