Certificate of Participation Part III: Reading

Dear July,

We are somehow already bidding goodbye to the first half of the year.

At the beginning of 2026, I made a small New Year’s resolution to read twelve books — one each month. Well… I somehow ended up on my 26th book now. 

It seems that I am incapable of doing anything in moderation and perhaps learning not to overachieve should become one of my resolutions for 2027.

So why reading?

I often find myself wondering how much I do not know. The world is simply too big, and there is so much that I don’t know I don’t know. In a strange way, books have become a source of reassurance for me. Every meaningful book reminds me that someone else has wrestled with the same questions before, and generously left behind what they learnt.

Reading has become one of my favourite ways of understanding both the world and myself. Every meaningful book allows us to borrow another person’s lifetime. In just a few hundred pages, we inherit decades of questions, mistakes, observations, and wisdom that would otherwise have taken a lifetime to discover ourselves.

Books have become one of the ways I participate in life. Through them, I meet people I would never have met, ask questions I would never have thought to ask, and borrow perspectives I could never have lived on my own.

To everyone who has been following my reflections this year, I thought I’d do something a little different.

Instead of another reflection, here’s a small gift:

A collection of the nine books (out of the twenty-six I read this year) that have stayed with me the most, the ones that quietly shaped the way I think, create, love, and live.

Below is a collection of quotes and ideas that have stayed with me from these books. 

ART 

Art creates a profound connection between the artist and the audience. Through that connection, both can heal

Being an artist is about how and why you touch people’s lives, even if it’s one person, even if that’s yourself in the process of art making 

Art does beyond language, beyond lives. It’s a universal way to send messages between each other and through time 

LIFE AND HAPPINESS 

Happiness is the by-product of being in the right relationship with your own soul at that moment

Tension is who you think you should be , relaxation is who you are

When you are young, you have time, you have health. When you are middle aged, you have money and you have health, but you have no time. When you’re old, you have money and you have time, but you have no health. So the trifecta is trying to get all three at once. By the time people realize they have enough money, they’ve lost their time and their health 

Confucius say you have two lives, and the second one begins when you realize you only have one 

Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now, and we will never be here again

Rilke’s letters to a Young Poet, where the Young Poet is saying: “Give me the answers, give me the answers” Rilke said: you ‘re not ready to live the answers. He said, You have to live the questions, until some distant day when you live your way into the answers that are right for you. I can give you answers right now, but they don’t work for you necessarily. What works for you? Well that’s for you to figure out (There is no easy way out, we all have to live the questions to find the answers)

The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are. People often misunderstand that quote, they think it means becoming someone new. No, its not, it means gradually removing everything that isn’t you 

CAREER AND MONEY 

If you can’t see yourself working with someone for life, don’t work with them for a day

Does this path, this relationship, this career enlarge or diminish me? We usually know the answer to that question. We know it in our gut. (We just refuse to admit it at times)

Earn with your mind, not your time

Reading is the ultimate meta-skill and can be traded for anything else. Reading 1-2 hours a day puts you in the top 0.00001 percent 

ADULTS, CHILDREN, HUMANS

We are all but older children, dear - who now fret to find our bed time near 

The greatest burden that a child must wear is the unlived life of their parents 

The only thing parents can do for their children is to live their lives as fully as they can, for this will open up the children’s imagination, grant permission to them to have their own journey and open the doors of possibility for them 

LOVE AND EMOTIONS

Love is given, not received 

Emotion, which is suffering, ceases to be suffering as soon as we form a clear and precise picture of it

How it happens that only in looking for words do we find our thoughts (This is why writing / journalling helps us process our emotions better)

And if there’s one more thing I must say to you -  it is this: don’t think that the person who is trying to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes give you pleasure. His life has much trouble and sadness, and remains far behind yours. If it were otherwise, he would never been able to find those words”  (This one pierced my heart -  It made me wonder about every person who has ever comforted me during difficult seasons. Perhaps the gentlest words often come from those who have quietly suffered too)

Most people believe that love is constituted by the object, not by the faculty. Because one does not see that love is an activity, a power of the soul, one believes that all is necessary to find is the right object - and that everything goes by itself afterword. This attitude can be compared to that of a man who wants to paint, but who instead of learning the art, claims that he has just to wait for the right object and that he will paint beautifully when he finds it. If I truly love one person, I love all persons, I love the world, I love life. If I can say to somebody else, “I love you”, I must be able to say : “I love you in everybody, I love through you the world, I love in you also myself” - (Love is an art and practice. It is not something we simply find. Like art, it is something we practise. It asks for patience, discipline, humility, and courage. Perhaps loving well is an art in itself.)

Final thoughts from myself in this season: 

The right people will not make you fall in love with them, the right people will make you fall in love with life, with precious little moments, and with yourself again and again.  And.. let’s find these people and cherish them to our heart. 

Thank you to every author who quietly became a companion this year.

And thank you, as always, for reading alongside me.

Happy reading. I hope one of these books finds you at exactly the right time.

Certificate of Participation Part II: Costs

A few months ago, I painted Life’s Invitation. A few weeks ago, I wrote about participation, about showing up, about saying yes to life, and how somewhere along the way, many of us seem to have become less available to our own lives and to one another.

I still believe every word of it but what I did not write about was the costs of participation. Perhaps because I am only starting to understand it now or perhaps lately, I have simply felt a little exhausted from participating.

Participation sounds wonderful in theory.

