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.

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  • Two Sides to Everyone

    Everyone has two sides. The good and the bad. The version they show to the world, and the one that slips out when no one’s watching.

    It’s easy to love someone’s best self. Their confidence, their warmth, the way they make you feel seen. But you only really know a person when you’ve witnessed their worst. How they handle anger. How they behave when things don’t go their way. That’s when character stops being theory and starts being evidence.

    I used to think goodness was about being pleasant. Agreeable. Predictable. But that kind of goodness is brittle. One hard truth away from cracking. Real goodness isn’t about never losing your temper or making mistakes. It’s about what you do after.

    We live in a world that worships perfection and punishes imperfection. Cancel culture thrives on this illusion that people are either good or bad, worthy or disposable. But the truth is, most of us live somewhere in the middle which is messy, trying, contradicting ourselves daily. Growth doesn’t happen in purity. It happens in discomfort.

    I’ve seen both sides in myself. The calm and the combative. The empathetic and the impatient. The version that forgives, and the one that quietly keeps score.

    Because pretending to be all light doesn’t make you pure; it just makes you dishonest.

    The trick isn’t to erase one: it’s to own both, and to know which one’s driving when it matters. And maybe that’s what adulthood really is: learning to hold yourself accountable without hating yourself for being human.

  • Lessons From Traveling in China

    I’m typing this reflection on my notepad as I sit in the airport lounge. Julian flew back to Singapore a few days ago to resume work, and I already miss his presence beside me. Traveling together has a way of making the world feel lighter; traveling alone, even for a short stretch, feels different. So here I am, waiting for my flight, trying to put these thoughts down before they slip away.

    My recent trips back from China left me with more than just photos and souvenirs. They reminded me what it means to step into another world: as a tourist, a guest, and sometimes an outsider.

    The first thing that struck me was the scale. China doesn’t move, it surges. Cities stretch endlessly, high speed trains blur across provinces, towers rise almost overnight. Lithium reserves fuel the future, manufacturing hums like a heartbeat, and growth feels less like a strategy and more like momentum that refuses to slow down. But behind the speed and abundance, I noticed something else: the unconsciousness in how waste builds up. The disposable cups, the single-use plastics, the trash tucked into corners of breathtaking places. A country can build at lightning speed, but if it treats what it discards as invisible, the cost doesn’t disappear, it only waits.

    That thought followed me into Zhangjiajie National Park, easily one of the most extraordinary sceneries I’ve ever seen in my life. Towering sandstone pillars that seem to pierce the clouds, a landscape that feels almost otherworldly. And yet, at the foot of those wonders, I saw litter. Not from tourists, but from locals. It was the same contradiction I’d noticed in the cities: building quickly, consuming endlessly, and forgetting to care for what’s already yours. I couldn’t hold back. I spoke up. Some looked embarrassed, others annoyed. But to stay silent would have been to agree that it was okay.

    And then there were the more personal moments. People assumed I couldn’t understand Mandarin, and I’d overhear their murmurs about Julian and me, usually kind, sometimes sweet, occasionally sharp. In those moments, I’d step in. Not to shame, but to remind them that words carry weight, even when you think no one is listening.

    But on my final days in Shanghai, the sharp edges softened. My colleagues welcomed me with a hospitality that was unmatched: warm, effortless, grounding.

    Travel teaches you two things at once: the enormity of a place, and the smallness of your role within it. China, with all its speed and contradictions, showed me both. Growth without sustainability is wasteful. Words without care wound. And kindness, when it shows up, leaves a mark that lingers far beyond the trip.

    Now, as I prepare for my relocation, that lesson feels heavier. I won’t just be a visitor anymore; I’ll be building a life in another country. Still, in many ways, a guest. And maybe that’s the point: to move with respect, to root myself carefully, and to never forget that every place we enter whether a country, an office, or a relationship.. leaves its mark on us. The question is: what mark will we leave in return?

  • Where You Sit Shapes Your Day

    On my first day in the office, I was the first to arrive. Open office concept. “Sit anywhere you like,” they said.

    Back then, IT was still on the 47th floor. Anyway, I went straight for the corner seat. Coat hanger, plenty of space and perfect view of the entire floor. I unpacked my things, settled in, and thought, This is great. I can see everything, everyone can see me.

    Turns out… everyone except me knew that seat was reserved for the highest in command, lol and it wasn’t even my department. The throne. The spot where you watch the whole game play out and control the room without saying a word. Sometimes it’s earned. Sometimes it’s claimed by the one bold enough to plant themselves there and stay put.

    Over time, I realised every seat in the office comes with its own rhythm. Sit next to decision-makers, and you’ll hear things before they’re announced. Tone shifts, side comments.. and the little signals that never make it into emails. Sit next to your teammates, and collaboration flows without the need for scheduled meetings. Ideas get tossed around casually, and small problems get solved before they turn into big ones.

    The middle tables are always buzzing with energy and snacks close by. They also make you the office greeter whether you signed up for it or not. The aisle seats are for those who thrive on conversation, but also the ones who end up interrupted the most.

    I like to circle around, depending on my mood and the kind of day I’m aiming for. Some days I want to be in the thick of it, catching the chatter and energy. Other days, I need to be invisible and tucked away so I can get things done quickly.

    But my favourite will always be the seat near the window. The sun comes through the panel, warming my side of the desk. Every so often, I pause, look out, and see the world moving without me. It’s actually pretty damn therapeutic. People walking, cars passing… a gentle reminder that there’s life outside these walls. And it makes me want to finish my work, pack my bag, and step back into it.

    In the office, your seat isn’t just about where you work. It’s about how you work, who you’re with, and sometimes, the reminder of what you want to get back to.

  • Sunday Recipe: Julian’s Mussels in White Wine

    We often cook at home. We both enjoy a good seafood meal, and with fresh seafood so affordable at the market, it almost feels like a waste not to make it ourselves.

    This mussels dish isn’t mine, it’s Julian’s. And after two years of… let’s say experimental cooking, he’s finally landed on something restaurant-worthy. It takes just 20 minutes, prep included. I didn’t trust him enough to leave him unsupervised, so I was looking over his shoulder the whole time.

    Here’s how he makes it:

    1. Heat a good amount of olive oil in a large pot.
    2. Add 3 finely chopped shallots and cook on medium-high heat until caramelised and golden brown. This is where the depth of flavour starts, so don’t rush it.
    3. Add 2 minced garlic cloves and stir until fragrant. Minced garlic cooks quickly, so keep an eye on it.
    4. Pour in 250ml of Sauvignon Blanc. Bring it to a boil so the alcohol cooks off, leaving a crisp, and surprisingly bright flavour.
    5. Add 2kg of fresh mussels (cleaned and de-bearded), give them a quick stir, then cover the pot.
    6. Steam for about 4 minutes, just until the shells open.
    7. Turn off the heat, add a generous handful of finely chopped parsley, and season with pepper and a little salt if needed.
    8. Serve immediately with toasted bread. The garlicky, wine-soaked broth is too good to waste.

    I told him this one’s a keeper. The recipe… and him.

  • On Imposter Syndrome

    This entry came from a reader who asked me to write about imposter syndrome. It’s fitting, because I’ve lived with it long enough to know how familiar its voice can sound.

    Imposter syndrome doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it whispers. You’re not as good as they think you are. You just got lucky. One mistake and they’ll see the truth. It sneaks into the moments that should feel like wins (the job offer, the promotion, the compliment from someone you respect).. and turns them into reasons to doubt yourself.

    I’ve felt it most when I’m stepping into something new. New role. New country. New project where everyone else seems to already know the rules. Instead of seeing those moments as growth, I’ve caught myself bracing for exposure, waiting for someone to call me out.

    But here’s what I’ve learned: feeling like an imposter doesn’t mean you are one. It means you’re in the stretch zone, doing something that matters enough to scare you. The people who never feel it often aren’t pushing themselves at all.

    I still hear that whisper sometimes. The difference is, I don’t take it at face value anymore. I let it remind me that growth feels uncomfortable and that competence isn’t the same as confidence.

    So to the reader who asked: you’re not alone in this. None of us are. And if you ever feel like an imposter, maybe that’s the clearest sign you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

    P.S. Thank you for your kind words, and hope this helps!

  • When Peace Feels Unbelievable

    When I tell people my partner and I have never once quarrelled, I usually get one of three reactions. A warm smile and “That’s lovely.” A curious, drawn-out “Really?” Or the half-joking shade “That’s not possible,” “Wait till you’ve been together longer,” “That’s not normal.”

    I’ve realised their reaction says more about them than it does about us. For some, it’s genuine happiness. For others, our peace challenges what they believe relationships are supposed to be. If they’ve accepted fights, drama, or cold wars as inevitable, then hearing about a relationship without them feels like hearing about a world that rewrites their rules.

    One night, I was out with a few of my party-girl friends. Between drinks, the conversation slid to relationships, and someone laughed (genuinely shocked) when I said Julian and I had never quarrelled. The others piled on with disbelief, subtle digs, and that knowing tone people use when they’ve already decided you’re lying to yourself. I came home and told Julian about it, still half in disbelief myself not at their reaction, but at how quickly the mood had shifted from fun to defensive. That night ended up being the last time I saw them :’) Not because of drama, but because I realised I don’t need to defend my happiness to people who are looking for cracks.

    We don’t avoid fights by pretending problems don’t exist. We talk before they become arguments worth slamming doors over. We listen without trying to win. Most importantly, we don’t use words we can’t take back. It’s not luck. It’s not avoidance. It’s a daily choice to protect what we’re building.

    If that unsettles someone, I let it. I’m not here to convince them it’s possible, I’m here living it. And sometimes, disbelief is just another way of saying, “I wish I had that.”

  • If There’s God

    I’ve never had lightning split the sky in front of me or a voice tell me exactly what to do. But I’ve had moments that make me wonder.

    Some call it coincidence. Others call it humanity. Sometimes, the timing feels so precise it’s hard not to think something bigger is at work. Whether you name it God, the universe, or just the strange geometry of life lining up at the right moment.

    But here’s the thing: if there’s God, He’s not just dropping these moments in your path for decoration. He’s keeping score. Which means you don’t get to hide behind ignorance, bad luck, or “that’s just how the world works.” You know when you’re in the wrong. You know when you could’ve done better.

    And if there’s no God? You’re still responsible. No one’s watching. No one’s forgiving. Every choice is yours to own, without the safety net of divine redemption.

    Maybe the real question isn’t whether God exists. It’s whether you’re living in a way you can stand by, either way.

    P.S. If you can hear me now

  • Don’t Build Castles on Sand

    I’m starting this entry because of a close friend. She’s caught up in something that feels familiar, the kind of heady, heart-racing infatuation that makes you start filling in the blanks before you’ve even checked if the picture is real.

    Infatuation has a way of making you forget the fine print. You meet someone, feel that spark, and before you’ve even had your second “coffee” together, your mind is already writing the next chapter. The holidays you’ll take. The way they’ll fit into your friend group. The look on their face when you surprise them on their birthday.

    But here’s the catch: if you already know there’s no future there, you’re building castles on sand. You’re feeding a story that can only end one way: with you dismantling it piece by piece.

    I’ve made this mistake before. I let an infatuation turn into a full-blown fantasy when, deep down, I already knew there was no future there. Looking back, I know I have to own my part in it. I handed him the pen to write into my fantasy. But I also blame him for not being honest about what he wanted. For keeping me close enough to feel wanted, but far enough that I’d never actually get there.

    I’ve learned that fantasies aren’t harmless when they’re about someone real. They can make you ignore the obvious.. the mismatched values, the lifestyle gaps, the fact that you want entirely different things. They can make the present feel intoxicating, but they also set you up for a hangover you can’t sleep off.

    There’s a difference between enjoying the moment and constructing a life in your head that will never exist. The first can be fun. The second will cost you more than you think.

    If you can’t see them in your future, don’t start rehearsing the role they’ll play in it. Some sparks are meant to burn out before they set the whole place on fire.

  • The Boss You See Every Day

    In every job I’ve had, I’ve learned that your direct boss matters more than almost anything else, sometimes even more than the company itself.

    They’re the person who decides whether your good work gets noticed or quietly filed away. They set the tone for your day before you’ve even open up your inbox. A supportive boss can make you feel like you’re growing, even in a tough role. A bad one can drain you so quickly that even your dream job starts to feel like a mistake.

    Your direct boss is your filter to the larger organisation. They’re the one who fights for your promotion, shields you from unnecessary politics. In some cases, throws you straight into it. They control your opportunities, your workload, and often, how safe you feel to speak up.

    I’ve had bosses who challenged me in the best ways, giving me room to take risks while knowing they’d have my back if things went sideways. And I’ve had others who made every decision feel like walking a tightrope without a net. The difference between the two isn’t just leadership style — it’s how much they actually care (or don’t) about your growth and wellbeing.

    We don’t always get to choose our bosses. But if you find a good one, it’s worth more than a fancy title, a bigger salary, or a well-known brand. Because at the end of the day, your job satisfaction often comes down to one question: who’s in your corner when it matters?

  • You’re Not in Control Here

    You tell yourself it’s just five minutes. Just a quick check; a message, the news, the weather. But forty minutes later, your thumb is still moving and you have no idea what you’ve actually gained.

    I’ve watched myself do it in bed, commuting, between tasks at work. Sometimes it’s headlines. Sometimes it’s watching strangers rip each other apart in the comments. Sometimes it’s just flipping between the same three apps like I’m hoping one of them will suddenly have the answer to absolutely nothing.

    Doom scrolling works because it pretends to put you in control; you choose when to swipe, when to stop. But it’s the other way around. The feed owns you. It’s built to drip-feed novelty, to keep you hooked even when you’re not enjoying it. And you keep coming back because you mistake stimulation for satisfaction.

    The cost isn’t just the time you lose. It’s the mental residue – the restlessness, the distraction, the weight of a hundred useless worries you’ve picked up from other people’s lives and headlines.

    If you wouldn’t let a stranger dump trash in your living room, stop letting one pour it into your head. Close the app. Walk away. Spend that hour on something that will still matter tomorrow.