Xie Shi Min's Blog

On paper, Singapore is an economic powerhouse. People love expounding on how a poor fishing village (this was proven untrue) became a prosperous city, and how we have built our nation on pragmatism. It shows in our education system; our students pick the courses with the most prestige and earning power, and make financial moves like buying a condo, only to flip it for double the price (here’s looking at you, Tampines).

Everything is regulated. Smoke within the yellow box. Adhere to guidelines when you burn offerings.

And yet, as a people, we are haunted.

In the early days, most of Singapore’s citizens were migrants fleeing from the turmoil of the countries of their origin. Our ancestors carried with them severe losses and emotional pain that was not processed. The trauma in so many families lingers as ghosts, and it is passed down from generation to generation. We didn’t have the vocabulary for this until recently, when many people and therapists used social media to start all of these conversations about mental health. There is some progress, but there is much to be done.

Our ghosts aren’t just the pontianaks, makcik keropok, orang bunians and what have you — they are our own fears, grief, and shame, haunting our pristine BTOs and even more atas condominiums. They are our trauma inherited from our ancestors, and the darkness that we carry within ourselves.

And hey — it’s easy to tell a story about a ghost to process your own trauma.

Ghost stories have existed time immemorial — ever since we sat around the fire to tell them as early humans, but I guess now it’s a campfire in a forest. (or Bukit Brown. If you dare.) But what we take away from these ghost stories is not to whistle at night, but rather, an even better reason to be quiet.

We have to think — what is haunting us on the inside that is manifesting in our environment? It is only when we are aware of what is lurking in our subconscious that we can learn how to deal with it in a healthy way—by turning on the light and looking at the parts we don’t acknowledge.

So here’s to looking inward — at our trauma, our ghosts, and facing them to find the light within us.

(what nobody tells you about finishing and releasing a book).

Ghost Hunters has been out since April, and I’m not going to lie, it’s been quiet. It’s reached the people who know me (obviously), those who are in the know with Singlit (book bloggers, I see you!) and maybe the odd influencer or two. There are people who love it, people who hate it, and people who will side-eye and stomp on it when they get the chance. IYKYK.

No one tells you that after publishing a book, it gets very lonely. Here are some things that happen after the book is released:

You keep waiting for edits, or something to do. You feel empty after a while, because the project has been your baby for so long. You walk around, like that Pablo Escobar meme, searching for something to do. You take a break, and start thinking about your next book.

2. After the book launch, I stayed at the venue and just hung out with friends. We got Jollibee! But everyone I can imagine, went back to their homes and their lives. Or maybe they hung out with friends. It’s like in the movie, Soul — the composer, Trent Reznor of NIN fame, said that after one of his concerts, everyone went back and continued on with their lives, while he remained. And if you don’t have a support system, it can get lonely. For those who stayed, thank you.

3. I cannot change what’s inside the book. A friend’s husband asked if I was open to criticism. Like, what do you mean? The book is out. I cannot possibly change and make comments based on what he didn’t like. And if I spent all day doing this developing my book, I wouldn’t even get far in being published because I cannot please everybody. Also, leave a review on GoodReads and tell the readers what you think. Criticism is for them to evaluate whether they want to read the book — or not!

4. Self promotion doesn’t end. I hate it. I hate self-promo a lot, but I end up having to do it because I am the best advocate for my book. You wouldn’t think, with me standing in front of a camera and talking to an audience, but here we are.

5. I still doubt myself. On bad days, I wake up and wonder why I people like me get published. What I write isn’t considered terribly literary, a writer. My style shifted and the stories I wanted to tell ended up being genre fiction. I think that’s ok, but on bad days, I wonder if I still “got it” to make it.

But hey—the more I meet readers, the more it is worthwhile to me. Because just the other day, I encountered someone who has an old but well-loved copy of Dragonhearted. And I will never forget the day that the auntie from the post office asked to read my book.

Ghost Hunters is in stores now.

“If I were a perfectionist, I would do this…” my boss said, demonstrating to me for the nth time how to take pictures.

