Hello again

Life, is a series of updates and restarts.

I have always loved writing. Ever since I learned how to string together coherent sentences in English, I have indulged in the power and beauty of written words. First on the tattered pages of my diaries, then on my computer screen. I am not particularly good at writing, but I'd like to think of myself as a writer. It became a way to express myself, cement my innermost thoughts into readable words, and write the defining days I knew I would forget. After all, who else would write these pages that I can revisit many years later and rediscover my old self when the world is too much to take?

I enjoy writing for publications as well. I was offered the opportunity to publish some articles on the R.AGE by The Star when I was doing my Bachelor's degree. Then I used that experience in my CV to score a stint with an advertising agency as a junior writer while waiting to land a more permanent job. A few years later, I did a gig with Poskod.my as their writer for its photojournalism section. And I also did a side hustle writing copies for healthcare products.

But Blogspot was the space where I dumped my personal writings, and I even made some friends from there. I started blogging back when social media wasn't a big thing in my circle. I relish the privacy and the anonymity that I get when I write online, even though the posts were public. Then I started this website, hoping that this would be a space to merge my interest in photography and writing. I kept it up for a while, and I even managed to write a few posts amid a hectic master degree at the LSE.

But then I stopped writing. It didn't happen in a screeching halt, but it was marked with a series of false starts,
draft posts,
distractions,
the "who's reading anyway" days,

and eventually, that well of words I used to draw from became dry. And I stopped trying to write for myself.

I still write – as a researcher. Reports, statements, articles, emails… but these are not writings that I can read back and say, "this is me".

Recently, I have been thinking about writing for myself again. Although, time over the years has changed many things since my Blogspot days, and I have changed too.

After graduating with a second master degree in city design and social science, I started working in an advocacy and research organisation that looks into global issues relating to climate change and the environment. At the same time, I am also volunteering in a local civil society organisation oriented on ecology and climate matters. Dedicating a large portion of my life to these two streams has reshaped my view of the world and society. Nevertheless, I have never abandoned my passion for cities and urbanization.

For this very reason, I want to put my thoughts into writing again, to articulate the world's complexities and my ever-evolving place in it. Writing Twitter posts and threads just don’t quite cut it, and my Instagram posts are mainly for fleeting moments - even though these two platforms garner more views than my website.

As if on cue, a series of recent events has also prompted me to rethink and commit to writing again seriously. Out of the blue, my colleague sent me a link to my post about returning to Penang – asking if this was mine. She gave me a thumbs-up, but how that post found its way into her Whatsapp group remains a mystery. Another good friend of mine recently said that I should write a weekly column (although I think I still have a long way to go). After I raised doubts about myself, she graciously replied that I should just write, but not have any expectations of where it will go. "And just see what comes out."

Frankly, I didn't know I needed to hear that. It's simple, really. Almost too obvious. As long as I don’t write, nothing will ever come out. Like the many years when I stopped writing. There was nothing. And there will always be nothing until I start writing again. It became clear that I was overthinking everything and missing the bigger picture.

And I have also forgotten how it used to be; when I actually write, instead of thinking about writing. Or letting expectations hold me back from writing.

We all know that life is too short for sitting around wishing we had done something that makes us who we are. Especially when I have been receiving news about untimely deaths of late. Acquaintances in their 30s and 40s. People I thought have so much ahead of them still. It always makes you stop and reflect. There aren't a lot of days to be bargained with – and it would be rather foolish to trade it with fear, expectations and what-ifs.

So, this is it. I am writing again. Finally.