unbeknownst to some, we go through phases. similar to phases of the moon, we’re constantly changing, evolving into better versions of ourselves, learning and possibly re-learning parts of ourselves that have been unwritten.

in a world where information is transactional, possibly everyone you meet is a tell-tale story of you and your many personas. and maybe, you’ll encounter someone who tells you about something you said or something you did, and you may not have a recollection about it because that story has been told in 80 different versions of the original.

so, i’m going to write. im going to write about everything, because writing feels good, and i think sharing is caring.

also, because i have 10 things i want to accomplish this year. and writing more is one of them.

“dance like nobody’s watching. write like nobody’s reading” - becuz who tf cares that much, let the gossip turn into historical fiction for all i care 😉✨

And if you don’t want to read a newsletter full of sap & cheese, I give you permission to skip; because this is a 🌳 full of it.

We go through phases in our story, some of which are more daring than others, sad than others, and happier than others. Where we build human connection through each phase of life, and some bears more sweet fruit.

Professor Utonium created the powerpuff girls out of sugar, spice and everything nice with a dash of chemical x. I’m not sure what are the ingredients to a green forest partner, but I think I found one.

Anyway.

Dear ☁️,

You’re like the cinnamon in my apple pie—spicy, grounded and is a great sparkling in my life.

Your kindness is reflected through a glass prism like some physics refraction experiment, only yours has been ongoing since you came into this world.

Spent an hour in a cat petting zoo (it’s a shop full of 100 different cats & kittens—cat heaven in a nutshell), petting different cats and taking goofy photos of these sleepy cats. It made me giggle to see you get ignored by these cats because of your very aggressive pats, but after a few “workshop lessons” hovering over me like an intern—you managed to win many hearts.

Spent 5-hours in one of my side questing activities, made you a cake for your birthday and we ‘soldier-walked’ transported it to China to celebrate and while I was hovering over this cake like a mom & her child, you told me not to worry because you once protected people for a living so this cake was in good hands. We had to plan our day quite meticulously so that we had enough time to go back to yours to cut the cake and celebrate—as we both didn’t want to carry it back.

You invited me to go to an Asian Oktoberfest together with your brother & co., listening to finance bros in gilets too drunk on beer flirt with every pretty girl on the tables. And at first it was a little awkward, just four introverts trying to make it through the night, and our table was the most quietest table of them all.

Spent 6-hours waiting in the lobby of the hospital because of an ear infection & an allergic reaction to something, you brought out your lettuce-coloured windbreaker and from then on we had our very first inside-joke.

Because our first date was coffee related, we made it our mission to experience it again by attending a coffee event on a Saturday morning, there wasn’t much of a queue and drank way too much caffeine but it was okay for us light sleepers because it was earlier than 1pm. Spoke too much coffee connoisseur language that it felt we were transported back to 18th Century England.

We made matching rings on one of our side quest activities, thunked out metal with hammers for two hours while listening to the couple next to us give tips on hammering them out—there were wafts of vanilla as the children next door made cupcakes, and you directly went up to them and asked for a bite. In my mind, you’ve been promoted to thief of cupcakes.

I’ve been wanting to go scoop sand in the playground at Kai Tak (letting my inner child out to play), and on the coldest day of the month we wrapped ourselves (like a babushka) in thick coats and scarves and you brought me out to play—frozen noses, and tickled laughter. Safe to say, I think I’m a pretty good sand-scooping lady. It was definitely one of my best days with you.

Knowing you liked Chiikawa & friends, I signed up for a macaron cake making class where I spent 8 hours of my Saturday making Chiikawa characters out of macaron batter. The usagi came out to be the best looking one and I was late to our date, but it was the most fulfilling 8-hours—it was December too, so that became our little edible Christmas tree.

We spent the whole day puzzling in a café, next to an exit where cold air kept coming in and we both huddled like penguins over the coffee table to keep ourselves warm and cozy. You knew how much I loved to puzzle, and even if it drove you crazy how I hammered the pieces that didn’t fit together to each other (the red scarf part), you still took the time to remove each piece and figure it out “just sit down and don’t lift a finger, let me do this part”.

I injured my back from deadlifts you basically brought me around like I was made out of porcelain (yes, tbh looking back i felt like porcelain), could not sit, could not stand, could not pull up my pants. So you took me to see the TCM doctor.

We spent NYE together, where I discovered your lack of alcohol tolerance. Where we danced to jazz and salsa’ed at the Shangri-La lobby in Tsim Sha Tsui, and provided too much 狗糧 to the traffic police stationed for crowd control.