That was how I knew I needed to quit my job. I was trying to get rid of this toxic mindset of being perfect, and I encountered it again, at work, where my employers drilled it into me that I had to be perfect at all times. There was no leeway to make mistakes, and it was tiring.

Thank goodness I wasn’t an air traffic controller.

I’d been taught at a very young age that I had to be perfect. I had to be smart, get straight As, and then get a high-paying job as a doctor or lawyer. Spoiler alert: I was never very good at Maths or Science. I was just good at daydreaming and being creative.

Another spoiler: I found out, as an adult, that I had ADHD, during my birthday month.

Happy Birthday to me, I guess?

But back to my job. I needed one that allowed room for creativity and not one where I was expected to blindly obey and not use my better judgement to determine what was best in terms of content direction.

My boss didn’t know it, but at that time, when she brought up perfection, she hurt me.

I’d been brought up to be perfect, forced to be a square peg in a round hole so many times. I’ve hurt myself, physically and mentally to be all of those things, beating myself up when I have come up short.

It took a long while to concede that I will never be, and here she was, reminding me of how I didn’t measure up.

Again.

I remember those days agonising over my university essays and not daring to hand them up almost killed me. All of those times I was too afraid to submit something also killed me. I had convinced myself that no one would want to read my work anyway, so I didn’t submit it. Part of it was because of perfectionism. Look at these writers. Their perfect prose. Their literary flair. Their obscure references. Meanwhile, I was here, a sitting duck, still stuck on something that didn’t work.

Until an editor released me.

She was brutal. Relentless. She told me that I’d wasted my time working on a project that wasn’t going to take off, so I was better off writing something else.

OK then.

I had an idea. An idea about ghost hunting in Singapore, but after the beating that my self-esteem had taken, I didn’t know if I could execute it. But hey—since I wasn’t perfect, and since I was a shitty student, shitty employee, and now, a shitty writer, there was no harm in trying it, right? I could write it, enjoy myself, and release myself from the need to be a good writer. An award-winning writer. The perfect writer. I’d had enough.

I was lucky.

Because that book about ghost hunters was picked up by Epigram, and it is out now. It pushed me and stretched me creatively, and even though it’s dark, I enjoyed writing it. I didn’t worry so much about it being perfect.

At least, not during the first draft.

Here it is:

Some people keep hoping to find the right time to move out, to start their own business, to break up with their significant other, and so on. They wait for the perfect moment, like how I thought when the stars would align, or how when I got good at writing, I would finally have a publishable book.

But there is no perfect moment, and the way to get better at writing was to write another book. And try again.

So here we are. The Ghost Hunters of Geylang is here. I hope that despite that dark themes, you’ll enjoy it and have fun. I know I did.

A guilty pleasure of mine is reading romance books. Back when I was a teenager, pining about boys who would never like me back, I would go to the library after school and borrow romance books. I would read all of them and live in this fantasy of cute clothes and shoes, and also ending up with the love of my life at the end of the book.

Real life is not like that and far more complicated, and when it came to writing Ghost Hunters of Geylang, I wanted to create chemistry between Su Lynn and Cai Rong. In the early drafts, it seemed like Cai Rong was too smooth and they didn’t come across as teenagers, so I spent time refining their interactions and making it more awkward.

The romance writers made it look so easy!

There was also a part where they kissed, but my editor said that with all of the events being cut out, their relationship did not warrant one, so the kiss was deleted.

Another scene I cut out was the epilogue. I clung on to this scene because I thought that readers would love Su Lynn and Cai Rong being all mushy.

This deleted ending, the one you are about to read, belongs to another version of Ghost Hunters — one with more plot holes and a whole lot of wish fulfillment.

But the new ending, the one about riding a motorcycle into the night, fit the best to show that Su Lynn had come back full circle and had grown as a person.

