About Unwritten
I believe life is a collection of quiet moments; the ones we often rush past, yet remember the most. This is my space to pause, reflect, and write about the things that shape me: leaving one home to build another, learning to carry family love across borders, and finding beauty in everyday rituals. I write the way I live with curiosity, gratitude, and an openness to change. Welcome to my corner of the internet. I hope you find something here that makes you pause, too.
Category: Uncategorized
-
Lately I’ve been learning that distance isn’t just space. It’s time. It’s the six, seven, eight hours where I’m asleep and something is happening to the people I love and I don’t even know it yet. It’s finding out late. It’s finding out after. My mother was admitted to the hospital a few weeks ago,…
-
Somewhere along the way, “having an opinion on everything” got confused with “voicing an opinion on everything.” I don’t think they’re the same thing. You’re allowed to form a view and keep it to yourself. You’re allowed to read a room and decide this isn’t the moment. Not every thought needs an audience. Not every…
-
Five months. Long enough to stop being a tourist. Long enough to stop excusing things as charm. Long enough to see a place not through the soft-focus lens of a romatnticed weekend getaway, but in ordinary Tuesday mornings, administrative waiting rooms, and streets that greet you with a smell no travel writer has ever had…
-
So I say what I am about to say with that full understanding in my chest. I swallowed more in a week more than I care to admit. Not because I was weak. Because grief, even someone else’s grief, demands a kind of deference. Because I understood that the loss in that household was real,…
-
One of the first things I realized while wandering the streets of Paris with Julian is how old the city is. The limestone facades, carved as early as the 1600s, have held their breath through centuries of revolutions, romances, and quiet afternoons just like this one. They were built to outlast the memory of anyone…
-
I grew up in Singapore, where English is not foreign. It is foundational. It was the language of school, of exams, of presentations, of official forms, of essays graded in red ink. We were taught early that English was more than a subject. It was infrastructure. It connected Chinese, Malay, Indian communities at home, and…
-
Week three in Paris is, unexpectedly, the hardest. Week one is adrenaline. Everything is charming because it is new. Even the confusion feels cinematic. I was wide-eyed, jet-lagged, waking up at 3 a.m., and puffed up with the belief that I could master this city with enough sightseeing and courage. Week two is performance. You…
-
I’m here now.In Paris.Not for a holiday but actually living here. Even writing that feels strange. Surreal, in the quiet way that only sinks in when you’re doing very normal things, like unpacking or waiting for a lift that may or may not fit two people. I’m here with my husband, Julian, and our pet…
-
How did it ever occur to anyone that time seems to move faster and faster each year? It is strange, especially when every year is still made up of the same number of days and hours. Nothing has changed on the calendar, yet everything feels more compressed. Maybe time itself is not speeding up. Maybe…
-
Julian and I just got back to Singapore from our two week year end holiday, where we spent Christmas with his family in Germany and Austria. There is something about being in cold weather during the holidays that slows everything down. Sitting by the fire oven, listening to dry firewood crackle, wrapped in a soft…
About Unwritten 