For every book you read on your mini kobo, you will call me out on certain things and give me advice or make quotes with the knowledge you’ve just read. You’d also look for the english version of that book and send it to me because you know how long it takes for me to read a Chinese book.

I especially cherish the book you gifted me for Christmas, a psychology book in Chinese recommended by my therapist—we couldn’t find it when we went to the bookstore, but when you went you found it and you wrapped the book in plastic for me so that me and my clumsy hands don’t spill anything on it (and I found that to be super sweet cuz no one wraps my books as an adult).

For every memory we made, is suspended in a loop, a time-lapse of minutes spiralling out to hours and days. From the day we officially (for you) met, to the present. You’ve consistently created stability and security for the two of us, words & actions combined.

This is mostly just surface level stuff, but I really love the way you think. We’re both cravers for knowledge and understanding ourselves at a deeper level, so our conversations feels like a book that never ends, there are times where we may touch base on certain subjects that feel a little squeamish to say out loud, but we both like to problem solve.

Two anxious people trying to problem solve—or we can’t sleep (haha).

If we strip away our status, reputation, monetary gains, and material wants. You’re left with just two people trying to get to know each other without all the extra fluff.

and,

I’m so glad he’s mine to love.

p.s. he wrote one too (here)

It’s December, already. One full circle, although instead of a circle it felt more like a scribble. 2025, you left me feeling all lost and confused, uncovering all sorts of unhealed childhood trauma. You’ve taught me to sit with my thoughts, my feelings, my anger, and my deep down resentment towards myself and why. You did not teach me to love myself this year, in fact I think I hate myself a little more today.

2025, you made me want to disappear. But even on the days that I wanted to run away into a cabin in the woods and throw my phone away without anyone knowing my location, I still turned up to work, to my friends and my family, sat in my big girl pants, and carried on with the world without learning how to confront it all. I learned how to play avoidant in my head.

I learned how to reshuffle my mindset, to put gorilla tape on any forthcoming shadow of a thought and distracted myself with work and other side quests. I’m giving myself permission to rewrite my chapters again and again, with a continuing list of side quests this past year:

• yoga (i’m certified!)

• pottery & ceramics

• bouldering

• baking cartoon macarons

• decorating cakes

• adrenaline sports

• dancing

• puzzling

• metalwork

• carpentry

• HIIT (injured myself while doing it too..RIP)

• entrepreneurship (shhh..this one is coming soon)

Because each season is a chapter. And even though 2025 felt like 7 chapters, and each chapter felt like 1 season of an Indian tv drama, I’m alive, maybe a little cuckoo, a little in my i-hate-men era, a little burnt out, a little bit angry at everything, a little bit afraid of mean girls, and a slight iffiness towards hospitals & clinics.

To realize that our life (and our career) isn’t a decision we make once, but a series of decisions we make everyday.

And just because I hate myself a little more today, maybe tomorrow I’ll hate myself a little less.

Sometimes I’d imagine myself working as a digital nomad, where my laptop is my office. Where I’d sit in some coffee shop in a quaint little town in the South of Italy, sipping on Aperol Spritz in the summer heat at 3pm with no sense of time. Where time, isn’t constrained by how many sales you hit, or how many events you’ve pitched. Where time is an opportunity to create and do more.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling like burnt toast, I imagine myself working in a quiet Japanese countryside, where I’ve inherited a side-of-the-road café. Where mountains and fresh air are an endless stream, where home is just a few walks away into the trees. Where time is often at a standstill at 2pm on a weekday.

Sometimes, when business is slow, I’d imagine myself working for some big-shot fashion company in Paris, where I’d run around with a worker’s belt stuffed to the brim with pins, ribbons, scissors and fabric. Where my hair is probably almost always tied up in a bun and looking like a rat’s nest, running on coffee, adrenaline and nerves.

Sometimes when I look at the wall for too long, I’d imagine what’s it like to be a painter, to live on the brushstrokes that make up my name. I’d probably be sleeping on a couch in the studio, breathing in toxic fumes from oils and probably getting a little high on that. I’d probably wear clothes that I’ve worn for 4 days, didn’t wash my hair for 5, and surviving on a stale toast that went bad 2 days ago. I’d be a hot mess. Less on the hot, more on the mess.

