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rag doll
“on people pleasing and the perfect daughter” “You’re my perfect daughter.”My mom told me that in kindergarten. I carried it like a prophecy. Straight A’s. Class monitor. Polite friends.A gold-star girl, smiling on cue. At first, it felt like love.Later, it felt like a cage. Under the stickers and praise,I wasn’t thriving. I was performing.…
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between labels
“on mixed identity, culture, and expectation“ Humans love labels.We sort and name for comfort.To know where a person begins and ends.To decide what to expect. I’ve always complicated the categories.Whether that was imposed on me,or a shape I learned to take,I’m not entirely sure.It just kept happening. One of my earliest memories: primary school.My Chinese…
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the checklist
“burnout from overachieving and the cost of doing everything right“ I used to love checklists.I loved the certainty of them.The way a tick could turn effort into proof. Master’s degree: done.Job title: presentable.Promotion: done.Visas in different countries: approved.LinkedIn summary: glowing. On paper, I was doing everything right. From the outside, it looked like I’d accomplished…
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seen, not heard
“learning silence as a performer” I grew up as a performer.It sounds neutral enough. Almost harmless.But for me, that sentence has layers. It started in primary school, when my older sister began dancing before I did.I remember my parents driving her to practice. Watching her on stage, in awe. Seeing her as part of a…
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california sun
“cultural whiplash in the light” When I think of California, I think of people who don’t apologize for existing.Confidence. Volume. Space.Freedom like it’s their middle name.After all, isn’t that what America is about? The soaring eagle and all that. Growing up, we had satellite TV, a whopping twenty channels to choose from.Yes, a whole twenty.And…
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offstage
“the quiet right before I meet myself” The shift began quietly.A slow withdrawal I barely noticed, something like identity loss in its earliest form. For years, my life lived on the screen, curated and filtered for an audience I couldn’t see but always felt. Every moment became a potential post.Every joy, something to polish.Every version…
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drift
“somewhere between where I came from and where I’m going” I left home nearly a decade ago, carrying a kind of expat grief I didn’t have language for yet. First stop: the capital.I told my mom it was just for my undergrad.She wasn’t thrilled, but I promised I’d be back after graduating.(Spoiler: I did not.)…
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auto-pilot
“when I stopped living and didn’t even notice“ I didn’t realise how long I’d been drifting.Routine is sneaky like that, it camouflages dissociation quietly and politely, almost responsibly, while you’re disappearing in plain sight.Somewhere between the motions, I stopped being. I’m showering.Twice a day, even.The water’s hot, but it might as well be a memory…
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still breathing
“riptide” I keep thinking about how lucky I must be.A small-town girl from a fishing village in Borneo, the first in my family to get a master’s degree, who lived a whole decade in London and now wakes up under California sun. It feels unreal sometimes, like the universe handed me a postcard life.Palm trees.…
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borrowed time
“what happens after” I drove to my friend’s house for lunch, unaware that I was already stepping into life after a near-death experience. We’d agreed to meet. It was on the list.My last few days in Asia were just that, a list.A blur of scheduled goodbyes and check-ins, people I needed to prove I still…
exploring mimi
becoming, still