Attend the gathering - Take the trip - Start the project - Share the work - Fall in love - Trust again.

But what we rarely talk about is what participation asks of us in return. 

Participation is expensive

To participate is to risk embarrassment; to create work that may never be understood or appreciated.

To participate is to risk rejection; to hear “no,” to be overlooked, or to realise you are not chosen.

To participate is to risk disappointment; when life unfolds differently from what you had hoped.

To participate is to risk heartbreak; to love someone who cannot love you back, or to lose someone you never imagined losing.

To participate is to risk being misunderstood; by friends, by family, or even by yourself.

To participate is to make mistakes; some small, some even irreversible.

To participate is to risk being seen; and in doing so, to discover parts of yourself you were not yet ready to face.

The strange thing is that we often admire people who participate without fully appreciating what they have paid.

• We see the artist, but not the years of self-doubt.

• We see the traveller, but not the loneliness.

• We see the person who loved deeply, but not the heartbreak.

• We see the person who seems fully alive, but not the scars that came with being alive.

Recently, I found myself struggling with this and for the first time, I was not celebrating participation.

I was questioning it

I wondered whether life might be easier from the sidelines and whether some people had discovered a secret I had not.

A quieter life.

A safer life.

A life with fewer mistakes.

But the more I sat with that thought, the more I realised that the sidelines have their costs too.

Safety has a price.

Avoidance has a price.

Distance has a price.

A life carefully protected from disappointment may also be protected from transformation.

The irony is that participation does not guarantee joy.

It does not guarantee connection.

It does not guarantee success.

What it guarantees is experience.

And maybe that is enough.

I find myself less interested in the rewards of participation and more accepting of its costs.

The embarrassment.

The uncertainty.

The heartbreak.

The mistakes.

The vulnerability.

Not because I enjoy them.

But because they seem inseparable from a fully lived life.

Maybe participation was never about winning.

Maybe it was never about getting everything right.

Maybe participation is simply our acceptance to Life’s Invitation to live, knowing that it may change or hurt us in ways we cannot predict. 

Participation asks us to be courageous 

And although there are days when I wonder whether it would be easier to stop participating altogether, I hope I never become so afraid of being hurt that I stop participating in life.

Perhaps that is why the certificate matters after all.

Not because we succeeded.

Not because we were exceptional.

But because we participated.

Even when it was difficult.

Especially when it was.

Certificate of Participation Part I: Spaces

Hello June ❤️

Writing this from Italy.

xoxo from Positano

If I could, I think I would start handing out “Certificates of Participation” to the people around me. I used to think these certificates were meaningless. I almost laughed at them, like, what is the point?

Living in this strange era, perhaps because of technology, adulthood, the pandemic, or simply the times we live in, I am beginning to see participation differently. I do feel that many of us are becoming more disconnected from real presence, real conversations, and real participation in our own lives.

Sometimes, I joke that I did not lose friends to people, jobs, or major life events. I lost them to Netflix, TikTok, social media, and endless streams of content. It feels harder than ever just to get someone out for a coffee these days. What I miss is not just the company, but the spontaneity. The unplanned conversations. The random meet-ups. The feeling that people were more available to life and to one another.

Somehow, we are all more connected than ever, yet increasingly absent.

I reminisce about how different things used to feel when we were younger, when we could spend hours sitting with friends after school, at void decks, in parks, wandering around without needing constant stimulation or entertainment. I miss how fully we participated in our own lives back then.

Modern life talks endlessly about efficiency and saving time.

Yet somehow, many of us do not quite know what to do with the time we gain.

As adults, participation no longer arrives automatically. No one asks us to try new things, no one insists that we leave the house, no one forces us to remain curious about the world.

Participation is an active choice:

A choice to stay engaged. A choice to remain present. A choice to create. A choice to feel. And sometimes, a choice to bring beauty into our everyday lives.

I have been thinking about how participation takes place in more ways than we often realize. We usually think of participation as something social, like showing up for conversations, friendships, communities, and experiences. However, participation can also happen more quietly:

In the spaces we create

In the environments we return to each day.

In the beauty we allow ourselves to live amongst

Perhaps participation in life is not only about going out to the world. Perhaps it can be as simple as creating spaces that feel more present that we can come home to ourselves.

The environments we return to every day quietly shape how we feel.

A calm room.

A soft corner.

Warm lighting.

Colours that soothe us after a difficult day.

These things may seem simple, but somehow, they matter.

Over the years, I have realised how much spaces affect my nervous system. Certain environments make me feel rushed, distracted, or depleted, while others seem to bring me back to myself. A calm room cannot solve every problem, but it can help me breathe a little deeper and feel a little more grounded.

As for my art, I never thought I would find myself drawn towards creating simpler, more aesthetic pieces, soft gradients, calming colours, works that are less about meaning-making and more about creating a feeling.

Especially when adulthood feels heavy, I find myself wanting to create art that gently supports people too.

Sometimes, art does not need to loudly say something profound. Sometimes, it simply needs to soften a space. To bring a sense of calm. To help us feel a little more at home within ourselves.

Perhaps participating in our lives can begin there too.

In how we shape our private spaces, for a start.

In us allowing beauty, softness, and feeling into our everyday lives.

Choosing beauty is a form of participation

To Live with Intention; To Create without It

Do you ever feel like you are simply going through the motions at times?

For a long time, I thought that was simply what living was meant to be.

