August 12 – Lessons Over a Long Day

August 12 – Lessons Over a Long Day

The morning began with voices — sharp, impatient, laced with criticism.

I kept my answers short, my steps steady, even when bags flew and tempers stirred.

Hands reached for what wasn’t theirs,

and a small, sweet drink vanished without my knowing.

It became a story everyone seemed to repeat,

each version weaving its own thread of suspicion, teasing, or advice.

Somewhere in the midst of tying strings and avoiding collisions,

I learned that even simple things need guarding 

not just from others, but from carelessness with my own space.

The afternoon softened.

A talk on survival, on the quiet bravery of the body fighting for life.

Early detection. Balance. Friendship.

A reminder that while some battles are petty, others matter deeply.

By night, I let the day go.

Fewer words. More quiet.

A small lesson tucked into my pocket:

protect what’s yours, but keep your heart from hardening.

🌷 Journal Reflection: I Feel Seen

I feel seen and respected

when I try my best

and lead with compassion.

Not when I’m perfect.

Not when I follow every rule.

But when I keep going—

even when misunderstood.

When I listen,

even when I don’t agree.

When I soften,

even when the world feels sharp.

This is how I honour myself.

This is how I become the kind of person

I would trust

to hold my heart gently.

August 8 – National Day Eve

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.Missed bus 293. Missed bus 29. Took bus 28 instead.In the building, there was no toilet paper, so I walked to the last stall. I made it to the lift just in time — but the boy inside didn’t press the button. As I walked down the staircase, a wave of anxiety hit — afraid someone might scold me for no reason.Still, I’m grateful. I’m okay.The bicycle bell startled me, but it didn’t hit. Just rang.I sat beside someone familiar — he glanced at my phone. Later, I got a compliment about my bag. Someone showed me their NDP t-shirt. And just like that, I was flooded with memories — and emotions I couldn’t quite explain.I imagined saying: “Hi Mr Mok, good to see you. Happy National Day.”In that little roleplay moment, he handed me Tiger Balm and said: “Tie the strings carefully later, and stay positive.”We’re tying red bags today — it’s National Day Eve.

August 7 – Small Moments, Quiet Strength (Anonymous Edition)

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, a boy whispered to a girl.

She left quickly.

Sometimes people disappear mid-story,

and we don’t get to know why.

Familiar greetings came from others.

A fist bump—twice—even as the bus aircon dripped on us.

Small joys.

Later, someone called out a detail—

“You said green, but it’s blue.”

It was.

I truly thought it was green.

Then more:

“You throw things at the side.”

But I cleaned up when she reached over.

“The gloves were dirty,” I said.

I’m still learning how to hold my emotions

without letting them spill.

Some days I succeed.

Some days I just try again.

---

Soft Thought of the Day:

“Even when others misunderstand,

may I still treat myself gently—

and rise with grace in the smallest of choices.”

🌧 August 5 – A Day of Mixed Currents

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, someone checked in. I told him — I felt indifferent, yet stressed. He understood. He reminded me to speak gently, even when the day feels heavy. He asked about my plans — I said half-day work and a computer class. He smiled, offered dinner, but I said dinner was likely settled at home. Still, he hoped we could meet after.

A small slip happened — I placed my bag in a room and was reminded to ask first, even though I had greeted them just before. Maybe just a misunderstanding.

Someone offered a fist bump. It was a brief, warm gesture. A moment of ease.

Then, the app failed again — internal server error. A glitch in the system, echoing the quiet frustrations of the day.

When I paid for lunch, I was told not to walk off too quickly — just so they’d know who paid. I smiled and said, “I did.”

August 4 – Soft Rain, Subtle Tension

 

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.

📓 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.