FYiP 2017. 

(Post-show and just a gathering of reflections made.) 

I have never really had the task, and privilege, of having to create from scratch. As a young performer, I usually get projects with ready scripts and become a pure actor in terms of my role. Within that scope of acting, is my freedom. And this time, it is almost like I had so many things to think about; so much control and unfamiliar spaces of exploration. 

It is a luxury, in certain ways. Theatre is severely beautiful but in the world of economics, it is close to impossible to create original work all by yourself. 

It boils down to funds, connections and the themes you choose to present. Venues are expensive, even if you choose to work with minimal props. How are you planning to fill up the seats? Publicity, sponsors and having to prove your worth to paying audiences?  And of course, you have to pay your crew and your designers, especially on a very professional platform. 

We should not perpetuate the cycle of starving artists when we are in the field ourselves. It is almost hypocrisy. 

So this chance to present something in my voice, under the school’s wing, has been the greatest gift to me. This has been an experience to remember. I think, I grew the most during this short term of ten weeks or less. 

Having to put a script together and picking a topic from the millions out there, was the starting point. Spoilt for choice but limited by time and resources, I had to take something and stick with it. There is no time to hesitate and be fickleminded about. 

Time was always ticking. And going off in my mind every now and then. 

At this point, I want to thank every single person that opened up to me and sat through personal conversations. Inspirational and raw in their own ways, it sparked my determination and my own commitment to dig deep into my experiences. 

It has been difficult and despite warnings that it is going to be an emotional journey, stubbornness is always a strong suit of mine. For better or for worse. Hahaha. 

Some days, I read the script and end up crying by the second page. Other days, I simply get by. 

But I am so thankful for my guides – my teachers and the handful of my close companions. It is a wonder that I got to where I did with my work and how I managed to be vulnerable about something I have held onto so tightly so long. All the encouragement, problem solving, going deeper into the text and forcing the performer to emerge, breaking down this wall of distance and working the space, the physicality of body and still being supportive despite my consistently shit insomnia and attendance. 

I don’t talk much, and most days, I try to disappear in school as much as possible. But I have been reminded of kindness and that relationships go beyond what might occupy my mind 24/7 and kill me slowly. 

And with this work, thank you to everyone that turned up, got tickets or sent me notes to lift me up. I might not be the most visible or the hand that reaches out often enough to upkeep friendships, but all of you do mean a lot. So thank you, even though it will never be enough for all the support all these years since my decision to pursue theatre. 

I am touched, and happy that I finished what I wanted to do. And glad I had people with me, throughout. 

I am going to zone out for a bit now. Will post more of my thoughts when they come to me. xx



(Slightly delayed post but my eyes still hurt, my mind still processing and my breath still trying to catch up to my heartbeat.) 

I surprised myself to say that I would stay. 

Bringing up reasons of youth and being career-driven, it was an amazing opportunity to leave. A reason that was completely unjustified and a betrayal big enough to walk out the door. Never looking back. 

Lying, and betrayal are never justifiable. 

It was insane for something like this to trigger a landslide of emotions. Perhaps it was also my being thrown into a state of disbelief. After all, I would have never expected him to lie to me. Maybe I was a complete fool to think that handing my trust so freely is the best thing to do. And that me only giving honesty would allow the same space for the other to do the same. 

Guess I was wrong, and learning it now is better than never. That, I will forever be grateful. 

The weekend was painful. Walking down the river, breaking the more I walked and crying for almost 24hours is not even funny anymore. My breath couldn’t catch up to the crying. My eyes shrunk in size as the tears were messing up the face. My hand permanently clenched, shoulders locked and teeth biting my lips. 

A contradiction of giving up. Feeling tension all over but spirits drunk on misery. 

The questioning is always the worst, and I did all that to myself. Somehow this is one habit that never really goes away. 

Possibilities of other lies came up. Insecurities screaming in dead silence. Accusations, insults and blame accumulated in my mind, with some spilt.

The noisier my mind, the more I needed silence. 

So why stay? 

This is a risk worth taking. Maybe it will turn out to become a “told you so” moment, but at this point in time, I find my feet planted and my heart still somewhere else. Because I let it be there. 

If I was hurting so much, maybe there is something there – a feeling, a comfort and a person I still hold onto. Maybe the pain in that moment was the perfect illustration of me needing this other being, in some way that cannot be rationally described. And I knew, my hurt was not alone and was fully coupled with his. 

Maybe I am staying because I recognised him. 

Leaving has always been easy, for me at least. Learning to stay is the difficult part. And maybe my definition of “need” has to be further thought about and reflected upon. Maybe I need people in different ways that they need me. 

And I need to find that, instead of cancelling every relationship I discover. 

But I draw the lines and I know, anytime it gets too much, too cruel I can walk away. Only after trying. 

I have to sit in this fire. Let it burn and go through this process to come out alive, in a different way. Perhaps with someone else’s hand to hold. 


(I have decided that I can’t cope with wanting to do many things, and still have the energy for the commitments I cannot let go of now. Then today, I decided to look through the dates of posts I have queued onto this blog. I realised that the queue is ending soon, and I need to do something about it. An audible sigh escaped my lips, then I realised that if I chose to just let go of this moment. 

I can. And I will. 

And I will never come back to this space of writing, nonsense, random thoughts and ideas I have.) 

It is so easy to give up on something sometimes. 

And when you discover the ways in which you give things up, 

It is always during moments of weakness. 

And in that moment, you lose everything. 

It has always been will power that keeps you living. Not your breath, or your passions, or your youth. It has always been will power. 

And when you lose will power, you stop living. Because nothing has a purpose any longer, and you can just stay in a spot. Never moving. Waiting for age to catch up or your body to fail, because your will power has left you. 

It has always been this easy to give up. At least for me. 

And I realise that all these things I make myself do – school, writing, maintaining friendships, planning for a future, juggling a job – are not compulsory. I do that because I fear losing my sense of purpose, of self and my will power. 


But the higher you climb, 

The harder you fall. 

And you will always fall. 

It’s about picking yourself back up and going 


And I am scared I will one day choose 

To lay at the bottom 

Staring ahead and limbs dead. 

Alpha Beta Love. 

(SingPoWriMo. Last month.)

Adversity is merely 

Bruises that will 

Cure themselves fully, once

Days get better. 

Expiry can just mean numbers, 

Forever; a nuanced concept of

Going nowhere. 

He made promises to have them broken. 

I, still trying to search for reasons

Just to bridge lessons never taught. 

Kiss the undeserving goodbye, let 

Loneliness keep me company. 

Man is not an island, but I am born in a

Nation only as big as its mind – 

One is a crowd.

Pride is where I lost him, ego just the

Question he can never answer. 

Return home to recover – where is my heart anymore?

Surrender to feelings and rub out 

Tyrian purple bruises; pain just an 

Undercurrent for healing. 

Violence is a language 

Where he still lives; he is a

Xerarched soul and my dried lips a reminder. 

Yearning, still, for the twilight 

Zone – after all, bruises heal. 


Do numbers really justify everything? Number of likes, number of followers, number of friends, number of As, number of credit cards, number of our waits and thighs. Must we really count everything? Do the digits have to mean something, for everything that we do? 

Majority, minority. 

Pie charts. Graphs. Polls. 

Weighing scale and height measurement. 

In the end, almost everything is a business. Or is it? Even when money is not involved? How is that justifiable? 

And can’t we just keep believing that there’s a greater good in what we do? Some day, all this effort will pay off and we will be able to proudly say we have built a vision with our two bare hands. 

Even when numbers were not keeping up, and numbers are smaller than our purpose. 

Can hardwork, heart and belief be counted?