Through my adolescent years and well into adulthood, I moved through life much like everyone else around me: following routines, meeting expectations, keeping up with the pace of things.

And somewhere along the way, I realised how easily life can be lived without truly living it.

Not wrongly.

Just automatically.

Not consciously.

Just habitually.

Perhaps technology has amplified this even more. Endless scrolling, constant media consumption, always taking in more information, more noise, more distraction.

And somehow, because of it, time itself begins to feel even faster. We become so overstimulated that we slowly stop fully feeling or participating in our own lives, almost numbed out without even realising it.

And then one day, almost suddenly, you realise how much time has passed.

Now, there is a part of me that wishes to live differently:

to choose rather than drift, to move with awareness rather than habit, and to be more intentional about where I place my time and energy, who I build meaningful relationships with, and the kind of life I am quietly designing day by day.

I am starting to realise something in my art, that perhaps, deep down, even when I do not want to admit it, I have also been secretly performative.

Growing up in Singapore, I may also have been shaped by a culture where we are constantly encouraged to perform, excel, and prove ourselves. And I think I unconsciously carried that into my art too.

At times, I noticed myself painting while trying too hard to create meaning, shape an outcome, or make the work “good”. But the more tightly I tried to hold the work, the less free it began to feel.

Because art, at least for me, was never meant to feel like performance. It was meant to feel like expression. It was meant to be a safe space where I did not have to constantly achieve, prove, or optimise myself.

So now, when it comes to painting, something shifts within me.

I no longer want intention there.

I no longer want to think too much about what the work should say, whether it fits into a theme, or if it will be understood.

I’ve learned, or perhaps am still learning, to do something that feels almost contradictory.

I want to live my life intentionally, but I want to create without intention.

When I stand in front of the canvas, I let go of outcomes and meaning. I stop trying to force the work into something coherent or impressive, and instead allow myself to simply move with colour, texture, instinct, feeling, and emotion.

Somehow, something always emerges from it. Not always in the way I expect, but often in the way I need.

And yet, I have to admit that even now, I do not always live this way.

There are still days when I hold things too tightly, when even the smallest parts of my day feel like they need to be accounted for. Am I doing enough? Am I wasting time? Should I be using this moment better?

It looks like intention on the surface, but it feels heavier than that.

I am beginning to realise that intention was never meant to fill every moment. Perhaps it belongs more to the direction of a life, rather than the weight of a single afternoon.

Maybe that is the balance I am slowly learning, not just in art, but in life too.

To hold direction, but not grip too tightly.

To live intentionally, but lightly within it.

To allow life to express itself a little more freely

To let love flow, feelings breathe, and moments unfold in their own time.

To choose the life I want to walk into, while still leaving space for the unexpected, the unplanned and just simply observing where life takes me.

I am beginning to trust that not everything needs to be shaped.

Some things are simply meant to be discovered.

I choose how I live.

I discover the rest.

Snippets of work created freely, moments where I simply painted what I wanted to paint.

Life’s Invitation: Experiencing Life in Seasons

There was a point in my life when I began to think about life in seasons, like a storybook unfolding by itself in chapters.

I cannot say exactly when that shift happened. Perhaps it arrived subconsciously, through time, through experiences. I slowly learned to allow life to unfold, rather than trying to live it predictably.

At times, life itself feels like an inviting flower, warm, romantic, gentle in its presence. As though it is quietly telling us:

Just live, let life be.

Life’s Invitation, 2026 | Oil on Canvas

This painting reminds me of those moments. There is something about it that welcomes you in, almost as if life is opening toward us, extending an invitation to step into the moment and let it unfold, like a storybook revealing its chapters one by one.

The colours open softly across the canvas, unfolding like petals responding to warmth and light. There is a tenderness in their movement, something that is alive, something that is welcoming.

But life, like nature, does not remain in a single season. It is never only spring with full bloom and lustre.

Some seasons are calm and beautiful.

Some are rough, with shifting climates.

Some feel uncertain, even heavy.

Every season eventually comes to an end. Life keeps turning its pages, and new chapters quietly begin.

Impermanence is part of its rhythm

And without winter, spring would never arrive. Would we really choose not to experience the seasons of life?

When I think about the life I want to live, I would like to have the courage and accept life’s invitation, to live a little more, to play, and to let what comes, come.

I want to dance in the rain with childlike wonder.

I want to laugh so hard that tears come.

I want to sing like nobody is listening.

I want to cry with my friends when life feels heavy.

I want to share both joy and sorrow with the people I love.

I want to be humoured, and to humour the people around me.

I want to sit beside someone in quiet moments that need no words.

I want to watch the sky slowly change colours at dusk.

I want to hold on to the people who make life feel warm.

I want to live through many seasons, beautiful and difficult alike.

I want to do these things again and again, like seasons that return and reappear.

And perhaps we were never meant to experience life in just one kind of weather.

Like seasons that return, time after time …

And if I can, I want to live it more courageously.

Love, uncontained

Over time, life teaches us to hold our emotions more carefully.

Having been bruised many times, our hearts grow a little more guarded, a little more measured in how we give and receive love. Life leaves its marks, and with them, we learn to protect ourselves. We sometimes hold back what we feel, and at times, we become a little less brave to love.

And yet, there are seasons when love just refuses to stay contained. 

I often wonder about the different emotional seasons that love moves through. Love rarely exists in a single form. It meets us in different moments of our lives, in different versions of ourselves. And sometimes two very different inner seasons meet, and something within us is awakened, altering how we feel and respond to one another,

And at times, when we encounter others who are in a similar inner season, when our hearts are more open and less guarded, love starts to move more freely.

