The Winding Road

Here’s a new song about adventures and misadventures. Students from NUS would be familiar with the long winding path that stretches out from Utown to the bus stop – cues photo below! 🙂


Sometime in sophomore year, in the middle of the night after one dreary day of school, this little tune seeped into my mind. What’s it about? It speaks of being in the middle of a road to nowhere. Imagine starting out being so dead sure about your passions, your decisions. But along the way, you start realising that hmm perhaps that’s not quite what you wanted. It’s one of those dreaded moments when you go – oh shit, I think it’s the wrong way. And there’s nothing worse than feeling that there’re no hopes of turning back to where you started.

I picked this original to publish for the first month of 2018 because I foresee finding myself and all other soon-to-be graduates in such situations a lot this year. In the here and now, I’m thankful that my interests have stayed rather consistent thus far – be it for songwriting or for Sociology. But who knows where post-graduation would take all of us?

I simply hope that all my friends and I would find ourselves on roads that fulfil our hearts’ desires. And “If (we) find that (we’re) not, I hope (we) have the courage to start all over again.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald.


I’ll be on my way to the yellow brick road
I’ve heard a calling in my wildest dream I swear
I’ve packed my bags I’m all ready to go
I’ll be gone by the time night turns into dawn

I’ve been warned of all the monsters in my way
Still I thought with this shiny armour I’d be okay
But I was wrong, boy I was wrong

The winding road seems a little too long to see the end
Seems a little too dark to walk alone
But it’s a little too late to turn back
And a little too far away from home (X2)


I’ll be on my way to the yellow brick road
I’ve heard that treasures pile up in mountains there I swear
I’ll keep my eyes peeled on those fields of gold
I’ll be richer than the richest and as happy as a newborn

I’ve been warned that jewels can drown you with their weight
Still I thought opportunity never waits
But I was wrong, boy I was wrong

The winding road seems a little too long to see the end
Seems a little too dark to walk alone
But it’s a little too late to turn back
And a little too far away from home (X2)


I’ve hesitated posting this up for a while now because I find it regretful that I have just been posting up my originals consecutively. It’s not that any reader would find it irksome. It’s just that I have not been keeping up with purely writing, an act which I do miss and still do enjoy tremendously.

So the excerpt from above, which explains the genesis of the song, is a little different from what I’ve posted on other social media platforms thus far. Not a big deal at all, but at least slightly better than the copy-and-paste content I’ve done for my originals so far.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, I hope you’re well 🙂 And I hope that the next time you drop by here again, I’d be welcoming you with new pieces of writings.



Somewhere Nice

Here’s a new original that I co-wrote with Lingyun for our favourite Christmas season 🙂 The genesis of this song came from days of looping Joanna Dong’s joyful jazz rendition of 老实情歌 on Sing! China, and a couple of carolling practices with Hwa Chong Voices that got me in the Christmas mood!

Am beyond grateful to Lingyun for ploughing through the lyrics and the harmonies with me, allowing the song to take a new life of its own! Also check out her covers on insta @infrondem! Her smooth jazzy vocals are #goals! Special mention to Zhong Yi for helping us figure out the chords, and Callie for helping with the ukulele tabs so that I can play the accompaniment with greater ease. I wish I had half the talent of all of you oh gosh. Without your help, this song might very well only be completed next Christmas.

With that, there’s no better way for Lingyun and I to wish you a Merry Christmas than to present you with our song! It’s not perfect, but we sure hope it’s enough to bring you to a happy place this Christmas. Enjoy! 🙂
If you have a uke and want to play it too, here is the link for the chords:
Somewhere nice is where we’re going tonight
Somewhere nice the bells will shimmer into twilight
Somewhere nice is where the choirs will sing tonight
Somewhere nice is where I know we’ll be alright
And we’ll jingle along to our favourite songs
Under all the Christmas lights
Nothing sweeter than the smiles on the streets
And we’ll dance in our pretty new shoes
To the happiest of tunes
We’ll be part of something nice
Somewhere nice a feast of turkey with candlelight
Somewhere nice waistlines will surely fade out of sight
Somewhere nice is where the trees will light up in sparkling delight
Somewhere nice our cuddles will be extra warm and tight
What a lovely sight to see
Waited all year long for this
There’s no better way to say
Merry Christmas to you!!!