Sometimes, when I feel sad and a little alone, I’d imagine myself back in Switzerland. Where home is a shelter from all the rocks, where cartoons & video games were a night time wind-down routine. Where I carved my meals in the kitchen four times a day (because a snack also counts), and the scent of something always cooking on the stove or the laundry running on Sundays, was a form of self-care. And even in a vast country like that, where people and skyscrapers are scarce, I never truly felt alone. Daily earl grey made in the crisp winter air sitting by the window, with incense billowing out was a morning ritual I could romanticise to this day.

I’m not sure if after reading this, you would like to travel. Because, writing this makes it feel like an escape—is this why imagination is always so deeply relaxing?

Escaping reality with your mind.

I would like to travel somewhere, where the air is crisp, where I can sleep in a cabin with a firewood stove, so that I can bake breads & pastries and have a cup of warming hot tea—turn on hibernate mode.

I want to see snow.

2026 winter, your girl here gotta and must go see snow. It’s been 3 years since Canada, and I desperately NEED to frolic in the snow.

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anyway, thank you for sticking around and waiting for so long. i kinda did ka-poof’ed and disappeared, makes sense, my friends have all said the same. apologies.

if you enjoyed reading this sort of “escapism”, i suggest to also take a read of my other form of actual “travel escapism” here.

im slowly bringing back some pieces back into my day-to-day with added sparkle.

love,

felicia

The air is crisp. Crisp-ish. Travelling in the land of yummy mo-mos (a.ka. peaches in Japanese), where the birds religiously ritualistic meetings take place every sundown, calico neko-chans in every corner, soft ice creams and the daily morning walks of toddlers in sunshine yellow hats stumbling by.

Breathing in the cool air while having a deep soak outside in the open-air bath, where the sun has just risen and softly caressing my face as I enjoy the pure silence of the morning; the waves and the harbour outside are saying hello, greeting every passer-by as the air breezes past.

Share write out your feelings ✨

Taking advantage of every breath, every silence, every sit-down cup of coffee, every click of the camera, every step I take. Health is wealth. We always forget the true luxuries of living, and being healthy. There’s so much noise within the wellness community, be it preaching or just downright nonsense. I’ve learned as a 20-something year old that being healthy is doing things that make me feel good; and feeling my best is like a sun-dance rhythm in my soul.

These 4 days in Japan, has been well received and relished dearly. The bounce in my step is somewhat back, and I’m feeling lighter. Indulging on a five-meal-a-day situation, endless walks and views of the sea. Away from the stresses of adulthood and its never-ending pressures of being not good enough (we’ve all been there).

On the first day in Japan after a red-eye flight (god forbid a woman and her underestimation on qualitative sleep), we stumbled upon a quaint mom & pop restaurant selling hefty onigiris and cold soba. There were pages upon pages of different fillings and it was too difficult to choose from, we eventually settled for one ikura onigiri with a soy-sauce-soaked yolk and one garlic chips & chives onigiri with a bowl of cold soba and 2 bowls of tonjiru—it was freaking delicious. The rice was still hot and fresh, and there were definitely equal ratios of rice to filling as every bite was filling + rice, no bite was left alone.

Our second day was hunger pains on the train and massive cravings for fresh tuna by the pier. The weather was way too warm to be dressed in cargo pants and a jacket, the sun was beating down on our heads and back like it’s telling us to get a move on and have filled bellies of freshly caught fish.

Wakayama, Japan. The version of myself that lies awake, a peeping sunshine sliver in the corner of the window. A life with kawara tiled roofs, somewhere deep in the spirited forests lay, misty morning walks up storied steps of history and into temples worn with energy that smells like dewy leaves. I wear cotton shirts, and cycle everywhere with either perhaps a puppy or a kitten in the front basket, where I bump into the person standing in the same train station every morning. Sometimes, that person is me.

There are versions of life that I would like to live in. Quiet mornings working at a coffee shop in a rural town, quietly roasting my own beans that get delivered to the city, where the only customers I greet are regular neighbours who bears their presence with handpicked tomatoes and produce from their garden in exchange for a cup of coffee. Where dinners are spent with locals in their backyard exchanging life stories and laughter.

Then there’s a life where I live in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by a lush green field where in the summers I can have picnics in sundresses, and in the winters I can run around in the snow. Harvesting fresh fruit & veggies from the garden, jamming up marmalade and selling it on my online store. Where I wake up at 6:00am and have hot tea and freshly baked pastries by the Aga, with full-length windows and not have to worry about privacy. No fishbowl apartments with city noise, just the quiet stillness of churning words onto a page. Maybe a dog too.

