and so it begins

happy new year, with lots of love from pointilisms. i have never been one to believe in changing yourself come the slide of a hand to twelve midnight (more of that in january’s pieces), but i believe in the power of starting clean.

thank you for having been with me in 2017-silent and active readers alike. you give me one more reason to write, and for that i am grateful. i started pointilisms last year as a way to keep the writing mojo alive even after going to college. college is undeniably the most draining and painful milestone of my life, but i am always glad that i have a safe space in pointilisms. the freedom to post my first drafts-raw, fresh and unapologetically me is a privilege that i have come to embrace this past year. even as the year ahead is packed full of anxiety and tests (for me), i hope that i can draw the same comfort from my readers and pointilisms. it was an honor writing for all of you, and here’s to a 2018 when we write our souls down on writing blogs.

if i were to choose a word to sum up pointilisms in 2017, it would have been unapologetic. may we always have the bravery to speak up for what we believe in.




you will be found

dedicated to every person who’s ever loved me. it means the world. thank you.


failing doesn’t get easier even after seventeen years. falling still hurts like fuck, the way the gravel rips my skin raw open and the first gush of blood still nips angrily across my tingling skin and my leg is still as numb as the first time i fell. the pain is still as acute when i come out of the hall with the sinking feeling of i’m going to fail. i already knew i was going to fail but this didn’t make the blank paper and swimming words any better. failing is still lump in my throat that makes swallowing the news so damn difficult. every day is a struggle when instagram feeds and twitter timelines are filled with someone’s else success. i want to be happy for you but your brilliance is a reminder of everything i want to be but will never achieve. i want to be pulled up into honey warm hugs and have a shoulder to cry into and a chest to nuzzle and i want a hand to stroke my matted hair and lips to whisper it will be fine i still love yous into the shell of my ear but it doesn’t happen. i go home to a microwaved muffin and i jump into bed and pull the covers tight over myself even if it is only two fifty in the afternoon. when i come to at seven i am disoriented and the dark sky outside is starless. dead the way i am, not a spark of light within sight. i have my dinner (microwaved again because i don’t trust my trembling fingers to light the gas and i know that my kerosene tears would start to burn if i lit up the stove) and the house is eerily silent. i am left alone with my thoughts so i jump back to bed and scroll through my phone aimlessly. i see my little prince and my heart aches for the way he will always be happy without me.

ping ping ping 

1 whatsapp message

1 instagram dm

i ignore the whatsapp message even if it is from s, because i feel like i cannot face her today. my fingers slip into my ig dm and the words that come next draw all the breath out of my throat: at least tuesday is over, right? that’s what you wanted! my heart is pounding sixty miles an hour. you remembered, i want to say, you remembered. the tears are welling up and my heart suddenly feels better.

2 whatsapp messages

3 whatsapp messages 

4,5,6 whatsapp messages

i slide open the text from a. it says i found something, venus and i am too tired to say much so i type a ?. the reply that comes is swift: a picture of finger heart with my name on it and i am going crazy because i find it oddly endearing. i laugh.

i open up s’s text and i read it and i cry because it’s been six months since i’ve felt anything. and i cry and cry and cry and cry and

i’m still crying today because

i’ve been found.


not poetry not prose just word vomit. it’s been what, half an hour and this track already means the world to me. at first i thought that this was going to be inspiration porn 101 you are great and good and loved so don’t be depressed! because when has depression ever meant anything except Easy Mental Health Topic Everyone Talks About But Doesn’t Actually Understand or diversity quota to act like we care for the mentally ill even when we make fucking ableist jokes every day. but i digress. i have been crying at my laptop screen for half an hour because this is something. idk. it’s almost two in the afternoon but i am tired and speechless. give it a listen. oh, and don’t forget the tissues.

#DefendDACA or take your racist ass and fuck off

My ancestors were immigrants.

I am here today only because my great grandparents sailed across the great Asian continent. Caught in the storm of the civil war, they left China for a better life. I never met my great grandparents but i know that they are the bravest people to have walked this earth. To risk your life for a fresh start and weather the perilous journey to Singapore takes a fucking lot of courage.

Immigrants are as human as you are. All we ever wanted was somewhere to call home. Is that really too much to ask for?

Today Donald Trump announced that he is ending the DACA. This vicious and conscious decision to rip apart the lives of #Dreamers is an act of systematic racism. But the fight to #DefendDACA is not over. There are so many things to be done.

Dreamers are a vital force in the American economy but their value is beyond just being workers. They are humans the way you and I are. We fight for the Dreamers not solely to save the American economy. We fight for them because we are humans and because the decision to end DACA is an act of child abuse. If you care about the lives of these young immigrants, here is what you can do to help.

  1. Text Resist to 50409. If you’re not American, all you need in a Facebook account to text Resistbot on Messenger.
  2. Sign the petition to Resist over here.
  3. Tweet the AGs who are pressuring the government to end DACA. info is here. alternatively, see this template of things to tweet.
  4. Make a service call to you senators. see more here.
  5. Fund the DACA support here. You can also donate to Resistbot.
  6. Educate yourself. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
  7. Keep fighting. Tweet #DefendDACA. it doesn’t hurt.

These are 800 000 lives at stake. Please, if you are human, then fight for the Dreamers. They deserve to keep their legal status in the only place they know best. Home.

As a descendant of immigrants, I am begging all of you to help us in this fight. So much of the world has been made possible by immigrants. We are here to help and not to harm. All we ever wanted was somewhere to call home.

Is that really too much to ask for?

i keep us in my wallet (not my mind)

  • these are grainy moments burned into pixels: your laugh, brilliant as i steal a glance; my face, blemished but radiant, even as my hair falls over my face; our nights, your fingers curled loosely around mine, my lips on your shoulder. these are our souls burned and made tangible, lying solidly against my crinkled bedsheets when they slip out of of my treasure trove. but why is it that i cannot remember what exactly we were? these are grainy moments, not in my mind: your laugh, muted; my face, blurred; our nights, ebbed.


will you grant my dying wish?

of all the things i have lost i miss my fucking sanity the most.

this fever is lawless the way it siezes my brain hostage, shoving degree celsius after degree celsius at me and i am screaming screaming screaming limbs too weak to flail and the words that fall out of my parched lips are tearful prayers to gods i do not believe in. this is what desperation tastes like: the way my sweat ransom is not enough to set me fucking free, the way my body crumples and falls to ground when the cool water i used to frolick in bites against my skin, no longer gentle kisses running away the magma mount in my head. desperation is the way i wear my thickest jacket in singapore’s fucking weather ot the way i force myself to sweat till i am blind or the way i force myself to cry. women earn 79 cents to every dollar a man earns, my vision is barbercue hazed while my stomach sloshes, a sick sound that threatens to let itself be heard and i wish i was dead. they say everyone is afraid of death and i want to laugh because i crave death the way you crave life.

why dont you kill yourself then? they whisper and i am buzzed.

i fear pain. i would rather be dead than writhing in bed, ghostly images telling me that have me thrashing in bed like the wild animal i am.