“Human” is a song borne out of a very trivial mistake. During an event, I absentmindedly misplaced an item borrowed from a venue personnel and frantically went back to him. As it turned out, he found the item lying around unattended and kept it on my behalf. He proceeded in chiding me nonetheless. Having made that mistake (God knows how careless I am), and compounded with other issues then, I went home feeling really terrible about myself.

A few days later, I sat down with my guitar and three words popped up, “I’m only human.” As I started writing, I figured that there really is no need to pick myself apart for the mistakes I’ve made. It’s not as though they were heinous crimes.

One quarter into Honours year, I think this message is more important than ever. More chase, more haste, more mistakes – I’ve honestly never seen friends around me this stressed out before. But this song’s a reminder to them and to myself: Don’t forget that you are only human, and sometimes, it doesn’t hurt to be a little kinder to yourself. 

Have a good day y’all!


It’s a funny world out there
People striving for their best
But who can keep up with the chase?
At least not without falling from grace

And I’m just one of them
Caught up in this mad race
Beating myself up over smallest of mistakes
But God knows who is keeping score

Sometimes we forget we’re only human
Perfection was never once an option
Sometimes we fall short of expectations
But were there ever rules to this game?

We’re only human x3

Sometimes we forget we’re only human
Making the best of what we have
We wear our calluses as medals
When all we want is a warm embrace

Alien Tongues, Brilliant Minds

One year ago, during one of my tutorial classes, I met a classmate from China, J, who was on exchange in Singapore then. The professor split all of us up into small groups to discuss answers for the tutorial questions. J ended up in the same discussion group as me.

As soon as we settled into our groups, J began flipping through his stack of assigned readings which were filled with boundless highlights, underlines and scribbles. He also brought along two pieces of foolscap paper, in which the answers to the tutorial questions had already been written down neatly.

Peculiarly, even though he had evidently prepared for the questions, he did not speak much during our discussion at all. When he did, he always stumbled over his words, and we always end up finishing all his sentences, or worse, making up new sentences for him.

To be very honest, in a curious way, I had felt a inexplicable sense of superiority over him there and then. That was despite the fact that I knew I had come to class half as prepared as he was. I was leading the discussion; I was expressing (his) ideas to the group confidently; I was speaking fluently in English.

After the tutorial, we chatted a little, and I found out surprisingly that he came from Fudan University, the university that I was about to go for student exchange the following semester! We exchanged contacts excitedly, and headed off to our next classes.

Fast forward one semester later, I realised that not only was I in the same university as him, we were taking the same course too. That course required us to do a group project, and J was kind enough to approach me to join his project group, considering that I did not know anyone there, and that local students tend not to group with students on exchange for fear that they will slack off.

On my way to our first meeting, I remember being rather nervous. I had done some research prior to the meeting, and I wished I would come off as helpful during the meeting – just not some slacker on exchange basically.

Upon the arrival of other group mates, J enthusiastically introduced me to them as “the new singaporean exchanger in school”. As we started our meeting, there were two things that struck me immediately. First, J was clearly the unofficial leader of the group. He shared with us the outline of the project that he had in mind, and asked for our opinions. He was SO confident, so in control, so different from the person I had known in the classroom just one semester ago.

Second, amidst streams of Chinese sociology terminologies, I was clearly … lost. Sure, J made the effort to pause time to time to explain what the terms meant to me, but I felt a little more embarrassed than comforted because I felt that I was wasting my group mates’ time. I later tried to express my project ideas to them in choppy Singaporean Chinese, and was not the least surprised that none of my ideas were adopted eventually.

I left the meeting feeling extremely shi*ty about myself.