In those moments, love becomes uncontained.

This painting reminds me of those seasons where we just allow ourselves to love freely, to feel each emotion at its depth 

Love, uncontained, 2026 | Oil on Canvas

The colours move across the canvas without restraint, merging and flowing beyond their original shapes. Some strokes feel gentle and tender, others more intense.

The paint does not stay neatly within boundaries. It spills, expands, and finds its own direction, as though it has a life of its own.

And perhaps love is sometimes like that too

Not something carefully planned or contained, but something that moves freely, revealing itself in ways we cannot fully predict and maybe in ways we not quite understand yet.

Perhaps the highest form of love is to let it move freely, allowing ourselves to feel it and every emotion in its fullest depth.

Perhaps it is in this uncontained state of love that makes us the most alive

The First Bloom: A Quiet Triumph

A reflection on the return to calm after difficult seasons

Believe it or not, sometimes we do not realize how much tension the body has been carrying.

When we move through difficult seasons, grief, heartbreak, burnout, uncertainty, we often think the struggle lives only in our thoughts. However, the body keeps score and remembers in its own ways. The nervous system stays on alert. The heart grows more guarded. Beneath it all, we begin scanning for danger almost without noticing.

After the storm has passed, the body could take longer to believe that the sky is clear again. When life begins to improve, the body does not always trust it immediately. A layer of anxiety may remain, as if the system is still waiting for something to go wrong.

It takes time …

Over the past six months, something in me has been slowly changing. Not suddenly. Not dramatically. Just gradually. Like a nervous system remembering what calm feels like again.

That was when I realized: healing is not only about processing our thoughts. It is also the body slowly learning that it is safe again.

These days, small moments feel different.

One evening after work and strength training, I was standing at the train platform, packed dinner in my hands, the evening light warm against the city.

In that moment, a realisation appears:

Life is good.

Not perfect.

Not extraordinary.

Just good.

First Bloom, 2026 | Oil on Canvas

In many ways, this painting reminds me of that feeling.

It’s not a loud breakthrough, not a dramatic transformation. Just something slowly emerging, like colours appearing through darkness, or the first bloom after a long winter. It’s like a gentle sign that life is returning to normal again.

Sometimes the biggest victories in life are invisible to others.

A peaceful evening.

A steady heart.

The confidence that you are okay again.

It does not feel like fireworks

Just the first bloom

Perhaps this is what a quiet triumph looks like

Different Seasons of Love

Today is Valentine’s Day, a day often associated with romantic love, but also a reminder of how many other forms love takes in our lives: friendships, companionships, kinships, and the quiet ways we care for one another.

With spring here and Chinese New Year ahead of us, it does feel like a season when love becomes more visible, with gatherings,  celebrations, and the way people show up for each other. And yet, even in seasons like this, emotions are rarely singular. Some of us feel warmth and joy. Some feel quiet gratitude. Some feel the weight of absence. Some feel more alone than usual.

We tend to position romantic love at the centre. Maybe because it feels rare, intense, alive, unforgettable. And maybe because it’s the first love story we were ever part of — the one that brought us into this world.

As part of a project at the beginning of this season, I’ve taken an interest in a new medium, oil painting. There’s something about oil — that it feels softer, almost romantic in texture. Perhaps it is this quality that led me to reflect about love in this season 

Art title: to be defined | Art status: incomplete

I’ve been working on these two pieces side by side. I am quietly pleased with the direction they’re moving in. In a season where love can feel louder through festivities and expectations, these works feel like a quieter conversation…..

The 2 pieces are complementary to each other, yet they carry very different energies. One leans cool, gentle, deeply layered. The other feels warm, open, and inviting. They are still incomplete now while it makes me wonder if love is ever truly finished, or if it is always in the process of becoming, revealing itself layer by layer, in its own time.

Looking at them together, I wondered about how every form of love holds more than one side: more than one perspective, more than one emotional climate. Love often exists within different circumstances too: different moments in our lives, different versions of ourselves. Sometimes two very different inner seasons meet at the same time, quietly shaping how we feel, respond, and grow.

I thought about love in different emotional seasons

Not every season feels like spring.

Some feel quiet and slow.

Some feel alive and expressive.

Some feel muted and weighed down.

---

Maybe love isn’t one consistent feeling.

Maybe it shifts temperature over time 

cool, warm, uncertain, tender, heavy, expansive

and we shift along with it.

For me, love continues to change form with time and with each season.

I’m learning to notice it, and allowing it to unfold by itself, sometimes quietly, sometimes in full bloom, sometimes in ways we don’t yet  quite fully understand.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of us, in our own seasons of loving, and to all the ways love shows up in our lives.

And maybe love, in all its changing forms, is still what it means to be alive today 

Work in Progress: My Shedding Season

It’s a brand new year now. We just ended the Year of the Snake, and many folks were saying that it came with some form of “shedding energy”. I’m not superstitious, but I have to admit… I felt the past year pending out this way deeply. Like there was this snake energy slithering around — shedding, shifting, forcing things out of me. And quite honestly, 2025 has been my breakthrough year in terms of my Becoming.

As we start 2026, I found myself thinking about my road signal project. This project was a series of paintings that was first materialised in early 2025, Back then, I didn’t fully realise what I was creating. I just painted as “I just felt like it”. I thought I was simply painting signs and looking back now, I realise I was painting my inner state.

