Liew Life

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...

Here I am again. Still trying to keep my blogging streak alive – though let’s be honest, it’s more of a “monthly” streak than anything else. Today, I’m sitting in a café with a full glass wall, watching the rain hit the pavement. The reflection shimmer on the wet ground, swirled by a bit of wind. It’s peaceful in a strange way.    Life’s been so busy lately that I barely have time for myself. But even in the chaos, I feel like I’m moving forward. Like I’ve entered a new chapter. I’m focusing more on the things I actually enjoy, meeting people who inspire me, and starting most mornings with a smile – even if I end the day exhausted, at least I end it a little wiser.   Most days, I wake up at 4:30 a.m. If I’m even five minutes late, traffic turns into a nightmare. Days blur into weeks, weeks into months. And every morning, as I see so many cars on the road, it hits me – I’m not alone. We’re all fighters in our own way. Fighters of life. Sometimes I catch myself comparing my...

Here I am again–seated in my favourite spot, oatmilk vanilla latte in hand, the soft hum of the coffee shop wrapping me like a familiar song. My laptop glows in front of me, but for once, it’s not work that brings me here. It’s that quiet pull to write… to just  be .   This morning, I woke up to the news: the world has a new Pope. Even though I’m not Catholic, I felt something move inside me–like joy blooming in a place I didn’t expect. Isn’t it strange, how a single announcement halfway across the world can stir something so personal in your chest? Like the world decided to change overnight–while I was fast asleep, drifting through nothing in particular.    It made me wonder: how many things in this world are shifting while we’re unaware? While we’re just brushing our teeth, cooking breakfast, stuck in traffic, or just trying another ordinary Tuesday?   And maybe, right now, I’m shifting too.    In just a few weeks, I’ll be walking into a new chapter....

Life is kind of funny.  I remember seeing something that once felt strange—a man, sitting in the middle of a bar, laptop open. The music was loud, the crowd louder. He sat at a table with a few others, drink in hand, earphones in, eyes locked on his screen. It was like he was in a different world, writing something only he understood, even with friends around him.    I stared, not out of judgement, but curiosity.  How could someone focus in all that noise?   Years passed, and now… I am that man.    Not in a bar, but in a restaurant I’ve only visited a few times. It’s tucked inside a mall, yet it doesn’t feel like the usual kind of place where people pull out laptops. The room is big, warm with energy, filled with the scent of freshly made pasta—creamy, buttery, and slightly garlicky, the kind that instantly makes your stomach flutter. Music plays overhead, familiar songs I know by heart, though in softer, jazzier renditions. Cover versions, maybe. The ...

Growing up, we were often told things like “stop crying”, “stay strong”, or “don’t overthink it”. As kids, we let our emotions flow like a river—laughing when we were happy, crying when we were hurt, and expressing frustration without hesitation. But as we step into adulthood, it’s as if the river is expected to dry up.     Suddenly, there are rules—unspoken ones that tell us showing emotions is a sign of weakness, immaturity, or a lack of control. A frown at work might make us seem unprofessional. Tears in relationship might make us feel like a burden. Even sharing our struggles with friends can sometimes leave us wondering,  Am I too much?   So, we learn to hold it in. We press our emotions into small, invisible boxes and tuck them away, convincing ourselves that “it’s fine”, even when it’s not. But emotions don’t just disappear when ignored. They sit there, stacking up like unread messages in our minds, waiting for the moment they spill over—often in ways we ...

Just got back from my hometown after a Chinese New Year trip. And if there’s one thing I keep thinking about since then, it’s this— so this is what being an adult feels like.   The weight of responsibility sits heavier each year. Being the only son means taking care of my mom, making sure she’s okay, making sure I’m okay. My back aches at least once a week, a little reminder that my body isn’t as resilient as it used to be. My eyesight is getting worse, even though I’ve tried to cut down my screen time. I’ve been trying to eat cleaner—less carbs, less sugar, more water, and workouts six days a week. ( Tried , at least. The last time I jumped rope, I somehow hurt my back. No idea how that happened, but it did.)   And then, there’s time. It moves differently these days. Slipping through my fingers faster than I can hold onto it. One moment, I was in Japan celebrating New Year, and now? It’s already February.  How?   Spending time in my hometown felt like a break from r...

Life is full of moments where choices aren’t just decisions, they’re turning points. And right now, I’m standing at one of those moments, looking at two roads stretched out in front of me. One path feels safe, familiar, wrapped in the warmth of everything I know. The other feels uncertain, a little unknown, but it hums with the quiet promise of something new and exciting.    There’s a part of me—a loud, restless part—that long for change. It’s a craving I can’t ignore anymore, a need to step into a new rhythm, to explore a life where every step feels like growth. I imagine what it might be like to wake up in a place that challenges me, pushes me, forces me to adapt. A place where even the seasons change, reminding me that nothing in life is meant to stay the same.    But chasing that feeling means leaving so much behind. It means walking away from the people who’ve been my anchor—my mom, my sisters, my close friends. The ones who know me better than anyone, who’ve se...