That module was my hardest module that semester in Fudan University. I spent a lot of time in class getting awed at just how brilliant my classmates were, and getting upset at just how inferior I was to them. I spent a week ploughing through Chinese articles for our project, and only managed to churn out a page or two out of our twelve page report.

In spite of all of that, I must say that this experience was such a humbling one. The stark contrast between the sense of superiority I had felt back home and the sense of inferiority I had felt in a foreign land taught me this – to never judge the mind of a person by his or her language (or the lack thereof).

In my Cultural Anthropology class, we learnt that language is an integral part of one’s cultural capital. It signifies your class and group membership. As a result, we often mistake one’s inadequacy in language for one’s stupidity (sorry for the lack of a better word), and one’s proficiency in language for one’s brilliance.

For example, in the case of foreign workers in Singapore, many would perceive them as less educated, or worse – less than human – simply because they engage in low-paying jobs and speak a language foreign to us. But upon befriending these workers, I realised that their views are much deeper and more profound than I can ever imagine. Some would speak of politics back home in Bangladesh and others would share about their pursuit of further studies in Singapore.

So, I don’t know if intelligence can be objectively measured, but I sure do know that the perception of one’s intelligence is relative, subjective, and perhaps even constructed. You can totally be a genius in one culture, and be an absolute idiot in another.

There is a time, a place, and most importantly, a culture for everyone to shine. And none of us have the right to judge anyone (or ourselves) just when and where that may be.


Just 3 days ago, I witnessed two other Singaporean contestants, Olivia Cho and Stella Seah make it through the first round of auditions in Sing! China(中国好声音), the first being Joanna Dong. It was such an ecstatic moment that I almost let out a squeal.

However, it was not long till I found a similar thread amongst the background stories of these Singapore born contestants, especially for Joanna and Olivia. Both are aspiring singers who have hustled hard in Singapore’s music scene for a (very) long time, but eventually find it too difficult to make a living out of music in Singapore, let alone carve a name for themselves, and decides to get out in the world and see where that leads them.

A part of me feels incredibly proud of them, but another sees the heart wrenching side of these stories. Because of our population, Singapore’s music industry is small. I get that. But the even more disheartening reality is that there is little desire from Singaporeans to know of, to get acquainted with, to uplift our very own music talents.

Talents like the three mentioned above, and Nathan Hartono have done amazing gigs/ released incredible covers on Youtube long before the Sing! China programme. I’ve had the luxury of watching some of them before they had even starred in the programme. So I wonder why it always have to take a programme like Sing! China before most Singaporeans realise just how talented some of our musicians are.

Some may argue that that’s precisely the purpose of singing competitions and programmes! To put the spotlight on talents who would otherwise slip by, unnoticed by the crowd. In that case, why do several champions of high-publicity singing competitions in Singapore such as Singapore Idol still fall short in their music careers? Even as Nathan clinches second-runner up, still I hear plenty of critical commentaries from Singaporean friends about him. Putting aside individual preferences, is it that difficult for Singaporeans to applaud a fellow Singaporean for overcoming his individual strife to achieve such splendid results on the global stage? Also, for Singaporeans who are awed by Nathan’s performance on the show, will this support be continuous?

Recently, I’ve become more familiar with a few other less high-profile Singaporean bands and singers (though whether they are high profile/ low profile is entirely subjective), such as Inch Chua, Charlie Lim, Lin Ying, Marian Carmel, Jawn Chan, Monster Cat, 龚芝怡, 铃凯 etc. PS: Highly recommend YOU to check them out. Previously, I may have known of some of them, but I have only delved deeper into their stories in recent years. I dare not consider myself a music guru. I just know that when I listen to these Singaporean singer-songwriters, I feel as happy for having found good music as I feel immensely depressed about how it is possible for so many Singaporeans to not know of the existence of such talents in our home ground.