Project Road Signals

I showed this series of paintings to a number of people who are close to me. The reactions were honestly somewhat funny — a lot of blank stares, some very obvious “MEGO-ed” faces. They told me the paintings looked modern (a nice way of putting it!) … but I could also tell they weren’t sure what to comment. Like… who would even like this kind of art? Maybe LTA (Land Transport Authority of Singapore)? Haha … Jokes aside, this series felt strangely real to me, like I painted it without trying to impress anyone.

It wasn’t just a quick experiment either. It took me at least 50 hours to complete this series.

Maybe I didn’t have the language to explain what I was going through back then… so I painted it instead. I am glad I did

Inner Thoughts behind each Signal:

Work in Progress

The “I am a WIP” theme has been stuck with me for a couple of years.

Somewhere along the way, life hit me with some form of adversity that it shook my sense of stability. I started questioning everything — the world, the people, and eventually myself.

Even the word caution on this painting felt like a warning, not just to myself, but also to others. Don’t come too close. I was a little much to handle at times.

I was impatient, eager to improve, almost frustrated. I wanted the day to come quickly, the day where I wouldn’t be a work in progress anymore. I thought it would take just days or months, while three years down the road, it still felt like I wasn’t making enough progress. And I kept asking myself: “When will I finally become the version of me that I want?”

Working on ourselves is tough. It takes effort, discipline, and a constant level of self-awareness to catch ourselves before we slip back into old habits. Before I could even feel like I was moving upwards, I found myself stuck in a loop — bad choices, repeated patterns, over and over again, even after I promised myself multiple times to stop.

But I didn’t know then… healing was never meant to be rushed.

It took me more than three years of working on myself, of slowly gathering the broken parts, learning my triggers, rebuilding my boundaries, and choosing better again and again, before i could understand (or at least accept) myself. Today, I finally arrived somewhere where I could face myself bare, as I am

the Roundabout

This roundabout sign was my reminder that Becoming isn’t linear.

I kept thinking I was moving forward but somehow I ended up looping back to the same place again. Same triggers - Same patterns - Same choices - Different day. The question is : “Why am I in a Loop and when can I get out?”

Until one day, I was finally ready to choose differently… and I finally “looped out.”

Stop

Even after I promised myself multiple times to stop, I still found myself repeating the same patterns.

The day came when I realised that not all cycles end because we understand them.

Some cycles end because we finally decide: Enough is Enough 

This was the moment I stopped … and I chose differently.

This time, I meant it.

It Began with Love — A Quiet Reflection from Phuket

A Phuket Reflection

It’s my birthday trip and I chose to spend it alone in Sunny Phuket this year — just me, myself and in solitude.

Greetings from Sunny Phuket

I’m writing this reflection from here, with the sound of waves in the background, and the warm afternoon light brushing gently across my face. There’s something about each year end season, a time when my reflections run a little deeper, and when I crave for space to meet myself with honesty, before the year closes.

Sitting by the sea, I find myself facing my own heart with a quiet kind of courage.

Art title: It Began with Love

It Began with Love

As we move towards 2026, I was reminded of this painting again. 

My painting carried this title a few months ago, born from a younger version of me, from a heart that was still learning how to feel, still learning how to give and still learning what it meant to care for another.

Back then, I thought love had one form, one storyline, and one meaning. But life shown me something quieter, and far more beautiful…

My painting:

It began with Love, Love changes form, Love doesn’t stop, Love carries on ❤️

What Love feels like for me Today:

Love, what it means to me now, as I sit by the beach:

Today, Love comes with clarity Bright, warm, and uncomplicated

It feels like conversations that are sincere Like connections that don’t rush you Like people who meet you where you are, not where they want you to be

It feels like friendships that leave you feeling lighter, not heavier

It feels like people who root for you, not people who confuse you

Love, in this season of my life, is quiet, warm and steady

Yunnan Reflection Part II: 去有风的地方

去有风的地方 · Yunnan · A Place Where the Wind Knows Your Name

当人生到了低谷期，

我们终究还是会遇到最恶劣的自己

当世界感到阴暗

那我们就先善待自己

我们去有风的地方

Photo taken in Lijiang — broken car beneath me, open sky above me, and a symbol that I can stand tall anywhere. 我们随着风，继续努力往前走 💪🏻

In life’s not-so-fancy moments, these questions become real:

How do we lift our own hearts? How do we steady our inner world when everything else feels heavy?

For me, I’ve always turned to writing, words, simple lines, that would lift me up

去有风的地方，重新呼吸

去有风的地方，我们：

带着漂亮的心情

去做自己想做的事

去看美丽的事与物

去遇见有趣的灵魂

Yunnan’s landscape — mountains and sun, old roofs and temples, animals wandering freely. Calm, rustic, soft, and quietly vibrant. Just what I needed as I look to close this year ❤️

在云南，

我感受到了慢下来的风

那种风，吹散了一些执念

也吹来了一些新的勇气

A Quiet Intention：

There was a moment of downtime in my life when I told myself: “From now, I will only let beautiful things into my eyes.” So I set a simple intention, one quiet intention that I could return to, on difficult days:

From now:

See beautiful things

Meet beautiful souls

Hold only beautiful thoughts

Slowly, nature steadied me.

Soul-like individuals crossed my path.

Beauty softened the way I think,

and the wind reorganised my heart gently, patiently.