There are many versions that I would like to live, I would want to live through them all. A little bit greedy in that way. But as I sit here on this office desk, in a high-rise building where I can hear the buses whiz and roar on the road. Where the office lights are a clinical stark white as it bores through my glasses, and the view of another building is me. The city, where silence and privacy is a luxury.

When grief turns into longing, and longing turns into silence. I mourn the losses of a lifetime and sometimes lying on the hardwood floors grounds me. Breathing in deeply for all the losses, and breathing out for all the good things.

love,

felicia

p.s. what version of life you’d like to live too?

(shining some light on this hefty breakfast we had after our 24-hour flight)

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Autumn reminds me of many things, spices, pumpkins, scarves and boots. It reminds me of pinterest boards left unfinished, explosions of oranges and yellow tones scattered on the pages, it also reminds me of the wet-ish weather this season brings, the crunch of the changing leaves beneath the soles of my shoes.

This is also the season where starbucks starts to pump out pumpkin spiced lattes like its being churned out in a factory, where influencers are posting about their fall house decor equipped with an influx of oddly shaped pumpkins everywhere.

Scarves that cocoon you warmth, and the mood of just wanting to curl up in bed with a hot cup of tea and a spicy cinnamon roll is what Autumn sounds like to me. The air is cooler, slightly stinging my cheeks with the wind, along with the warm glow of the sun during the day.

Living in the tropics = Autumn basically nonexistent

Being in the UK during this season of change is a fresh start, I can take this moment to just breathe and meditate, that everything is going as planned. I’m going to romanticise the fuck out of my time here in London, prance around the streets in some colourful outfits and drink out of an aesthetic coffee cup, just because. In a city where no one knows me (although lowkey may bump into people I know), I can exist just for myself.

Strangely enough, I have done a lot of re-wiring my mind these many months—a healthy mind is a strong mind. Meditation helps with this, it eases and helps to get back the control over my chaotic mind. I rely so much of my mental health on meditation now, it’s as easy as breathing (because all you do is inhale and exhale) —that will be another post for another day, perhaps even a guided meditation if we’re up for it. There are days where I’ve healed and there are days where I haven’t—and that’s okay; healing this era of me will take some time.

A good friend continues to tell me, no matter how much shit or how much good fortune we had, that’s what made us who we are today, or what brought us here today, and what really matters is not what we did yesterday or do tomorrow. It’s what we do now. There’s no point in being angry or stressed about something that has already happened, or being worried about something that might happen. The only part you can control is now.

We can’t force others to act the way we want them to, the only way we can is by controlling how we react to their actions. — this is felicia’s Q2 motto right here (in it’s flesh)

The only person bringing stress upon yourself is yourself. We overthink every single thing, a single text, a single movement, a single idea. The anxiousness has been instilled in every part of our life, is this just a moment of us being humans or is it something that we need to create change within ourselves to move forward?

There’s this mantra I’ve been trying to install in my daily-life, it’s changed how I view every decision I make with the current progression of my personal and work-life. “I encourage you not to let other people’s projections change the way that you want to do things”, and as humans we tend to forgo our own interests and ideas just because of other people’s words. As I mentioned in my previous article, we only live in this one life, and in this life we—ourselves are the main characters in this point of view.

Autumn is a season of change and nourishment, from the heat of the sun against the top of my head to the subtle breeze of a morning dawn, from the harvest of sweet cherries to a freshly made rhubarb pie, where the leaves are marred with loss and rebirth. I implore you to find out parts of yourself during this time, perhaps it could be parts of you that have disappeared for some time, or perhaps it is something you’ve yet to discover.

Nourish your mind, body and soul. Be it all those warming soups and stews that brings us warmth in our tummies, spiced treats here to nourish our cold hands and feet, tea collections hidden in supermarket alcoves with the discount sticker stamped across the front, worn book edges with stories embedded in every page turn, because Autumn is here as a brief passing, for a stream of winter air is on its way to us soon.

love,

felicia

p.s. what’s your favourite hot/cold beverage for the beginning of cooler weather?

some corners are painted in bright hues of laughter, others are bound through the soft shadows of moments that faded away too soon. and as i walk through the hallways of memorabilia, grazing my fingertips on pebbled walls, relics of joy, the quiet sorrows that are held like delicate pressed flowers in a frame. i am both a visitor and keeper of these rooms, eternally bound to the beauty of what once was.