In fact, this extends way beyond the music scene. In the theatre scene, we have Kuo Pao Kun, Eleanor Wong, Tan Tarn How, Chong Tze Chien, Alvin Tan, Alfian Saat, Haresh Sharma, Oon Shu An and so many more theatre practitioners who have created a whole tapestry of the Singapore narrative in one way or another. A week ago, I caught a theatre play, Without Reason, written by a friend of mine. I definitely felt more overwhelmed by the fact that someone of our generation has taken theatre seriously enough and has painstakingly written and performed a play, than the subject-matter addressed in the play itself. Sim Yan Ying is definitely yet another up-and-coming theatre practitioner to look out for in the coming years!

In the literature scene, I have discovered, and sought emotional refuge in several Singaporean poets and authors like Jennifer Anne Champion, Cheryl Julia Wee, Krishna Udayasankar, Alvin Pang, Yeoh Jo-Ann and so many more. Let’s just say that I never knew how liberating it was to have the stories of ordinary Singaporeans shared, and by implication, my story, captured in printed ink. How nice it was, I thought, to have had HDBs and local streets as the background for the stories in the books to occur. If you would like to understand more about what I mean, I think this particular article, “What local poetry does that Shakespeare cannot” explains it pretty accurately.

On a random side note, I think that is where my anger for this year’s National Day song stems from. Having listened to songs written by Singaporean musicians, and having read plays and stories written by Singaporean playwrights and authors, I know for the matter that Singaporeans do have the words and the melodies to express who we are beyond hackneyed vocabularies like “one nation, undivided” or “everyone is family, friend, and neighbour”.

All that being said, this article is not meant for me to flaunt my knowledge of the local arts scene, or to patronise other Singaporeans who do not know so much. First, I know as much about the arts scene in Singapore as an entrepreneur would know about the start up scene in Singapore. I count myself very very lucky to have had exposure through school modules, inspiring friends who are carrying out their own artistic endeavours and a very culturally well-informed sister who works in an arts-related company.

Second, it would be naive for me to think that the arts scene in Singapore is as such because Singaporeans just don’t care. Maybe audience engagement is poor, maybe there is a lack in technical expertise, maybe Singaporeans are already accustomed to prioritising bread and butter before the arts. For the local talents that Singapore have in all fields, all I hope for is that whenever we spot one, we support one. Buy their books! Listen to their songs! Go to their plays! And most importantly, share the news, and make their brilliance known to even more people.

It’ll be a day after Singapore’s 52th National Day by the time I post this article. What do people actually mean when they say ‘I love Singapore’? ‘Nation’ is too abstract a term for me. ‘Love’ too. One thing’s for sure though – that a nation’s made up of its people. I’m proud that mine is inhabited by such a brilliant bunch, and for me at least, to love is to uplift.

So here’s a reminder to myself, and an earnest plea to you – uplift, uplift, UPLIFT.

Farewell Letters

Friends would know what a fanatic I am for letters, especially farewell letters. But some goodbyes are harder than others. So here’s a song I’ve written, dedicated to every mate I’ve met in my 5 months in China.

Also, first collab with a friend whose ukulele cover of一期一会 ( Ichigo Ichie, or “one opportunity, one encounter”) laid the seed of inspiration for this song 

上海 | 无锡 | 张家界 | 北京 | 桂林 | 南京 | 四川 | 云南

I predict that I’ll be back in China v v soon. 😥


Days fluttered by
Sprinkled with a taste of blue
Spring came on by
And it left without a clue

We jumped at every opportunity to
See the world as it is
Its beauty and the not-so-pretty scenes
Fill us all with endless glee

But as quick as the wither of the flowers,
Our time for the ground has arrived
So we packed our bags up for our very last ride

I’d send my goodbyes in a letter to you,
In a letter to you, my friend
And I’d send my goodbyes in a letter to you,
In a letter to you, my friend

Words flickered on
Empty pages of the book
They can’t seem to bear
The weight of ink-soaked memories

(pre chorus)



Years will pass and we’ll meet again
Years will pass and we’ll meet again

Treat People as Humans, not Specimens

Today, I decided to head to Shanghai’s People’s Park (人民公园) for a fieldwork for my Marriage and Family module. People’s Park is renowned for its marriage market, where distressed parents put up qualities of their unwed children, in hopes of finding their children suitable partners for marriage. I couldn’t decide on a topic for my final paper, so I thought I’d find some inspiration there.

