A small harbour for the things I would otherwise let drift.

Bukit Merah View Kampong Bahru the canal

I write from a tenth-floor flat on Bukit Merah View, where the corridor light comes on at dusk and the kettle takes two boils before I sit down properly. This is not a diary with deadlines, nor a place where I tell you what to do with your mornings. It is simply where I put small observations before they slip away — the uncle at the kopitiam who leaves a wet ring, the canal path after rain, a folded corner in a book I was reading on the MRT. If you have found your way here, you may as well start with the shelf.

View from a high corridor overlooking trees and HDB blocks in Bukit Merah at late afternoon — Bukit Merah View, from the corridor — late afternoon, before the second shower

From this height I can see the tops of trees along the park connector and, on clear evenings, a strip of sky that turns plum before it goes dark. I have lived in this neighbourhood long enough to know which lift arrives first and which bench by the canal stays dry longest after a shower. The blog began because I kept losing sentences — things I meant to write down on the walk home, then forgot by the time I reached the tenth floor. A neighbour once asked whether I was working on a book. I said no, just notes, and she nodded as though that made perfect sense. I think it does. Some people photograph everything; I write the parts that would otherwise evaporate. The six pieces below are the ones I have finished enough to show. They are not ranked by importance, only typed out in the order I finally sat down — newest first, because that is how my shelf works at home too.

Morning light on a kopitiam table with a kopi cup and wet ring on the surface

15 July 2026

The Uncle and the Wet Ring

He comes every morning before the fans are fully awake, sets his cup down without looking, and leaves a perfect circle on the laminated table. I watched him do it for three weeks before I understood it was the point — not carelessness, but a small mark that says someone was here and will be back tomorrow.

Paved path beside a canal after rainfall with wet railings and overhanging trees

20 May 2026

Canal Path, After the Rain

The park connector smelled of wet concrete and cut grass, and the railing held beads of water long after the sky cleared. Two cyclists passed without ringing their bells. I walked slower than usual because the path was still deciding whether to dry.

Evening exterior near Chin Swee Road with HDB windows lit and a distant streetlight

12 November 2025

From My End of Kampong Bahru

I was walking home from dinner near Tiong Bahru when the sirens started from the direction of Chin Swee Road. I saw lights on a facade and kept walking. I still do not know what happened that night — only that the corridor went quiet again by the time I put the kettle on.

Quiet MRT platform at Redhill with empty benches and fluorescent lighting

28 September 2025

A Folded Corner at Redhill

Someone had folded the page corner of a paperback left on the platform bench — not a bookmark, just a dog-ear at chapter nine. The train came before I could see the title. I think about that corner sometimes when the platform is empty and the announcement voice sounds tired.

A small lamp glowing on a window ledge against the evening dark outside

14 August 2025

The Lamp I Leave On

It is a small lamp on the ledge, nothing special, but I leave it on when I step out for a late walk so the flat does not look unoccupied from the corridor. Last week a delivery rider pointed at it and said my place looked friendly. I have kept it on since.

Concrete stairs leading up to a wet market entrance with worn handrails

3 June 2025

Fourteen Steps Up the Market

I counted them once on a slow morning: fourteen steps from the street to the market floor, each one polished by decades of slippers and trolley wheels. The fish stall is always to the left at the top. The auntie there remembers I do not take ice in my bag.

Rough pin only — the estate I write from, not the exact block.