🗓️ July 18 – The Rush, the Ride, and the Resolve (Anonymous Edition)

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 felt surrounded, yet I kept moving.

The parcel for my large pencil case arrived. A bicycle kept ringing beside me, and at one point my phone was close to it — a near miss.

On the shuttle bus, Si Rong said she’d sit with me after work. I ended up next to someone else for now. A bump, a hug, a fist bump, a few greetings — all layered into the commute. I paid for lunch and helped relay a message that someone would be late. Instagram views dropped again — it stung, but I moved on.

Later, I took a photo with a group, even after someone pushed me slightly. I stood tall in my red t-shirt, even if teased. One joked that I always borrowed his phone. Another said my shirt was nice.

There were moments of overwhelm — I passed the wrong item, got shouted at, and felt my arm ache. I told someone. I tried to do things right. Sticker pasting wasn’t perfect. I tried again. We weren’t allowed in the National Day filming. I understood.

After work, I said goodbye, even if the goodbye got passed around. I accidentally bumped my leg on the bus. At the family service centre, I waited again. Even the Grab car came with a honk. At night, my friend and I spoke about saving money — maybe just fifty cents at a time. He said I complained a lot, and that made him feel bad. He asked me to name something I’m grateful for each time I message him. I’ll try.

When I got home, my mum rushed me to shower and eat. There were harsh words — about being slow, about not telling others the dress code, about not asking people to buy things. She called me strange, told me the consequences. Another touched me where they shouldn’t. I felt blamed again.

I shared it. Some said, "These are small things." Maybe they are. Maybe they’re not.

Still — I said thank you. I said goodbye. I tried.

Even in the noise, even in the hurt, I tried.

🗓️ July 17 – A Day of Outings and Overwhelm (Anonymous Edition)

 

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 burger. I shared a fry with one of the staff and watched as others enjoyed their ice cream. A colleague played around with me briefly — a small gesture that lifted my mood.

In the toilet, a woman suddenly shouted, which gave me a shock. We visited the Cloud Forest next. I squeezed into a lift and got a headshake from someone. It was a bit awkward. I got bumped into and stepped on — ouch. Still, I focused on the flowers once we arrived at the Lost World. Their colors and calmness helped me ground myself.

Some others laughed at me afterward. I felt awkward again but tried to move past it. Then we made our way back. Something happened on the way back — one of my colleagues had a seizure, and another signaled me to keep quiet. I was anxious but tried to stay calm.

After the trip, I heard from someone that we need to wear red and white tomorrow. I only have a red shirt. My shirt got stained during tea break, and there were lots of interactions, close calls, and supervisors chatting. Someone wrote National Day wishes with a marker on my work. One of the staff said he didn’t dislike me — he was just busy. That made me smile.

I helped decorate earlier, then stepped away. My chair kept getting banged, and I had to give way in a tight corridor.

In the evening, someone shared how much they enjoyed participating in Flag Day and a drawing competition. It made me think of how these activities bring some joy and meaning to our work.

At home, I had beehoon soup. My mother talked about how some conditions may be linked to pregnancy issues, though the cause isn’t always clear. I tend to get overly anxious when I see someone unwell, but I’m learning.

There’s also a kindness bingo I submitted — I need to revise some parts and send it in again before the deadline.

My mother told me it’s time to let go of someone who was once important. There were too many past struggles.

And about publishing — I’m reminded again that I’m not allowed to include real people from my workplace in my writing. I need to be careful.

Feeling extremely tired now. One last update: my grandfather has a stomach ulcer. Even though he’s been discharged, my aunt treated him to a nice Cantonese meal today.

Another last note: today is my grandfather’s birthday. 

🕊️ July 16 — The Morning Tangle (Anonymous Edition)

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 on the vacuum cleaner this morning.

My mind was full already.

At the locker, a bump 

a brief ache bloomed in my back.

But the day moved on.

Someone returned from leave 

her arms around me just for a moment,

before her joy swirled elsewhere,

with warmth and shopping tales for others.

It’s okay.

I’m still here 

moving through small aches,

watching how people come and go.

🗓️ July 14 Reflection — “The Little Things We Carry”

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 bus, though she moved away after. I guess I still feel like people don’t really want me around — not always, but often enough that it lingers.

Work was layered — I spoke softly when paying for something, greeted a few colleagues, and tried to stay focused. Someone beside me quietly helped with things like messaging about the tote bag for my mum. I appreciated that. There were many questions, but eventually, things moved along. The bags are smaller than expected, but they’ll do — for now.