there are rooms i return into often, walls embellished with brushstrokes of friendships that felt like forever, and the steady pulse of family weaved in red thread. yet there are places dimly lit with flickers of a fire, in hidden alcoves of bittersweet moments lay. here, love is tangled with loss, where every glance, whisper and goodbye is chiseled in stone. each piece of who i was, and who i am becoming.

through the endless corridors, there are corner blocks brimming with dreams i once held close. they shimmer like distant stars in the galaxy, out of reach but grounding me with their never-ending shine. in this place, time is both gentle and unyielding, each memory is a reminder that love is not only what we hold onto, but what we are brave enough to let go of.

and so i walk forward, carrying each fragment in my hands, knowing that within this museum, I am not alone.

some rooms feel like hot tea by the fire, where familiar faces smile through the years, their laughter unchanged and warmth eternally suspended in time. other rooms are haunted by ghosts, by versions of myself left behind in moments that are too fragile to hold onto but also too precious to forget.

as i move further down the corridor, i reach doors i haven’t had the courage to open, rooms locked tight by old fears and buried regrets. my fingers tremble on the handles, lingering at the thought of what i might find within—loves left unsaid, chances never taken, memories softened by age yet still thunderously beating beneath. hesitant, i turn the key, bracing myself for what i’ve hidden even from myself, for the pieces of me shaped by whispers of goodbyes i wasn’t ready for.

each step feels like both a discovery and a goodbye, a waltz between holding on and letting go. and in this library, intricately woven scrolls of everything i’ve cherished, coming to understand that love itself is not the exposition but the journey they carry, mistakes i’ve made, wounds that i bear, the parts that are harder to look at—they belong here, with the choice to carry each memory forward, finding meaning in every ache, and to let each moment, each love, be a part of who i am going to be.

you don’t change yourself overnight, but you’re also not someone who you were once was.

you’re allowed to evolve in silence, and you don’t need to apologise for staying away. because growth doesn’t need to be radioed into every car speaker, it happens when people are engrossed in their own becoming.

you are your own main character in your own life. the protagonist of every moment, even when it doesn’t feel like it. the weight on your shoulders, the expectations, disappointments, and heartbreaks that gives you heartburn.

some days are unforgiving, loud and relentless, as if it’s a rainstorm bashing against your windows as if its only goal is to split your windows open, for you to surrender and give in. and on those days, it is easy to believe that you have to be stronger, tougher and more unbreakable than the pain that is already trying to eat you whole.

“only the strongest will survive"

what if true strength isn’t about pushing through a cement wall that refuses to break? what if real strength is found through the gentleness within yourself?

i am the things i tried for the first time, of many firsts and also many lasts.

i am also things i hate, of things i fear. of things that were ripped away from me at such a violent way i could never get them back, so they are left half-finished in a dimly lit room. there are installations that are neither art nor destruction, they are pieces that my soul refuses to leave behind, for each shard is a murmur to remember.

i still make ramen the same way a friend taught me in first year of uni —water, seaweed, boil, flavour packet, boil, noodles, lid, simmer, egg, turn off heat. even if we don’t talk anymore, whenever i make instant noodles, it reminds me of the lightness of what our friendship was like.

i still watch howl’s moving castle, specifically the breakfast scene, it reminds me of the canteen lady who saved me fried eggs on sundays when i was studying in the uk. where i can sometimes taste the oil and salt on the tip of my tongue, an equation i can’t seem to solve.

i make avocado toast the same way as my part time job taught me in 2016, with a side of lime-tossed arugula and olive oil.

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this exhibit of my soul is here to remind me of my strength, of how much i’ve grown, and of the way i’ve kept loving despite the weight of it all.

love,

felicia

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my stomach was giddy from excitement, it was my second ever concert since justin bieber’s concert in 2011. and i can’t believe i can belt chinese lyrics at the stands while watching my childhood go-to singer live and having fun up on stage.

it had already started, we were late coming straight from work and my laptop was weighing my shoulders down like a washing machine. but even the weight of my laptop on my shoulders couldn’t stop me from having fun on her first show on a random friday night—best friday night ever.

entering the stadium was like entering a museum for the first time, confusing and too many signs. but air con was top notch, didn’t have to wear a jacket but it was cool enough for me not to have goosebumps rippling my skin.

finding our seats at the bottom, was a nightmare (mid-20s blindness is starting to get to me, need to consume carrots for night vision). but as we sat down, the whole entire stadium silenced and the second song came up.

quote riddled confetti marvelled the ground like snowflakes, i felt like a rainbow funfetti cake being dowsed in sprinkles. maybe i was starving, thirsty, and crazily dehydrated to be feeling like sprinkles, but hey i just described my happiness to you.

i realised i didn’t have to brush up on any songs she sang throughout, as there were lyrics up on the screen (it was a mandarin/cantonese lesson all-in-one, just vibing with music)

i had fun. we had fun. told mum i’d attend more concerts if my wallet allowed.

as the concert ended, the purple batons lit up for the whole entire ending. there were definitely missing batons at the end of the night, but we were good citizens and left them rolling on the foldable chairs.

