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We Were Always Eating Expired Things
Shortlisted for the Singapore Literature Prize 2016 for English Poetry
We Were Always Eating Expired Things is centered on our innate desire for connection, both physical and emotional. The poems deal with the impossibility of such an endeavor and celebrate our persistence in striving anyway.
At its core, the collection is built around a very wise line from a Beatles song: I want to hold your hand. I want to hold your hand with no further expectations. I want to hold your hand instead of telling you I understand when I don’t. I want to hold your hand although we don’t always get along. I want to hold your hand despite the calluses, scratches, and scars that get in the way. I want to hold your hand knowing I’ll have to let it go one day.
I just want to hold your hand.
We Were Always Eating Expired Things is centered on our innate desire for connection, both physical and emotional. The poems deal with the impossibility of such an endeavor and celebrate our persistence in striving anyway.
At its core, the collection is built around a very wise line from a Beatles song: I want to hold your hand. I want to hold your hand with no further expectations. I want to hold your hand instead of telling you I understand when I don’t. I want to hold your hand although we don’t always get along. I want to hold your hand despite the calluses, scratches, and scars that get in the way. I want to hold your hand knowing I’ll have to let it go one day.
I just want to hold your hand.
88 pages, Paperback
First published September 4, 2014
2 people are currently reading
125 people want to read
About the author
Cheryl Julia Lee
7 books3 followersCheryl Julia Lee is the author of the poetry collection We Were Always Eating Expired Things (Math Paper Press, Singapore), which was shortlisted for the Singapore Literature Prize in 2016. She is pursuing her PhD in contemporary fiction at Durham University, and her work has been published in Columbia Journal, Icarus and Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, among others.
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Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
March 14, 2017
a quick read. i would recommend you read this book twice. one in big bite, take it whole, not stopping to experience the way the namesake tied the other poems together. and two, in a slow tender manner, as if you're memorizing a person who was scheduled to leave any minute now.
October 14, 2015
I enjoyed most of the book. It was written with poise and full of very delicate imagery and scenes with a certain aftertaste of bitterness and resignation that I find myself familiar with.
May 5, 2017
Only a few stood out to me, like Pappadum and Fault Lines. Rather than write a whole review, I'll let a Facebook post of mine do the talking.
'I've been noticing that there's been a very popular (but rarely discussed) trope or cliche of the 20-something lonely moody hipster/directionless unfulfilled office worker, sitting in cafe/bar, that has seen some upsurge in usage, especially in Singaporean literature. It's great as an idea qua meme, in that:
1. It doesn't have much of a traceable genealogy (blends itself into postmodernity).
2. It's relatable.
3. It seems like a perennial concept, without actually being perennial.
4. The symptoms are not obvious, ie tends to be implicit.
5. Singapore is "like that" (alienation, commodity fetishism, lonely crowds) so it can masquerade as a uniquely local trope, but actually it's just romanticism without sociology.'
But maybe, just maybe, I'll revisit this one day.
[Review 1 - 05/05/17.]
'I've been noticing that there's been a very popular (but rarely discussed) trope or cliche of the 20-something lonely moody hipster/directionless unfulfilled office worker, sitting in cafe/bar, that has seen some upsurge in usage, especially in Singaporean literature. It's great as an idea qua meme, in that:
1. It doesn't have much of a traceable genealogy (blends itself into postmodernity).
2. It's relatable.
3. It seems like a perennial concept, without actually being perennial.
4. The symptoms are not obvious, ie tends to be implicit.
5. Singapore is "like that" (alienation, commodity fetishism, lonely crowds) so it can masquerade as a uniquely local trope, but actually it's just romanticism without sociology.'
But maybe, just maybe, I'll revisit this one day.
[Review 1 - 05/05/17.]
May 28, 2018
We Were Always Eating Expired Things begins with a promise: I want to hold your hand knowing I'll have to let it go one day. A conditional yes, says the poet, only if I don't know is an option. Lee invites the reader into a world of love, almost-love, only if one is willing to be careered off course.
Love is general in this collection, though it is built on a strict ménage. It is paternal and abiding. There is something precarious and precious about Father's razor that holds the skin: in too deep, and the bloodline is severed; hands off, and the surface is a mess. Herein is the balancing act, gesturing towards empathy and stolidity, between envy and exasperation: the grandma who cannot move mountains holds the strength to resist the future; the pretty doll sister who takes no hits from her mother also receives no furniture from her siblings.
The ties that bind are the ones that are tight. These are delicate lines, thankfully Lee is a wondrous funambulist. The skill of focus lies in the slacklining: the prose bounces from things breaking to marriage crumbling, from people in bed to people laundering bed sheets, from making love to making something. The connections are foreseeable but not too convenient; deflections and projections are not aerial theatrics, for Lee writes with utmost artistic sincerity. Again, the promise of the poet sounds on, I want to hold your hand instead of telling you I understand when I don't.
