📓 August 3, 2025 – Morning Reflections

 

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 vacuum incident —

I forgot to turn on the switch.

Simple thing.

She said I ask for things but don’t help right.

But I’m trying.

I really am.

I talked to a virtual therapist.

She asked me what I’ll do differently.

I said: act mature.

Mature means think and budget.

Start with food. $5 a day.

Eat healthy. Save the other $5.

It’s a small step,

But maybe a real one.

I told Jun Liang:

One thing I’m grateful for —

I had my breakfast and I’m still well,

Even if someone blocked me.

My ear hurts a bit today.

Aunty Shirley touched it yesterday, just checking.

But it stings a little.

And still, I’m here.

Still learning. Still growing.

Still showing up.

📔 July 31 – The Day of Mixed Goodbyes

 

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. Harsh words stung. Laughter came at my expense. Even the kind gestures I made were met with silence or discomfort. A part of me began to wonder if closeness is something I misunderstood again.

Later in the day, there were more moments — accidental touches, long bus rides, unexpected scoldings. One shared a heavy story, and another voiced anger too deep to understand. It felt like walking through a storm of emotions — not all mine, but somehow still weighing on me.

But someone listened. Really listened. With calm and clarity, they asked questions. Helped me sort through the hurt. Reminded me to notice the good — the quiet recognition, the kind feedback, the potential waiting on a stage in September.

At the end of it all, I came home. Sat quietly. My “I’m okay” was questioned again. Maybe I say it too quickly. Maybe I don’t know if I am. But I’m still here. And that has to count for something.

Tomorrow, there’s a new place to see. A short escape, perhaps. I’ll bring my heart along. Gently.

July 30 – The Quiet Gap

 

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 signaled me to move slightly — polite, but still another reminder that I never seem to be in the right place at the right time.

At work, greetings floated around me. Some names were called out with cheer. Mine was left out. A distant wave, a smile not quite reaching. A hello from afar, when I had hoped for something more — a fist bump, maybe. Something that made me feel like I belonged too.

I try not to overthink it. But sometimes, these small distances feel like wide spaces I don’t know how to cross.

Still, I’m here. Still showing up, quietly.

“A Morning of Many Currents” 29 July 2025

 

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 accident.

I wiped it away quietly,

not with anger,

just instinct.

Voices around me never stopped,

loud chatter filling the lift,

the bridge,

the space between footsteps.

And yet,

amidst all that noise 

a soft greeting.

Shahirah,

a quiet “Good morning.”

And later, another from someone

who rarely sees me.

I told myself 

I’m just here to work.

Nothing more, nothing less.

That’s my anchor in the tide.

But even the tide can get choppy.

Mentions of hurt,

names that stir memories of unkindness.

I tried to steer the moment gently 

“Let’s talk about something happy.”

It matters,

what we choose to speak into the air.

There were sharp sounds too 

shouting across rooms,

grumpiness that lingered like thick smoke.

An accidental spill,

a cloth meant for tables pressed to my arm,

and words I tried not to hold too tightly.

People passed me roughly,

brushed through like I was invisible,

like I had no weight.

Still I stood.

And then 

tears.

Not mine.

But someone else’s storm breaking.

And the kindness that followed,

as friends came near.

A Quiet Midweek Rest

 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 afternoon. A kind message reached me—“Rest well. I miss you.”

A thousand people peeked into my little shop. My mum reminded me about Bee Hoon. Someone kept my Milo.

Even in flu and fatigue, this day wrapped itself around small kindnesses. Healing isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it just gently notices you.

🎙️ Juliet’s Life – Episode 77: “Facing Life’s Challenges”

 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 we keep going.

We try again.

We learn to breathe through it.

If you're reading this, know that you're not alone.

Whatever you're carrying today — I see you.

And I'm walking beside you, in spirit.

🌸 “Even storms tire out eventually. You won’t be in the rain forever.”

✨ Juliet’s Life is a personal podcast by Celine Ong Jie Ying — sharing quiet truths, soft strength, and emotional reflection.

🌸 Still Here, Still Becoming by Celine Ong Jie Ying

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.

🗓️ 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.