The Practice of Inner Steadiness：

Looking back now, I understand something I didn’t before: Inner steadiness is intentional.

The more we practise gentleness with ourselves, the easier it becomes. The more we choose beauty, the more we learn to humour ourselves, the more naturally our hearts lean toward lightness. And with time, I mean real time, we do grow past the heaviness.

当我们开始带着意图生活

世界也会悄悄开始对齐

不是一下子翻转

而是像山间的风一样

轻、暖、慢、却足以把心吹回轻盈

去有风的地方

去让风告诉你

你已经在路上了

And as the wind continues to move, I will continue to move towards lightness

(Yunnan · 2025 — by Xi Ting)

Yunnan Reflection Part I: 依然选择相信世界的善良

Being close to nature and to animals has always been the best kind of therapy for me. There’s something about their innocence, their quiet freedom, that softens the noise inside my mind.

Hanging out with the goats that evening cheered me up. Their ease reminded me how lightness still exists. For a while, I forgot about the city, the people in it, and somewhat the restless world I’m occasionally immersed in.

I simply stood there, present, and grateful to feel at ease. As we are near the end of 2025, here is a moment of reflection, written in Chinese, from Yunnan:

偶尔，在生命里

我们感受的伤痛，并不代表我们软弱

那是我们依然坚信世间善良的代价

我们仍然选择

相信爱，相信友情，相信善意

我们把真心给了不懂珍惜的人

把坦诚交给了只会隐藏的人

但请不要让你的心变硬

因为总有一天，会有人

无论是朋友，还是爱人

能与你的深度相遇

(依然选择相信世界的善良 · Yunnan · 2025 — by Xi Ting)

Liberation: To Feel or To Float in Life

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Sometimes I am happy.

Sometimes I am sad.

Sometimes I am very angry. 

And sometimes, I am happy again.

I feel it all. Do you?

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Art title: Liberation [Painted in layers of emotions, each layer a feeling. Liberation is acceptance, the quiet art of embracing our emotions as proof of life]

We all have feelings, yet somewhere along the way we learned to hide them. We started labelling emotions as “too much,” “dramatic,” “emo,” “too sensitive.” We turned tears into silence, anger into polite laughter, sadness into “I’m fine,” and swept the rest under the carpet, because somewhere along growing up, we were taught that we need to be in control of our feelings and to never lose our cool.

What if adulthood isn’t about learning to suppress emotions and what if it’s about unlearning that suppression? What if strength isn’t composure, but rather, the honesty to admit what we feel?  When did we start believing that feeling less meant that we are doing better?

Adulthood changes us: 

Not because we don’t feel, but because we were never taught to hurt out loud

See how the artwork transformed over time - each layer an emotion; each layer a feeling

The fact is, we all have feelings. It’s not about controlling them, but learning to live with them. Life is a beautiful myriad of emotions and experiences where some days are bright, some days are rainy, some days burst into rainbows, and some days turn storm-like.

It’s a beautiful thing to feel life fully, rather than to simply float through it unscathed. Yet, many of us choose the safety of floating, keeping life steady and predictable; a life where nothing hurts too deeply, while nothing moves too deeply either. 

Would you choose to float or would you choose to feel it all:

To open yourself fully to love, even when it might not last

To walk through beginnings without turning away, even knowing endings may come

To see beauty even in heartbreaks, because pain means you truly cared

Comfort has its peace, but it can also become the softest kind of numbness; because if you don’t risk, you might never truly experience life at all.

It will be harder this way. We lose more, we ache more, but we also Live More: where laughter rings louder, love runs deeper, sunsets glow richer, and quiet moments feel more alive. Our hearts, though bruised, learn to hold both grief and gratitude in the same breath.

In the end, that’s what Liberation  asks of us and it’s our choice to feel or to float in life. Emotions are a proof that we’re still human, still feeling and still living. To embrace them all,  that’s Liberation

A little art reveal here - video from my IG @xiting.art

This piece became bigger than I imagined, and somehow, so was the feeling behind it. Seeing it in real life gave a sense of scale that no photo could capture — the size, the colours and the weight of emotions that built it layer by layer.

Celebrating Liberation today, in art, in self, and in every choice to feel life fully

To Feel or to Float in Life  — Your choice 

Sail me Away

A letter to the ones who stayed too long, and are finally learning to rise

Art title: Sail me Away

Dearest you, be the one who has sailed.

There was a time I painted this from a place of ache, when I wished someone, or something, could sail me away from the pain, from a world that once felt too heavy to hold. The hot air balloon became my metaphor for escape; it’s bright, weightless, and rising above the dark.

Over time, I came to understand that no one was coming to save you. You are the one who must learn to lift yourself, piece by piece, breath by breath.

Ever felt how we pour our energy, our care, our emotions endlessly into someone, thinking love means staying, holding, fixing? And then one day, you realised… you had the right to walk away too.