With my DSLR slung on my neck, and a notebook and a pen in my bag, I was ready to hit the busy crowd of People’s Park. Upon arrival, a swarm of sociologically interesting sights and scenes overwhelmed me – the sheer number of elderly “promoting” their children, their conversations with one another, the umbrellas with the children’s qualifications and the parents’ expectations of their partners attached to them and more. I began snapping away. Ah, an old lady looking for a partner for her child even when she’s wheel chair bound? Take the photo quick. It’d make an interesting photograph (with a story that is).

“小妹!(Miss!), ” someone called out to me. I turned behind, slightly surprised to find an old lady who asked me, “你拍这些照是干什么的?你是记者吗? (Why are you taking these photos? Are you a journalist?)” I thought she looked kind of hostile, probably because she thought I was another journalist, trying to dig some news about unique Chinese traditions, and taking street photos of these elderly without permission. I immediately diffused the tension with an awkward smile, explaining that I’m an exchange student from Singapore who’s just here out of curiosity. To my relief, she let her guards down, and even started chatting with me about her situation, why she was worried that her daughter would not find a partner, the imbalanced gender ratio in China and more. Later, this conversation led to the next, as I spoke to her friend next to her as well.

Not bad, I thought, this fieldwork research was progressing better than I had expected. I had felt rather jittery before coming here, because nothing scares me more than having to approach strangers, and attempting to make conversations that are hopefully sociologically valuable. But there I was, having found someone who resembled the “Doc” in a sociology classic, Street Corner Society. For the benefit of non-sociology readers, this means having found someone who is willing and able to help you infiltrate into a group that you are studying. This is perhaps one of the most crucial steps for a sociologist during fieldwork – to become an insider instead of an outsider.

2 interviewees down. I reviewed the information I received again, and figured that while the old lady and her friend provided me useful details, their circumstances were too similar. I need variety in this sample. So thereafter, I took another stroll around People’s Park. Then, I saw an old man who is advertising for his daughter and son, which was rare since most people in their generation only had one child due to the one child policy. I saw elderly advertising for their children who are studying or working overseas. I also saw a 40 year-old lady advertising for herself, plausibly the only one in the marriage market thus far.

Good. Let me talk to all 3 then. That’ll make the number of interviewees 5. Whole numbers sound good to me anyway. So, having tasted a few successes with my previous “interviewees”, I approached the lady advertising for herself next, with more confidence than I had initially.

“你好勇敢哦。你是我在这里看到的,第一个为自己找伴侣的。(You’re so brave. You are the first person I’ve seen here, who is finding a partner for yourself.)”

She let out an awkward smile.

I started to worry a little. She reacted to my comment, but did not say anything after that. How should I continue this conversation?

“你在这里多久了?(How long have you been here?)”I asked. I considered it quite a basic question to ask, since I had asked the same question to the old lady and her friend before, and this question opened them up to sharing just how worried they are about their children, because they had tried so long but to no avail.

“有一段时间了。(It has been some time.)” This answer left me dissatisfied. ‘Some time’ is too vague. For the research to be more significant, more specific answers are needed.

I knew for a fact that the conversation was going nowhere. She was not open in sharing more information. Was it because she did not trust me, considering that I was just a random stranger? At this point of time, I panicked. It’s a bad habit of mine to slur my words when I feel that I have lost control in a conversation, and especially when I feel that the other party distrusts me or does not feel comfortable around me.

“其实,其实我是个学生。因为好奇,才来这里看看的…… 嗯,我是读社会学的。所以对婚姻与家庭比较感兴趣。(Actually, actually, I’m a student. I’m here only out of curiosity… Erm, I study sociology, so I’m rather interested in issues of marriage and family,)” I explained, as if to justify the slew of questions that might have seemed strange to her.