The photography course gave me a bit of light. I liked learning about the “rule of thirds.” It reminded me that framing matters — not just in photos, but in life. How we see things changes how we feel about them.

But there was also chaos: My chair was pushed hard, and I got punched on the leg. I told the trainers, and a warning was given. I felt anxious — people watching, judging, talking. I tried my best at the sticker pasting but still struggled. I spoke about how I miss the creativity from before. There’s something different now, something dimmer.

Someone showed me a certificate from a design course. They even have a name card now — like me. I don’t know why, but it made me both proud and a little unsure. Is it copying or just inspiration?

By evening, I felt the weight of everything — my mum’s tired eyes, my dad’s reminder to take care of her, the form for my learning journey, the bump on my back at the locker. Even the small joys, like National Day drawings and decorations, couldn’t fully erase the feeling of being overwhelmed.

But still, I moved through the day.

🌙 July 13 – Journal Reflection: After the Storm

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 to step away.

It’s okay to say “Not now.”

It’s okay to protect my space

and still carry kindness with me.

🗓️ July 12 Morning & Afternoon Reflection (Anonymous Edition)

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 about EZ-link cards, but the counter had none.

We arrived at the Two Herbs hair treatment shop at 9:30. The staff asked if I had eaten. I replied simply, “Bak kwa bread.” She touched my bag as she guided me through — herbal first, then collagen. Mum tapped my thigh to keep me informed. I waited, quiet. A woman said goodbye to the room; I didn’t reply. Not out of rudeness, just a momentary stillness.

Afterwards, I wandered in the rain in search of lunch. Aunty pointed the way. Birds splashed something at my face — I didn’t stop. I passed durians, damp ground, and found the hawker centre. I had scallop pao fan. Mum queued for char kway teow, but the stall dimmed its lights — a sign to come earlier next time.

We still had groceries to buy at NTUC. The day felt long, but full. In movement, in waiting, in bites and bumps — I existed quietly within it all.

🗓️ July 8 Morning Reflection (Anonymous Edition)

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 crossed the overhead bridge and saw someone I recognized but chose to sit elsewhere, next to two ladies who later boarded their bus.

A message I sent to congratulate someone on their award received a happy reply — “Thank you so much!!!!” 💬 It made me smile. Several others liked my comments about the voting and celebrations. On the shuttle bus, I sat next to someone who took a while to notice me. I quietly gave a handshake and thumbs-up — brief, but meaningful.

There was a small mix-up — I accidentally messaged someone about a water bottle, but it got sorted. The bottle was returned to its owner. Another person seemed breathless and sweaty, having forgotten theirs the day before. I tried asking for help, but another colleague firmly declined.

A bright moment: my book Places We Passed Through is now live on Amazon! 📚 https://a.co/d/2JXAo0I

One of my merchandise items — a vintage black sweatshirt — is currently out of stock on Fourthwall. The restock may take 2–4 weeks.

Lastly, a senior reminded me that they’re from a different department, not the trainer. I also realized I misunderstood something earlier — a peer made a promise not to ask someone else to buy things again.

🌙 Evening Reflection: "In the Quiet After the Storm"

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 myself, but also kind.

Tomorrow, I can try again.

I may not fix everything at once,

But I can start with gentleness 

for me, and maybe for her too.

“Between the Words”

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.

“Where My Heart Waits”

I’m told to wait, to focus,

To not wish for what they don’t allow.

But my heart doesn’t wait the way clocks do 

It beats quietly for what it hopes,

Even when I try to silence it.

I smile, I work, I write,

But somewhere, I still dream.

Not foolishly 

Just softly, in the background,

Like a melody only I can hear.

Maybe one day,

I’ll choose love on my own terms,

Not in rebellion,

But in quiet strength 

Knowing I am worthy,

Even if I have to wait.

July 5 – Layers of the Day

 

Today was noisy — not from sound, but from feelings.

Moments of quiet rejection brushed against quiet kindness.

One person turned away, another reached out.

A small pizza outing. A missed chicken drumlet.

A kind word from a mentor who feels both near and distant.

I kept walking — through buses, through hospital blocks, through conversations half held.

I tried. I showed up. Even when I was silent inside.

And somehow, I’m still here. Breathing through it all.

One small heartbeat at a time.

Even in the quiet, I still speak to him —

in roleplay, in memory, in imagined kindness.

Sometimes the words feel more real there than in real life.

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.