Anyway, for readers who love mushy stuff, here’s your alternate, unpublishable ending:

Epilogue 

A crystal chandelier hung overhead, with light bouncing off the walls of the ballroom. A singer with a feather boa sang about remembering. She was beautiful, twirling about in a glittery dress. It was a bar, just like the one Meng Po owned. I had to be in the netherworld. And if I was there, it meant that I was dead, or—

“Lynnie?” someone tapped me on the shoulder. Cai Rong? I took a deep breath but didn’t close my eyes, in case I woke up. I turned around. It really was him. He was fully restored, Cai Rong in the flesh. This was what he would look like if he were well and truly mortal. If I could swoon, I would. His face was no longer grey and sunken in but was now in a healthy pink hue. And his eyes – I’d missed those eyes! – dark and vast as the universe itself. And that cheeky grin with the dimple beneath it. He was here. Finally here.

I wrapped him up and squeezed him as much as I could–the smell of his cologne was all too familiar. It meant that I was safe and nothing could harm me. Once I let go, he grinned and took the seat opposite me.

“I’ve missed you,” I said.

“Me too,” Cai Rong replied. Then he took my hands.

“Su Lynn, you have to let me go,” he said. “I know what happens when you don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I tried to hang on to life. I wanted to be alive when I was dead, but the best way for me was to let go and move forward.”

“I can’t. Not when we’ve been through so much. And even though you betrayed me, well, I —”

He hugged me. “I know, but now, you’re the leader of the ghost hunters. You should go live your life.”

“Just to check — I’m not dead, right?”

“Yep. You know, I’ll still be with you, in some way.”

My vision started to blur and I shook my head.

“No, you won’t be. You’re not here, and I’ll be alone again. And now that you’re in Meng Po’s house, you’re going to be reincarnated, aren’t you?”

I hated saying that aloud. It made me come to terms with the fact that he was going, and there was nothing I can do about it.

“Yes. You’ll see me again. I’ll be someone else.”

“And I’ll be older. We may never meet.”

“Maybe, in our next few lives, we can.”

“M-maybe,” I sputtered. Tears were streaming down my face at this point. He wiped them away.

“Don’t give up on life.” he said. He stroked my hair, and his hand travelled down to my face, wiping all of those tears.

“I am still with you, even when I am gone. I promise.”

“Cai Rong!”

He laughed. I stared at him and cocked my head. He moved close to hug me again .

“Everything will be OK, Lynnie. Now, shall we have one last dance before I go?” he asked, reaching out for me. I grabbed his hand and we stood up. The woman on stage was now singing another song, and even though her voice was faint, the melody reached my ears. Cai Rong danced with me, holding me close. I tried not to think about where I was and how this was a dream, trying to focus on the moment. But I couldn’t resist. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

There was a flash of light and I woke up. The house was quiet. I started sobbing, remembering that Cai Rong had finally been reincarnated, while the birds chirped outside. It was back to reality, in this old house that I couldn’t bear to be in because it was tainted by my grandfather’s belongings. But I had to focus. There was still the ‘O’ levels, convincing my parents to be a ghost hunter for real, and releasing the rest of the ghosts my grandfather had captured. This was a lot, but I had to do one task at a time.

I got out of bed and walked to the kitchen to make breakfast. There was something shimmering on one of the trees outside. I retrieved it and it was a locket. I opened it. It said:

To Su Lynn. With love from Cai Rong.

I swung down from the trees and headed back into the house. I had to rummage through my grandfather’s belongings to gather more evidence. My phone rang.

“Su Lynn?” the voice on the other line asked.

“Yes?”

“Have you considered my offer?”

You probably have already realised that Ghost Hunters of Geylang is out. You probably have seen the reel of the book launch, of the workshop at CHIJ Katong Convent, and also where to find my book at Kinokuniya. In short, it’s been a busy April and this will probably continue in May. I also have plans for June, but that will be unveiled later.

For my blog, I will post a series of excerpts and behind-the-scenes chapters that show you what went into the book. The chapter below was deleted, because it did nothing for the book; it showed the readers what we already know about the relationship between Su Lynn and her grandfather, and their stances on capturing ghosts. I just wanted to include a langsuir for the sake of it, too, but she was too similar to the pontianak and we already had one in the opening scene.

Anyway, here’s the deleted chapter. Enjoy!