She simply nodded her head. I immediately knew that I was fighting a losing battle here. Should I let the conversation end? But she’s the only person advertising for herself at People’s Park here. Since it is so rare, I have to put this in my findings. I just have to. How many weeks, days, or months has she been here? Has she tried finding a marriage partner through dating apps instead? Aren’t the chances of finding a marriage partner here much smaller? Why is she still here then? Why is it her but not her parents who are here? I still have so many questions left unanswered. I can’t just stop the conversation here.

I decided to try again, “你想要来这里是你自己的意思吗?还是父母要你来的?你的父母会担心 –?(Did you come here on your own accord? Or were you pressurised by your parents? Are your parents worried – ?)”

She cut me off – not rudely – and said, “你能不能不要问了呀,你问了我心里很难受。(Do you mind if you stopped asking me questions? It is making me feel very upset.)

That was clearly the last straw for her. I halted, expressed my apologies hastily, and walked away.

I couldn’t quite remember where I headed to after that, except that I ended up finding on a rock in the middle of nowhere in the park, and sat there sobbing uncontrollably for god knows how long.

‘WTF were you thinking?’ I asked myself again and again. A pang of guilt hit me real hard, because I suddenly realised how hurtful my questions must have been to her for her to let out such a begging request. What’s worse was that I had not even realised it prior to her stopping me.

It had to take this much for me to start empathising with her. Now, imagine for a moment that you’re unmarried at the age of 40. That’s notwithstanding the fact that you are a female in a culture where women are expected to wed before the age of 30. Here you are at People’s Park, having mustered all your courage to find a partner for yourself. Most people here are desperate parents, and you stick out like a sore thumb. Streams of people walk by, evaluating you from your job, your educational qualifications, your hukou status to your height, your weight, your face… basically everything. You don’t quite like that, but you do it anyway not just because you “have time to spare” but because you buy in the idea that time is running out for you as a woman. Single children are often unhappy when their parents advertise for them. You are different though. You don’t mind it that much. In fact, you choose to find a partner by yourself. Because the one thing that you want more than anything else is to be – happy. The thing is, you have been doing this every week for weeks and months now and still, nothing much has changed.

One day, out of the blue, a wide-eyed student approaches you, and commends you for being brave. Should you take that as compliment or mockery? She asks you, “How long have you been here?” Should you tell her you have been here for months and still nobody wants you? She tells you that she’s a sociology major. So she’s speaking to you now because…? Because you’re not ‘normal’ like everyone else in society? How should you feel about that? She asks you why you are here. Is that even a question? If you were happily married like most women of your age, is there a need to be here at all? And the worst of them all – she asks persistently, with an irksome oblivion of the luxury of time she has as a lady right in the dawn of her youth. How small must you have seemed to her?

I imagined how hurt I would have felt had I been in her shoes, and these thoughts crushed me. It might sound a tad too dramatic, but it is close to, or I can say, downright unethical to exploit someone’s pain just for the sake of “research”, not to mention in such an insensitive and crude way. The whole time, I was so caught up with fulfilling my interviewee count and quenching my thirst for answers to “important” questions, that I overlooked the most important but taken for granted fact that here in front of me is a living breathing being with a personal history unbeknownst to anyone but herself.

When I eventually calmed myself down, I tried making up to her the only way I knew how to, which was to write. I took out a piece of paper, wrote her a letter expressing my sincerest apologies, and had just enough courage to hand it to her. I had always known spoken language to be my nemesis, but I had wished then that my written language could heal in someway or another.

Never embarrass your respondent; your respondent is your priority; talk through sensitive topics empathetically so that your respondent will be open to sharing more, my teachers say. Yet, no amount of lessons can prepare anyone for the real deal. I won’t deny that today made me seriously doubt if I can ever do qualitative research work or journalism or just about anything that requires me to speak to people a lot in the future. That to me is quite very tragic because as much as I desire to connect with people and understand the intricacies that come with them, I unfortunately lack the means to do so. I’m not new to this realisation that has gnawed at me for years and years now, but that’s a topic for another day. Conversing with grace, and above all, tenderness, is an art that I might very well never master, but I’d gladly take today’s encounter as a lesson anyway.