The prominent concern in the poems, I guess, is the waiting. What happens when waiting-which in its obedience and endurance can only be virtuous-becomes a wrong? What happens when even the most mundane of routine fails to repeat itself? Mr Wolf is no longer obliged to play the time game; expired cheese does not curdle; the hollow woman is the woman in love. When the speaker admits that they were always eating expired things, does the admittance absolve her/him from the telos which provides the justification for the consumption, the nonchalance, the waiting for the final expiration? The past continuous tense is telling. Knowing what is (and was) does not mean one has the answer.
We Were Always Eating Expired Things does not pretend to know the things no one would know or care to know anyway. Expiry dates of things in Christmas hampers, the secrets behind snipped bangs, schoolgirls hiding in bathrooms, how to fold a paper swan.... Yet, it brings one into these quandaries and 'false' issues. Maybe in the small we may find unsuspecting revelations and ways to toe the line as a couple, a trio, a quartet, and the list goes on, so that the speaker need not walk ahead, alone.
Love is general in this collection, though it is built on a strict ménage. It is paternal and abiding. There is something precarious and precious about Father's razor that holds the skin: in too deep, and the bloodline is severed; hands off, and the surface is a mess. Herein is the balancing act, gesturing towards empathy and stolidity, between envy and exasperation: the grandma who cannot move mountains holds the strength to resist the future; the pretty doll sister who takes no hits from her mother also receives no furniture from her siblings.
The ties that bind are the ones that are tight. These are delicate lines, thankfully Lee is a wondrous funambulist. The skill of focus lies in the slacklining: the prose bounces from things breaking to marriage crumbling, from people in bed to people laundering bed sheets, from making love to making something. The connections are foreseeable but not too convenient; deflections and projections are not aerial theatrics, for Lee writes with utmost artistic sincerity. Again, the promise of the poet sounds on, I want to hold your hand instead of telling you I understand when I don't.
The prominent concern in the poems, I guess, is the waiting. What happens when waiting-which in its obedience and endurance can only be virtuous-becomes a wrong? What happens when even the most mundane of routine fails to repeat itself? Mr Wolf is no longer obliged to play the time game; expired cheese does not curdle; the hollow woman is the woman in love. When the speaker admits that they were always eating expired things, does the admittance absolve her/him from the telos which provides the justification for the consumption, the nonchalance, the waiting for the final expiration? The past continuous tense is telling. Knowing what is (and was) does not mean one has the answer.
We Were Always Eating Expired Things does not pretend to know the things no one would know or care to know anyway. Expiry dates of things in Christmas hampers, the secrets behind snipped bangs, schoolgirls hiding in bathrooms, how to fold a paper swan.... Yet, it brings one into these quandaries and 'false' issues. Maybe in the small we may find unsuspecting revelations and ways to toe the line as a couple, a trio, a quartet, and the list goes on, so that the speaker need not walk ahead, alone.
March 24, 2019
A short read. Read some of these pieces twice, to reveal new meaning. Enjoyed the cleanness of her language and how her words roll off easily. Didn't enjoy some of the pieces which left me with neither resolution nor revelation (I.e. the one about her forehead and more)
July 20, 2020
I love browsing used bookstores, and it has been a while since I went into one thanks to the current COVID situation. Recently, however, I had the opportunity to visit Madison, WI, and explore Paul's Bookstore, which is fantastic! Seriously, if you're ever in Madison, I definitely recommend a visit. They have an amazing selection, and I could have spent hours there.
Among the books I picked up there was We Were Always Eating Expired Things. It is the debut poetry collection of Singapore writer/poet Cheryl Julia Lee. From what I can tell, she hasn't yet published a second collection, which makes me sad because I'd love to see more work from her. I bought this collection because I flipped through it and saw a poem titled "You Can Return the Books You Borrow", but then I fell in love with the whole thing. It centers around the idea of a family and its house falling apart and what that looks like. I really loved Lee's verse style and just the narrative of the collection.
If you're looking for an interesting, short poetry collection, give We Were Always Eating Expired Things a try!
Among the books I picked up there was We Were Always Eating Expired Things. It is the debut poetry collection of Singapore writer/poet Cheryl Julia Lee. From what I can tell, she hasn't yet published a second collection, which makes me sad because I'd love to see more work from her. I bought this collection because I flipped through it and saw a poem titled "You Can Return the Books You Borrow", but then I fell in love with the whole thing. It centers around the idea of a family and its house falling apart and what that looks like. I really loved Lee's verse style and just the narrative of the collection.
