The key difference between lived experiences and anecdotes.
I was pondering the idea of lived experiences yesterday for a couple of reasons. Chiefly, I was walking to the gym at around 10.30pm when I bumped into a couple of ladies on their way home.
I’m keenly aware of the fact that some women feel threatened by men at night. If I’m walking behind them, I usually make lots of noise and hum to myself so it doesn’t seem like I’m stalking them.
Today, I was approaching from the front. I wasn’t sure if I should move to…
On NTU’s (and Singapore’s) mixed response to Covid-19, and why it’s probably more difficult that most of us realise.
Yes, it’s another opinion from someone that isn’t an epidemiologist, medical professional, civil servant, etc etc. To make a long story short, I’ve been hearing a ton of divisive views with regards to Singapore’s response to Covid-19, both from the “It’s too much!” and “It’s too little!” camp.
Mainly from my dad — because he somehow managed to straddle both camps within the span of a few months.
The disease went from a deadly pandemic to flu 2.0 within a couple…
Reflection, if need standfirst then Ill think of one
On August 7, I boarded 857 and sank into a seat on the upper deck. For a while, I sat and stared out the window: at rows of brightly lit shophouses peddling everything from saris to samosas; at crowded bars, serving up craft beer and bar bites to blaring pop music; and most of all, at the upper levels of the shophouses, where heavily-laden clotheslines strung across the room were silhouetted against bare light bulbs, hanging above the heads of men calling home.
Eventually, the bus climbed the ramp onto the…
How a random bus number tells my Go-Far story
I’m not going to lie.
I thought of this story on 857, while I was — surprise surprise — going home from Little India one evening on 857. I’d just gone to The Butcher’s Block the night before, also via 857, and found the contrast both jarring and refreshing.
After all, how often do you take a bus to end off an internship with an elegant dinner, featuring (among other delights) 7-day dry-aged-ish turbot; tuna marrow (which actually tastes rather like nothing; an onion with cream sauce; and ceviche that was…
The shophouses of Little India are a vibrant mix of restaurants, department stores and groceries catering largely to Singapore’s South Asian community. In the living quarters upstairs, migrant workers with various work-related disputes wait for their cases to be settled — often for a long time.
Mr Alam Jahangil, 49, has been jobless since 2018. The construction worker hurt his wrist while working and claims he has not been paid his salary while on medical leave or received any compensation.
While waiting for the Ministry of Manpower’s ruling on the dispute with his employer, he has been living above a…
How a misreading (oops) of Hannah Arendt’s seminal work kinda fits well into the whole Joanna Theng v Gays debacle
Tired and anxious, I dragged myself back from yet another Go-Far meeting — a different story for another day — and reached home at eleven. After showering, my phone buzzed. I snatched it from my desk. Could it be something about Go-Far — a different story for another day — or was it something else?
Thankfully, it was something else. One of our more prominent (read: rich, socialite) fellow students in WKW decided to star in City Revival Church’s video…
Well, not literally. The airy coffee-spiked pastry, and other ilk of the olfactory sort, have fallen to the advent of cheese pulls, oozes and other methods of flow
About a decade-and-a-half ago, coffee buns had a glorious year or two in the limelight as the pastry du jour. It was a simple formula: crispy coffee-crusted buns with a hidden butter center.
Now, I’m no food historian — nor do I pretend to be — and can only attest to the existence of a food trend for as long as, well, I notice it. Rotiboy / Papparoti and the myriad of…
It’s difficult to put a relationship into words. Unless you’re a mad writer like me
There’s plenty of ways to start this letter. Maybe going into our sordid affairs during the early days of exchange, or going on a full cliched walk down memory lane, exhaustively mentioning every moment that led us from friends to fuckers. I could even talk about you being there for me, and vice versa, at the tail-end of our previous relationships.
But I won’t (especially since I’ve managed to fit in all three — how’s that for meta). Cliche really is the death of good…
Or more accurately, a weird mix of Japanese food porn and feels.
When I was younger, my parents used to bring us to Johor Bahru every weekend. If the idea of waking up at 7am every Saturday after a night of gaming doesn’t thrill you, don’t worry: I hated it too. I would’ve rather been left to my own devices, especially since I didn’t really get any direct benefits from cheap petrol and cheaper groceries.
That is, until we discovered a coffeeshop that ended up being my family’s favourite. My parents liked this Penang-style Hokkien mee (or prawn mee as…