The Good Ol’ Taste

The Good Ol’ Taste

In keeping my promise to post something once a week, I decided to use today’s daily prompt by WordPress since I don’t have a topic that I’m dying to write about.

Today’s word is Childhood (which explains the photo of Kermit, but this post is not about Sesame Street, okay?)

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Was That Really Racist?

Was That Really Racist?

Racism and racial prejudice are hard topics to broach, whether you’re in multicultural Singapore or in Europe where the migrant crisis gets more complicated by the day.

Is Singapore a racist country? Quite recently, a foreign student living in Singapore answered this question in her blog, and her story went viral after being featured on Mothership, a local community news / content aggregating site. She talked about her experience with racial prejudice, and she’s right; it is often in details that make you wonder if you’re perhaps being a tad too sensitive.

But I’m not going to discuss race, racism and racial prejudice in Singapore right now. Instead I’ll be sharing about something that happened to me. For some time friends have encouraged me to write about this incident, and I’ve finally decided I shall.

It was the winter of 2012.

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Milk: To Drink Or Not To Drink?

Milk: To Drink Or Not To Drink?

Earlier this year, after watching a horrific video about the abuse of bobby calves at a New Zealand dairy farm (warning before you click: it’s very graphic), I started thinking more seriously about commercial farming practices, from both ethical and health perspectives.

Is cruelty-free dairy farming possible? It’s a question I’ve been pondering over. My vegan friends think not, obviously.

And, where does the dairy milk in Singapore come from?

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The Black Hole (Or An Existential Crisis Of A Freelancer)

The Black Hole (Or An Existential Crisis Of A Freelancer)

10 things your freelancer friend wants to say.

(This post was written on Saturday 0046hrs, but published at 1143hrs)

It’s 46 minutes past midnight. After two hours of trying and failing to fall asleep, I’ve decided it’s not working out. I should do something else. So here I am.

Rewind to 2245hrs, Friday night: I had gone to bed early with hopes of sleeping away a throbbing headache. Lying in pain alone in the dark led me instead to circle black thoughts, including but not limited to the unanswerable question of WhatTheHellAmIDoingTryingToWriteSlashEditFreelanceForALiving, which from here on I shall refer collectively to as The Black Hole.

Some minutes later, I leave the blackness of the bedroom to look for The Husband, who is in the living room, in the middle of a very exciting PS4 game.

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