It wasn’t cruelty. It was clarity: 

You can love deeply and still choose distance

You can wish someone well and still choose peace

The act of sailing away was never about abandoning others. It was about returning to yourself, because:

Only when you choose yourself first, can you truly love others

Only when you rise, can you lift another

The flame that carried the balloon upward wasn’t magic; it was fuelled by inner determination, the quiet strength we all carry, even when we momentarily forget it exists. Maybe healing was never about escaping the darkest nights, but finally learning to rise within them 

So … Dearest You ❤️ To be loved is a form of blessing To love someone requires a form of capacity  Therefore, choose yourself first

Photo taken right before Oktoberfest

Thought it was a nice day to take a shot with my painting as I was all dressed up in bright colours that almost clashed with this colourful painting. Life has come full circle. Today, I celebrate life, with friends, bright, light-hearted, alive and of course, with many many beers 🍻🍻🍻

Slow Down: 让我们活在当下

It was my eleventh solo trip in three years. In 青岛, I had a quiet breakthrough. After years of embracing slow and mindful living, I finally felt myself truly slow down. My thoughts were fully here, in the present moment, in this present space, in 青岛.

In Chinese, we often say 活在当下 : Live in the present moment. It sounds simple, but the way of living it is far more profound. For me, living in the present means not being anxious about the future, and learning to honour the past without living in it. It took years of slow practice to loosen the past, quiet the future, to let go, to trust, and to return to the present moment, to NOW.

I was walking along the streets of 青岛 when I suddenly saw my art. The blue 青岛 letters stood against a soft beige wall, and for a moment, I was surprised. The colours mirrored my own graffiti piece, SLOW DOWN. I stopped in my tracks, feeling both happy and quietly romanticized. It felt like a déjà vu.

Maybe that’s what slowing down does… it allows you to finally see what’s always been there.

There were years when slowing down felt like a luxury. There were seasons when I lived almost unconsciously — clocking through work tasks, chasing the next milestone, the next career progression, completing my postgraduate degree, and repeating the same cycle of waking, working, and sleeping. The days blurred into each other, and the motion never seemed to stop. Amidst life’s hustle and bustle, did we ever truly pause to feel, or ask ourselves: was this the path we truly wanted, or just the one we managed to push through?

Slowing down isn’t about doing less, and it’s not the opposite of ambition. It’s about doing with intention. It’s living consciously and being fully aware of how we spend our energy, our time, and our emotions. It’s choosing what truly matters, instead of being pulled by everything that doesn’t.

In 青岛, standing before that wall, I felt as if life was whispering the same message back to me and that perhaps I had finally arrived where my art had been trying to take me all along.

让我们活在当下 ； Live not in the past, not in the future, but right here, in the PRESENT

The Gold Within : Beyond the Singaporean Dream

Art Title: The Gold Within

Since young, we’ve been taught to aim for the same pot of gold, to work for the Singaporean Dream. We are told to study hard, work harder, and one day, “you will make it.” This pot of gold was painted for most of us in identical colors: an education, a stable career, a respected title, marriage, children, a life path that conforms neatly to societal standards.

And so… we run! We chase! We measure ourselves against others, running endlessly on the same wheel, believing that the prize lies at the end of the path.

One day, I arrived at what looked like this pot of gold. On paper, the picture was perfect: the career, the marriage, the life path that looked about “right.” Yet inside me, it felt hollow and empty. The “gold” outside could not fill the emptiness within me. I was shy of being happy, as though even when everything looked complete, joy never truly arrived the way it should have. Everything I thought would make me feel whole, in fact, did not.

That was when I began to realise:

True gold does not live in titles or milestones.

It glimmers beyond achievements,

in the quiet qualities that carry us through both triumphs and heartbreaks:

Love that deepens beyond romance

Courage that rises from fear beyond comfort

Wisdom refined by loss beyond knowledge

Kindness that endures disappointment beyond reciprocity

In my painting, The Gold Within, the stark black and white mirror life’s extremes, the binaries of successes and failures, gains and losses, what society deems “right” and what it dismisses as “wrong.”Flowing between them is gold. The Gold Within is not the kind of gold we chase outside, but the kind we chose to define for ourselves: the learnings, the lessons, the experiences, the qualities that shape who we are becoming.

It is up to each of us to define our own pot of gold and perhaps the question for each of us is this: what is the gold that truly matters in our own journey of life?

The Singaporean Dream may point us towards a pot of gold at the end of the path. But the truest treasure is not at the finish line. It lies in the journey itself, in discovering, again and again, the gold within.

The gold outside may glitter, but only you can define your true gold.

Ebb and Flow - Accepting Ourselves and Life in Waves

Art Title: Ebb and Flow

On a recent solo quiet escape to Langkawi, I spent hours by the sea. Looking at the ocean, I felt so small. The horizon stretched endlessly, and the waves rolled in and out, without rush and without resistance.

The waves reminded me that life has its own rhythm. No matter what we are going through, there is a greater tide moving around us. Life is made beautiful by its ups and downs. The beauty comes when we learn to embrace it; we discover meaning in both the calm and the storms, and we allow ourselves to be gently carried by the flow.

Chasing sunsets in Langkawi

What is Ebb and Flow?

The rhythm of the ocean is called Ebb and Flow:

• Ebb is when the tide recedes, pulling back from the shore.

• Flow is when the tide rises again, returning to the land

Together, Ebb and Flow describes the natural rhythm of the ocean and also the rhythm of our lives

When I was at the Ebb

When I was at the Ebb of my life, a few voices around me said:

• This too shall Pass

• Give it Time

• Remember that you will not feel This Way forever

These words stayed with me. They reminded me to keep showing up in life, to hold on, and to trust that the tide would turn eventually. Slowly, it happened…

The Rhythm of Self-Acceptance

The Stillness:

Some days feel quiet, even stagnant. In those moments, self-acceptance means allowing the silence to be enough. Still waters are not wasted time — they give us space to pause, to reflect and to slowly find ourselves again

The Turbulence:

Some days crash loudly, full of self-doubt. These are the days when I felt lost, when I no longer recognised myself. It was unbearable at times. But I have learned that acceptance here means not fighting the waves but to accept the imperfections in me. Even turbulence has its place in shaping us, strengthening us, reminding us that losing ourselves is sometimes part of the process of finding ourselves anew.