“Ah Gong, I’m scared.” I pleaded. It was a weeknight and for once, I had no homework. My grandfather took this opportunity to take me on one of his outings. We’d walked through the avenues of our neighbourhood, and hiked into one of the forested areas. It was my first time experiencing total darkness—Asyraf hadn’t convinced my grandfather to use infra-red goggles yet, and I was forbidden from using my phone. An owl hooted, and my grandfather perked up. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—yet.

“Why should you be scared? You have your ah gong here,” he replied, surveying the scene. “You must learn to be observant. Did you hear the owl hoot just now?”

I nodded.

“That is a sure sign that a langsuir is nearby.”

I gulped. Ah Gong had already told me what these creatures were, and they sounded dangerous. They were kind of like pontianaks, who died when they were pregnant or giving  birth, but either looked pretty, or gruesome. They were similar to pontianak, but perched on trees like birds, with their long nails hanging down from the trees.

“Ah Gong, how do you know it’s a langsuir?” I asked.

“Well, the ladies in the market talked about sightings,” he explained. “What’s more, you know she’s around when an owl hoots.”

“It could be a normal owl,” I said, but Ah Gong shook his head, irritated. He’d become more and more like that, lately, especially when I asked him questioned. But of course, 9-year-old me hadn’t realised that. She just saw that her ah gong had mood swings more and more.

“Look at this fern,” he commanded. There was an edge to his voice. I could vaguely make out the outline of these plants. I switched on my phone light, but Ah Gong immediately covered it.

“No! You’ll attract her attention! The way to hunting a powerful ghost is to always sneak on her from behind!” he’d lowered his voice to a whisper. I kept my phone, but not seeing anything made me feel uneasy.

“Anyway, this fern indicates that she’s near. They grow whenever she’s around,” Ah Gong lectured. We tip-toed as much as we could, trying not to make noise. My grandfather took a deep breath. “She’s here. I know it.” 

I felt it too. Something was watching me, and unease crept up my spine. I wasn’t sure if we were hunting her or if she was stalking us. Even though it was a cool night, I was sweating. It wasn’t just the humidity. My eyes darted around, trying to see something within the shadows. But I needn’t have bothered.

A whoosh of white raced past us, and perched atop a nearby tree. It was an owl. I wasn’t sure how, but this bird gave us a malicious grin, and slowly, but surely, its features morphed into a beautiful young woman with long hair that seemed to blend into the vines of the forest. Was she part of the forest? She smirked at us.

“What is an old man and his young granddaughter doing here? Sacrificing her to me?” she asked, licking her lips. My stomach churned. I didn’t like this at all. It seemed like this creature was going to eat me.

“I’d like to see you try,” Ah Gong said. Without warning, the langsuir surged towards my grandfather, and in a movement so swift that I almost didn’t see it, he pasted a talisman on her forehead. The beauty from her face faded and wrinkles appeared. Her evil grin was now a sad frown.

“Who—are you?” she choked. The piece of paper on her forehead glowed. My grandfather grinned, relishing this moment. At that point in time, I thought it was a triumphant grin. Now, I see it as something more sinister.

“I am the grand ghost hunter Zhong Kui, and you are now at my mercy. You will no longer terrorise the residents here.” He stared her down, and her once evil expression was now mournful.

“Please… let me go…” she managed to rasp.

But my grandfather shook his head.

“You should’ve thought of that before terrorising the neighbourhood,” he growled. The ghost stretched out her arm and reached for me, her nails missing me by just a hair. I stepped away from her.

“Your child… she–”

“You will not take her away from me!” Ah Gong thundered. Sensing that she was weak, Ah Gong jammed his sword into her. Black blood oozed out.

“I—I lost her,” she sobbed. “I can’t find her. She’s never coming back. S—she–”

My grandfather twisted the sword inside her. She screamed. I covered my eyes with my hands, but something made me look. He pasted another talisman on her, and her body jolted up unnaturally, like she was being shocked. She no longer made any noise, but looked right at me. I couldn’t explain how it felt–it was like she saw me for who I was, and yet, her gaze was helpless and glassy. She opened her mouth in a silent scream. Her voice was gone. There was no fight in her anymore. But what my grandfather did next was just downright cruel. He took out beads from his pockets, and stuffed them in her mouth, one by one. Gradually, the ghost’s mouth filled up, and its body made another choking noise. In the next moment, it shrank and shrivelled up, a husk of what it was.

