Liew Life

Some days arrive with a plan. They come with alarms set the night before, reservations saved in our phones, places to be, people to meet, and something waiting for us at the end of the day.    There are birthdays. Flights. Promotions. Holidays. Long-awaited dinners.   Days when we dress a little better, take more pictures than usual, and somehow know  – even while we are living them – that we will probably remember them later.   And then there are days like today. A Saturday with nowhere particularly important to go.    I woke up without needing to rush.  There was no meeting waiting for me, no suitcase by the door, no itinerary to follow. Outside, the world continued as usual, but inside the apartment, everything felt slower.    My mom was here with me.   And perhaps that was the only plan I really had for the day – to stay home, accompany her, and let the hours pass without asking too much from them.    It sounds almost ...

December. The month everyone seems to wait for  –  including me. Something about its presence feels different, almost magical. Shops,  cafés, and streets start playing Christmas jingles as if the whole world is softly whispering,  “The season is here”.   It’s not exactly a holiday season for me this year. I'm not going anywhere; I’m staying put, saving my leave days for another time. But December doesn’t need a plane ticket to feel special. It carries its own atmosphere  – quiet, reflective, familiar – reminding me that the year is coming to an end, and somehow... that already feels like a destination.   A Month That Holds a Mirror As the days fold into one another, I can’t help but look back. Twelve months sound long, but somehow they pass as quickly as a single breath. Yet within that breath, so many things happened – changes, moments, conversations, fears, victories, even the small things we though didn’t matter.   But they  did . Every fr...

The sunlight slips through the tall glass windows just after seven. It’s warm, soft, and quietly persuasive – the kind of light that makes the world look a little gentler than usual. I sit with my oat latte, feeling the first calm breath of the morning. For once, the city hasn’t started rushing yet. And maybe, for once, neither have I.   I don’t usually sit directly under the sun, but today the light feels like an invitation – not to move faster, but to slow down. To sit, to feel, to be. In this small moment, I wish time could stretch just a little longer.   Then a thought appears, as sudden as the sunlight shifting on my table:   Time is the only thing that never changes, yet we keep asking it to.   When life is heavy, we want the days to disappear. When happiness arrives, we want the minutes to stay. We hope time will adjust to our feelings, our seasons, our pace. But time refuses to wait – for joy, for pain, for clarity, for us.   Still, we blame it. We say t...

A Self Reflection About Stepping Out, Breathing In, and Finding Myself Again Sitting outdoors has never really been my thing. I’ve always carried a strange comfort in being surrounded by walls – the kind of stillness that feels safe, the kind of quiet that doesn’t ask for anything from me. My home has always been my shelter, my familiar cocoon where the world stays outside and I get to stay untouched by it for a while.   But today, something shifter. Something gentle, subtle, almost like a soft pull inside my chest. And before I knew it, I found myself stepping out of my door, out of my routine, out of the tiny box I’ve built around my everyday life. I ended up at a café with an open courtyard, where the view stretched wider than what I’m used to. Bricks warmed by the sun, leaves hanging lazily from tall trees, clouds drifting like slow dancers in the sky.    The sun was lowering itself gently as if it was tired too, and the wind brushed past me – cool, patient, almost te...

Just wanna laugh. I opened my laptop with full intention to write my blog – and then it hit me.  I broke the streak.   The streak I’ve been proudly keeping all year: one post, every month, without fail. And now, it’s gone. Quietly. Slipped away without warning.    Honestly, I don’t even know how to feel about it. Part of me is… okay with it? Maybe even a little proud.  Because it means I’ve been so caught up in life, in  doing  things, in being productive – that I didn’t even realize the time passed. But another part of me, the part that made this commitment on New Year’s Day, feels a bit disappointed. Like I let a small version of me down. The kind of disappointed that no one else might understand – but I do.    It might seem like a small thing to others.  But to me, it mattered.    Well, let the past be past. What matters is this moment – this month.  And this month… I turned 27.   No big surprises, no loud celebrat...