If you're looking for an interesting, short poetry collection, give We Were Always Eating Expired Things a try!
October 9, 2014
A collection of poetry that I read through in one sitting without stopping for breath, but in which I had to stop occasionally to clear my eyes where it blurred over the lines with tears. A wonderful collection of poetry that reaches the heart with pain, love, family and growth.
March 13, 2019
A quick read. Though not particularly memorable, I enjoyed the local references which reminded me of my own childhood and adolescence growing up in Singapore.
October 17, 2022
The title drew me in – I found it fascinating-sort-of-disturbing and thought there might be a similar curious energy running through the book. I wanted to like it. Unfortunately, not sure if it's me and SingLit, rarely does a SingLit poem make me feel things, unlike Ada Limon or Chen Chen... is it me?? Is it SingLit??
I think none of the pieces got me emotionally invested enough to feel anything before I got ripped out into the next one, which was also what made this a quick read. Perhaps it's because the pieces feel very literal for me – it's always telling me something is happening, but who is this "we", this "us" this "I"? It's like telling me about something without actually telling me, which makes me feel as though there's nothing rich savour or soak in. There's not much to take apart and reread, over and over. So maybe I'll reread but...someone else needs to convince me. :P
I think none of the pieces got me emotionally invested enough to feel anything before I got ripped out into the next one, which was also what made this a quick read. Perhaps it's because the pieces feel very literal for me – it's always telling me something is happening, but who is this "we", this "us" this "I"? It's like telling me about something without actually telling me, which makes me feel as though there's nothing rich savour or soak in. There's not much to take apart and reread, over and over. So maybe I'll reread but...someone else needs to convince me. :P
August 14, 2025
Poetry is not my cup of tea, but I came across this book in quiet little bookshop in Singapore and was irrationally drawn to it. Most of the entries were too ephemeral, as most poems are, I suppose. This House Stands Divided, was my favourite. My main problem was the multiple narrative voices -- my understanding was that there was a family of four and different poems are written from the POV of different members of the family. However, it wasn't always clear who's voice was coming through in each poem -- the father or the kids or the mother? -- or if there was an overlap of voices within a poem.
September 23, 2020
‘We were always eating expired things’ sounds frugal, but this collection is rich in metaphors. An atmospheric depiction of intimate relationships falling apart. Cheryl Julia Lee writes with a delicate flair. The sense of loss is immense yet stays clear of melodrama. She illustrates the pain of losing the very core of life - Outer (family) and Inner (self) without resorting to hysterics.
Sublime yet subtle.
Sublime yet subtle.
September 10, 2019
Beautifully written
November 19, 2019
A GOOD READ, plenty of favorites here! Can’t wait to go back to it. This is one of the titles I picked up at booksactually in Tiong Bahru, Singapore.
April 23, 2022
– read with Erice✨
July 15, 2021
This book was written with such love and care I could feel it through the words. Some of them stood out some fell a little short. Much like our attempts at connecting with others, not every single piece would resonate. My favourite one would be This House Stands Divided, one written about her family which really reminds me of mine. Chopsticks touched me in a different way, after experiencing the death of 3 grandparents and going through that same motion thrice. Why, she asks and The lemon table both started and ended in unexpected ways. It's very easy to dismiss this book, some poems feels immature and childish even while others feels like a heavy burden. But recall what the book is about, our need for connection, and you'll realise that it has achieved what it set out to do.
June 24, 2022
At times, it seems as if the more I read, the more I understand the poet. Yet, at other times, I feel more distant from the poet. ✍️
In We Were Always Eating Expired Things, the poems construct fragmentary images of the poet’s life, with words and prose that string together some sort of familial and emotional dysfunction. ❤️🩹
There is death, there is loss, there is love-making, and there are memories from the past. ⚰️
Poems that stood out to me: This House Stands Divided, Forehead, Fault Lines and Chopsticks.
4/5
In We Were Always Eating Expired Things, the poems construct fragmentary images of the poet’s life, with words and prose that string together some sort of familial and emotional dysfunction. ❤️🩹
There is death, there is loss, there is love-making, and there are memories from the past. ⚰️
Poems that stood out to me: This House Stands Divided, Forehead, Fault Lines and Chopsticks.
4/5
September 2, 2020
4.5 stars*
March 28, 2017
Lee's simple words bring out the emotional value of everyday life, showcasing the easily-relatable experiences of attending a funeral, growing up in a Chinese family, and visiting the Science Centre, among others. Every poem in this neat collection strings together a narrative of the common Singaporean, and readers would feel a tug to their heartstrings as they recount experiences of similar emotional weight in their own lives. A highly recommended read.
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews