1. Fascinated by: buses and balls (also his first two words)
2. Favourite activity: climbing (like a little bear climbing a snowy wall)
3. Favourite pastime: having someone read to him
4. Enjoys: plucking the strings of a ukulele, and banging it like a bongo. Going out for walks and pointing out the sights, like wind blowing through the leaves (and buses, of course. And bicycles. And birds.)
5. Top of the charts: twinkle twinkle little star
6. Must-have: his sleeps
7. Fervently dislikes: having his hair washed /+ water running down his face.
8. Favourite radio station: 88.3 jia fm (will warble along to songs sometimes)
9. Fashionista; haircuts by papa and momma
10. His biggest fan: nainai
11. First movie: padmaavat (10 mins of it anyway)
12. Is very pleased by: his self in the mirror
13. Will one day: blow kisses at you!


October 18, 2018

Tomorrow is Friday. Then Saturday, then Sunday, then Monday.

I will spam bubble tea on all these days, and then some.

I have been making my own granola of late; it has been an interesting experience. I reckon after one or two batches more, I’ll be able to decide my feelings regarding it.

Soon the year will end, the most intense, insane year of my life yet. The struggles with pumping, the months of falling asleep at the table in the middle of the night, pump motor vibrating away every three hours around the clock while i tried to figure out human milk and increasing production so i could feed my son while not getting a clog, a fever, crying in the shower because touching the spot hurt so much but massaging the stuck milk duct was the way to get the clog out and duct flowing again; like placing your fingers over a raw wound and rubbing.

Then the day he woke up and refused milk- the beginning of a nightmare that lasted for months- counting wet diapers, frantic over possible dehydration, googling the shizz out of the topic of milk strike, certain we were on the brink of catastrophe. Changing bottles, changing teats, coaxing, dreamfeeding, the stress and tension of failure, the fear, counting every ml of milk and settling on a baseline to meet before I called it a night. Incredulous and disbelieving responses when I gave his daily intake. Babies drink his 24hrs total in a single sitting.

Not knowing how to appreciate this little wonder, this bundle of potential, a collection of brain cells and neurons waiting to connect. Feeling awkward and stiff around him; decidedly unmaternal. Currently still a little robotic but not frozen anymore.

I will mull more another time. For now, goodnight

These days,

September 13, 2018

I’m beginning to wonder if what I’m seeing is E’s personality. The emergence of an enfant who’s good-natured, gentle, curious. I need to be more present, to collect the nuances. Hello, are you really your own little person?

And since we’re counting, it’s 10/49. Tomorrow will be 11/49, we will see the nurse who’ll weigh and take E’s measurements, then the doctor, where I’ll request for a referral to the FEED clinic. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. That night at a&e they said he was 8.6, but at the doctor on Sunday he was 8.04. I wonder what the scales will show tomorrow.


September 3, 2018

Take care, dearest

Come with me

August 17, 2018

Iran, Afghanistan, Sri Lanka, Pakistan. France. Backpack, slippers, baggy pants. No roaming. Passport, paper, pen, Ziploc. Toothbrush.

Singaporean, French, France. Portugal. Pays Basque.

Grasslands, steppes, salty tea. Jungle, sandals, waterbottle. One, two books.

Charcoal pills, po chai yi pills, plasters, yoo yee you. Pads. Socks, towel.


Rubber bands. Phone, charger, adapter. Jacket. Day bag. Walking.

Day, night, movement, debrief, reflection. Walks. Itinerary.

Traffic. Sounds. Dreaming in another language.

More tea.
Meals, hot.


A month, two months, three. Weeks.
Navigating. Pausing; moving.

Pausing; moving.


July 25, 2018

Last night, chatting a little in the darkness, we touched on baby and chouchous. J started telling me about his chouchou which he’d had, until his parents left it behind at a church camp and-

I interrupted him. “That’s MY story about my chouchou which I’d told you!”

Him: oh, really? I thought it was mine.

Me: I can’t believe you took on my story and consequently, my pain.

J says he’ll check with his dad. His was a pink pillow and bolster, apparently; super soft. We agreed that super soft chouchous are the best.

This morning, in early light, I held baby to the window while he patted the glass and babbled commentaries on the traffic below. mmm, yes, I said in response, many cars, and there’s a bus, all with their lights on. Do you know why? That’s because it’s early.

These days, I can’t tell if he’s kissing me or telling me he wants to latch. I should look this up.

The commuter next next to me has bought roast duck, I can smell it and it’s making me hungry. I shall have roast duck tonight. I hope the baby will let me feed him without much fuss; he doesn’t like veggies or meats; thinks he’s fruitetarian.

But he’s not such a baby anymore; doesn’t come across that way at all. He’s a little (baby) boy.

Memory of the month

July 16, 2018

Him holding our baby’s hand, twirling him around in the walker, baby’s mouth wide open in gummy joy