About Unwritten

Let’s be honest – nobody actually enjoys their first pour of beer. We all pretend, but that first sip? Pure betrayal. I had mine when I was around five. It was Chinese New Year, the kind where the whole family squeezed around the telly watching Hong Kong action comedies that were chaotic, nonsensical, and somehow perfect. Dad would sit there with his can of beer and a plateful of gua zii. He always looked so relaxed when he drank – lighter, warmer, like something in him softened.

One year, when Mom wasn’t watching, he tipped the can toward me. I took a sip. It tasted so bad I couldn’t even pretend… like carbonated punishment. Compared to my Coke Original, I genuinely questioned why any sane adult would voluntarily consume that.

Fast forward many years. Sometime after high school, beer came back into my life (socially and cheaply). It was the most affordable way to get that light buzz that makes the world feel less heavy. Back then, the point wasn’t flavour; it was escape in a bottle, ease disguised as a drink. I didn’t love beer, but I loved what it allowed my mind to forget, even briefly.

But as the years went by, something shifted. I stopped drinking to forget and started drinking to enjoy. Bit by bit, sip by sip, I grew to appreciate beer – the way it can be smooth, or crisp, or creamy depending on where you are and who you’re with. I found pours I genuinely love: the rich velvet of Guinness, the nostalgic comfort of Taiwan Tsingtao, the easy sweetness of Blanc 1664. It became a companion to conversations, to travel, to quiet nights where I just want something familiar in my hand.

Maybe that’s how it works. You survive enough of life, and your palate expands. The drink that once tasted like fizzy regret becomes something you choose because it brings you back to people, places, and moments that matter.

so wherever you are, and with whatever you’re drinking

cheers.