I shut my eyes before my grandfather could do something else, but I shouldn’t have bothered. It was the end. He took out the gourd, and the magical container made this disgusting, gurgling noise, as though eating the ghost. I shuddered. Finally, my grandfather spoke.

“Aiyo, Suling,” he said. “How are you going to catch ghosts if you are so afraid?”

I opened my eyes. There was no trace of the spirit.

“I will try,” I replied, noticing that the plants where her body was had faded. At least, I thought they had, in the dark.

“Now let’s go home,” Ah Gong said, and we made our way back. But something didn’t sit right with me. 

“Ah Gong,” I said, “how come the langsuir started talking?”

“You shouldn’t listen to them,” he replied. “They all do this to make your pity them, and then, they slaughter you.”

“But I don’t think that she’s cunning,” I said. “It seemed like she was in trouble.”

“Ghosts, ghouls, and creatures like her are trouble,” Ah Gong stated, a bit too sharply. I winced. But then, he softened.

“They always target girls like you, so you have to be mentally strong. You cannot be swayed.”

We had now come to the main pavement, and streetlamps came into view. I could see properly. I knew the way home.

“Ah Gong?” I asked.

“What?”

“Why do we live here, if there are so many ghosts?”

“You with the questions,” he snapped, but he’d probably seen the wounded expression on my face and then recovered.

“There are always ghosts in Singapore. It’s just that many don’t have the third eye, like us.”

“But we encounter a lot of ghosts here,” I said.

“When you grow up, you will encounter more. People like us attract them. And sometimes, I will not be there to protect you. It’s best that you learn the way of slaying, and show no mercy.”

No mercy. But the monster’s glassy, helpless gaze would haunt me in the nights to come. I had the sense that we’d done something wrong, but I wasn’t sure what. 

I heard about the sexual assault allegations against Neil Gaiman last year, and I was shocked. I only learnt that he sexually assaulted his nanny, and that was it. I expressed disappointment, and then I moved on. My emotional bandwidth wasn’t quite there to process it so I stored it away, until this week.

That was when the Vulture article came out. The allegations are horrendous. It was a harrowing read, ranging from rape to using BDSM as an excuse for Gaiman to pretend that this was all consensual, and the list goes on.

I am shocked.

How could a writer as esteemed as Neil Gaiman do this? There are many takes online, but the one I want to tackle is people saying not to put Gaiman on a pedestal.

Some may have, sure, and that was only because he presented himself to be a feminist, someone who championed women’s rights and even for trans rights. Every single public appearance has him looking like a calm and composed man who replies to questions in a smart and measured way. He looked like, in all accounts until now, someone who was fighting for those who were marginalised and disenfranchised. And he preyed on the very same people he had championed.

That was the disgusting part.

More came out of the woodwork. People said that handlers at cons made sure that he wasn’t to go near women (or something along the lines of that, or even teach women under 25. Anecdotes on social media abound. There was more dirt on Amanda Palmer, his ex-wife, who also enabled him through it all. And then, Gaiman himself released a statement that was carefully crafted by lawyers that showed no accountability.

What the hell? I don’t even know how you move on from here.

I own all Sandman volumes. I have read almost every book that Gaiiman has written and published. Most of his memorabilia is in storage, but he was one of those writers who showed me what comics and stories could do, far better than what I could imagine at the time. I took a lot of his writing advice to heart, also, and realised that I couldn’t follow what he did in his career because we are different people. Very silly, I know. Suffice to say that I admired him.

Until now.