The Return:

Just as every wave eventually finds its way back to shore, clarity and calm will return too. Each new day offers another chance to grow, to improve, to begin again. As long as we live for one more sunrise, the possibility of Becoming remains.

A Closing Reflection

There are seasons of loss and self-doubt, where everything feels heavy. But remember, there will be seasons of renewal and self-love again, where the light returns.

If you are in the ebb right now, know this: you will not feel this way forever. This too shall pass, the tide always turns.

Eventually, the day came for me too — I began to like myself again. Slowly, quietly, I started to love this version of me: imperfect, ever-changing, yet always becoming. And now, I find myself beginning to love this newer season of life as well

Life is beautiful this way

Pralines — the Art of Becoming

Art title: Pralines

On a random day you will notice something small:

• the warmth of the sun on your face as you lift your eyes to the sky;

• the scent of freshly baked bread drifting from a neighborhood bakery as you pass;

• the pure laughter of people and children around the corner

Becoming is rarely instant. It doesn’t arrive with a single revelation or a neat before-and-after. There is no fixed timeline. It can take months to years of feeling empty, as though nothing is changing, and then, suddenly, it shifts, as if a hidden hinge eases open.

On the outside, Pralines appear polished, glossy, almost flawless. Yet beauty is never only on the surface. It lies in the layers within, soft, sweet, sometimes bittersweet, and within those layers, strength unfolds. Life feels the same: we carry our façade on the outside, while inside we hold both ache and sweetness; we discover the quiet strength that comes from living through them.

Becoming is a layered process. For a long time, it can feel like walking through a tunnel with no glimpse of light. And then, without warning, something shifts, the air feels warmer, the scent of bread sweeter, the laughter around the corner brighter. The world opens to you again, as if for the first time. You begin to see the world with childlike wonder once again.

Pralines is not just an artwork, but a reflection of this journey, layered, imperfect, bittersweet, yet quietly beautiful. Becoming does not mean erasing the past; it means learning to taste life fully, once more. This is what Pralines carries in its layers, an invitation to taste life, bittersweet and whole.

And we are all in the works of Becoming

It began with Love (爱）

It began with Love (爱)

Lately, my mind has been wired towards a new series of paintings, a trilogy carrying the mottos I hold closest to my heart: Love (爱), Kindness (善良), and Courage (勇气). These are my life anchors, the principles I try to live by.

Some days, I feel myself drifting away from the person I want to become. On those days, I pause and ask myself: Am I still kind? Am I courageous? Is this an act of love? These questions bring me back, reminding me that Becoming is always a work in progress — its never a finished state, but rather a life lived with intention

I chose to begin with Love (爱) because my mind has been living in love lately - love in its purest form, and love in all its complexity. This piece began with the single character “爱,” painted onto a blank canvas. As I worked, the emotions shifted. The lines twisted, collided, and burned into layers of color. What began as something simple transformed into something raw, complex, and alive.

This is how It began with Love was born. It is a reflection of how love itself refuses to stay still. It moves, it collides, it reshapes us. And in that movement, there is both chaos and beauty. We learn from every experience.

It began with Love is the first chapter of my trilogy. It will be followed by Always Choose Kindness (善良) and The Weight of Courage (勇气) — together forming a series that reminds me to live by these mottos, to stay anchored in love, kindness, and courage.

Next in the series: Always Choose Kindness (善良) — still a work in progress, waiting to take shape on canvas.

On the road to Self: Finding Clarity in a World of Mixed Signals

One day, I was “ driving” through the chaos of my confused mind, and suddenly, I found myself inspired by the road signals we see every day.

It struck me. Life, I’ve come to realize, is just like a long road trip. Doing Life is US navigating through roads, full of signs - some that warn us, some that guide us, and others that simply leave us puzzled. Some signals steer us towards safety, whispering: “Hey, slow down here,” or “Hello you, keep going”. Some signals can be confusing and overwhelming, making us question: Are we on the right path? Or are we stuck in negative life patterns?

I’ve often felt overwhelmed and defeated by the human elements in my life. As someone who deeply values human connections, it’s natural for me to stay engaged and vulnerable with others. And just like on the road, some signals come from family, friends, lovers and even strangers — through their words or actions. Some people help guide us, lift us up, show us the way forward. Others leave us confused, or even derail us.

Over time, I’ve been learning to interpret these signals, recognizing who helps me stay on track and who might lead me astray. This project, the signs, the colors, is my way of mapping my mental landscape. It’s about noticing the signals that tell us to keep going, to stop and reflect, or to take a different turn. Life is a road, and every encounter, whether helpful or confusing, is part of our journey of learning. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is slow down, listen to our inner voice, and trust that we’ll reach where we are meant to be.

Today, I aspire to be the kind of person who, like a helpful road sign, uplifts those around me when they’re down. I hope to be a guiding light, reminding others to slow down, pause, or keep going when the road gets tough. Ultimately, we are all traveling through life’s twists and turns, and a little encouragement can make all the difference for all of us

xoxo

And… I am still a work in progress