I live at Telok Blangah Heights, in an HDB flat high enough to see the ridge soften toward Mount Faber when the last bus has passed and the corridor goes quiet. I am not a public figure, a brand, or anyone with credentials worth listing. I read a great deal, walk the park connector toward the harbour more often than is strictly efficient, and keep these notes because writing is how I finish an evening that would otherwise stay unfinished in my head.
Word Vault is the name I gave this shelf of pages — not because it is a product you log into, but because I like the image of words stored carefully, spine out, no rush to lend them. The entries here are ordinary on purpose: a bookshop before nine, a harbour walk with a paperback, someone else's umbrella on a platform seat, the desk lamp on longer than planned. Once, there is a heavier memory from a night near Chin Swee Road when I heard sirens and did not stop. I wrote that one because honesty about what I did not see matters as much as honesty about what I did.
I work in a field I would rather leave vague on a page like this. What matters for this site is that my reading hours are mostly evenings, SGT, and that I answer letters at [email protected] when I can. If you write, I read it myself — there is no editorial desk, no assistant, no content calendar beyond what the week actually gives me to notice.
Singapore is not backdrop here. The void deck, the MRT gate, the railing along the harbour — these are the rooms I write from. I use British spelling because it is what I grew up with in school and what still feels natural on the page. I try to describe my neighbourhood kindly and precisely, without speaking for neighbours I have not asked.