If he didn’t champion women and the LGBTQIA, this blow would’ve hit different. If he wasn’t a hypocrite and engaged in virtue signalling, this would have been different. I feel silly. I’ve been conned through this process, and my favourite writer, like some people I despise, is also only good at virtue signalling. Far be it for me to pretend to have good morals, but the bare minimum is not to rape people, maybe? I am, at the very least, shaken, and I am also heartbroken. We trusted someone with a global mouthpiece to shed some light on our struggles, but it turned out that he was a monster all along.

And that is why, when I had my mentoring session with a young writer just now, I told her the following.

I told her to never ever be in the same room alone with a male writer who was much older than her. That if, at any point in time, she was uncomfortable with what was happening in any writing workshop or in a professional setting, she should call her mother, and then me. I can come later to help be her advocate, and ensure that any predator faces the consequences of his actions.

I also talked to her about the BooksActually scandal, and how a certain someone I know went to jail for grooming a minor. And that some young people who are around her age have told me about the abuses of power by their teachers.

I hate it.

I hate that I have to do this.

I hate that young girls and women cannot exist safely in spaces because we never know what wolves in sheep’s clothing may target them. I worry about the next generation of vulnerable writers — those with little familial and financial support — because that is who predators target. I worry that their stories will be taken away because some man in power abused them and left them, a shell of their former selves.

But that is all I can do. I can only show whoever I know that I am there to support them and I am there to believe them.

This problem, of famous artists, writers and people in the media or book industry abusing this power isn’t new, and this is a many-headed hydra. Find out that someone is problematic and then, months and years down the road, another person who we all thought was good and wholesome is actually dark.

I am tired of this. I am tired of hearing about all of this nonsense. I am only lucky that some students have come my way and know about this.

And I hope that with this knowledge, they will be protected.

The year was 2019. The pandemic was much more than the world could handle, and my editor had just screamed at me for writing a shitty sequel. I’d had an emotional breakdown, lyng on the floor of my apartment, not quite moving, because I wasn’t sure what to do. 

I remained there for a very, very, long time.

And I stopped writing for months.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was in this period of self-doubt, thinking that whatever I wrote was shitty, and the stress of producing something after Dragonhearted was too great to bear.

And maybe, just maybe, I thought I shouldn’t be a writer anymore.

During this time, my friend who had opened up a table top roleplaying studio had texted me and said that she and the dungeon masters who worked there had come up with a homebrew Dungeons and Dragons world, which was all about pirates.

And I knew who I wanted to play as.

Suddenly, all the misery about failing to write a book disappeared because I could shed the painful reality of being me and be someone else. 

I’d created a character loosely based on Zheng Yi Sao, the most successful pirate to have ever lived, and I called her Da Sao. I’d essentially copied and pasted her backstory (yes, I know, very creative), classed her as a fighter, and we were off. I didn’t worry about sucking at D&D, about min-maxing, and all of that number-crunchy stuff like that. I just knew that when I was off the clock, I was the Pirate Queen, not a failed writer, and somehow, I felt empowered.

As Da Sao, I still failed — I lost an important alliance with the dwarves because I‘d made a foolish decision, and even in an epic, almost all of my crew died and I had to rebuild. Yet, somehow, I still felt empowered. I was the leader of my crew, the Blue Dragons (named after the blue dragon in my first book because again, I was vert creative), and my friends trusted me to make decisions for the whole crew.

At times, these decisions were terrifying, because I had to bear in mind the well-being and safety of the crew, and also think about where the money was coming from to support such a large fleet. However, I had friends and crew members on my side, who discussed what decisions we could make so that we could ensure the best outcome possible.

As Da Sao, I was able to transcend being a failure and the limits of the pandemic. Even as I felt helpless with being unable to go out and see my friends, I played when regulations eased and as much as I could within these restrictions because being her was my lifeline to sanity. 

As her, I could problem-solve my way out of my mistakes and failures, and in some way, she showed me that I could overcome failure.

In some ways, too, playing as the Pirate Queen inspired me. I knew her biography by heart, and my problems, like my work being rejected, seemed small in comparison to hers. She had to face the squabbles of her crew, the Portuguese, and then the Qing royal court later on, when she chose to retire from piracy. In the pages of history, she always seemed sure of herself, always knowing to make the right decision, even when I didn’t. Somehow, in this morally grey area, she still inspired me, and I am learning to trust myself just as she did. Assuming that she did, of course, because the history books say that she was strong and sure of herself.

In the last session as the Pirate Queen, someone in our party challenged the gods themselves to an epic battle, and we won. The Pirate Queen is now a god. With a player leaving, the group I’ve played in has shrunk, and I don’t know what to do.

But I know that I used her as a crutch to empower myself, and in the past year, I haven’t felt the need to. Maybe it’s age, or maybe it’s because I’ve learnt to trust myself more, but whatever it is, I think I can stand on my own, just a little bit more now.

I will still want to play as her when I can, but since her ascension to godhood, I’ve found that I’m more at peace. With such a great character “ending,” it gives me hope that as cheesy as it sounds, I can determine a future where I am happy, too.

Playing Da Sao will always be one of my favourite things, and I’m glad I chose to play as her. 

I still fear failure. 

I still hate making tough decisions. 

But somehow, after being her, being in the “real world” is easier.

And I can move forward.

My publisher, Epigram Books, invited me to their First Look Sales Conference. It’s an event they hold twice a year, and the authors get to talk about the books that they are launching.

It was a blast!

First, I had a look at the catalogue. I saw the finalised cover, the synopsis of my book, and also my bio! It was awesome. The book on the adjacent page got cut off, but it’s called Hire Power and it’s a book about headhunting, which is much needed in this economic landscape.

Inside the pack were stickers and bookmarks of my book.

There were also stickers:

Here’s my favourite one:

This project has been a long time coming, and I’ve learnt so much about writing just from this book. I cannot wait for it to come out and have everyone read it. It has everything I want in a book — romance, the supernatural, and of course, a lot of heart. I hope that when it comes out in November, you’ll enjoy it to.

More reels of it on my social media.

Hello! I received some good news lately, and I thought it’d be a wise move to update the blog again, you know, get back to it, posting and suchlike.

2023 was a tough year. I tried to do the SEO thing but it didn’t go over so well. I think I tried to do SEO in the 2023 incarnation of the blog, which I don’t have anymore because I let it fall by the wayside and didn’t back it up. It also felt decidedly fake because I was trying to game the Google algorithm.

(Also, writing these posts were so taxing.)

But due to popular demand — or rather, the demand of a loyal fan — the blog is back.

And it’s also back because, I can say, with 80% certainty, that I will, with the help of Epigram books, publish a new book later this year.

It’s called The Ghost Hunters of Geylang, and it’s my most personal book so far.

It’s got elements of a ghost story, romance, coping with school, and standing up for yourself.

I hope you like it as much as I do.

And, I think, after trying to make this blog as SEO-friendly as possible, I don’t think I’m going to care about doing that. I’m going to write what I feel, and hope for the best.

I’ll keep you all posted.

What would I do with 19 million?
I’d buy a home, for a start.
No longer will I wait for some man to agree
To live in a pathetic shoebox apartment,
Or to be swindled into living in a condominium–
And pay extra for much less space.

No, I wish for a bungalow with endless rooms,
To build a cat superhighway, a library,
And a bedroom with fluffy blankets.

Maybe that will leave me with 16 million,
And that will allow me to leave a sealed letter
On my employer’s desk,
And I won’t have to bear the burdenof soulless drudgery,

But I wonder if I ever had oneto begin with.

Enough money to start my own publishing company.
To rent an office for the sake of it–
But staff can work from home.
Time to write my novels.
Personal language tutors at my beck and call.
A butler.
A sleek ducati that winks at me in the sun.
A KitchenAid stand mixer.
A Dyson vacuum cleaner.
A bespoke wardrobe full of costumes.
All the Apple products–lookin’ at you, iPad.
Oh yeah and a PS5.

I will be a dragon that arranges my hoard.
But all I want is a time machine
To go back to that day, that very sunny day,
Before things got complicated
Where we held hands and looked at the bluest sky–
And that somehow, even though I felt poor, talentless and ugly,
You saw something in me,
Something that money cannot buy.