🌟 10000/10000 friday night, highly recommend ✨

—fulfilled younger fel’s wishes of going to a concert of her favourite childhood chinese singer with her bestie

love,

felicia

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i started practicing aerial yoga inconsistently during my early years as a teenager, along with a number of other sports. it was only during covid where i religiously became more yoga focused in my day-to-day.

before taking the plunge and participating in this training, i had gone through a serious case of work-life burnout, especially in an industry where it doesn’t ever stop. yoga had always been another form of therapy to me, where it helped to bring my mind from pure chaos to silence, it not only gave me confidence in myself but i was also introduced to an amazing community of like-minded souls.

yoga is often misunderstood by others. it’s not just a sport, it’s not just movement, it’s also not just about meditation, but it’s how you project yoga into your life; and as cliché as it sounds, yoga is a way of life.

in our own lives, we are still searching for ourselves and finding peace within ourselves to hold on and accept things by just letting it be. back then, it felt as if doing the postures correctly and constantly moving to an even more complex asana was more important, for the next best photo, the next best pose. But, yoga isn’t like that at all. the mat continues to challenge me, it taught me discipline, fear (many face-plants. LOL) and compassion.

throughout this training, i find myself intrigued by the yoga philosophies, deepening my knowledge in the asanas, pranayama, and anatomical processes of the body, and creating a deeper awareness of my day-to-day life.

i believe in sharing love, and good energy. and to me, yoga is a form of kindness towards my own body, mind & soul.

this is only just the beginning, i hope to share my practice with you and hold space within my own personal journey, at whatever pace and path you’re currently in.

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let’s flow into the breath of rhythm together.

love,

felicia

i saved a bee the other day.

it was on the verge of either getting drowned in the rain or being stepped on by some giant foot of a person, and i assumed the latter.

living in a city that is bustling with 7.5 million people, witnessing acts of kindness is like finding a needle in a haystack. everyone is exhausted, burnt out and bitter about life. kindness helps to change our reality.

i like to call it as practicing kindness.

spreading good energy around helps everyone in the long run. it could be a compliment, holding up an umbrella in the pouring rain with a stranger as you rush across the street (strangely specific), giving up a spot for a grandpa and his grandson on the mtr, or even a gentle smile as you walk through the city.

have courage and be kind - cinderella

but the thing with kindness, is that don’t expect anything back. it isn’t transactional, it’s a selfless act.

it makes me happy when people smile, honestly just as simple as that. there will be people who shame you for being kind, as kindness is somehow perceived as stupid and naive (that reasoning alone is beyond dumb if you ask me).

noticing the things in our surroundings keeps me grounded, without awareness around you, you lose sight in the tiniest things.

in some ways we find ourselves lost in the sea of darkness. but, remember that a candle does not light up an entire galaxy, it does not burn like a forest fire. but when in a dark room, it can help you find your way.

the world has its own way of making you feel so small, like a tiny star in the night sky, too small to be relevant. But even the faintest light has the power to guide someone through the darkness. even the smallest of gestures can change a day, a moment or a life.

your presence and kindness can make a difference in ways that you may not be able to notice.

the kindness that you project into this world expands outwardly into the universe, and one day, it will find its way back to you. although the reward comes waaaaay later, enjoy the little acts of kindness that you bring into this world.

love,

felicia

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i liked you when you pulled up in that green sweater, the one you wore on our first date. where we ate a whole meat platter in a quaint little restaurant in tai hang, where i tried lamb for the first time and for once the gaminess wasn’t too bad, i chewed and chewed until i swallowed my portion down. when both found out that our palms had matching horizontal straight lines and we both held each other’s hands as if we were cherishing a memory.

i had liked you then.

i liked you when i had a raging fever of up to 40 degrees celsius and you drove me to the hospital where we sat there waiting with all the children who caught a cold, and at that moment i felt like yours. where you peeled off the ice cold fever patch and pressed it onto my forehead and kissed me on the nose wearing a mask, i found that endearing and sweet.

you asked me early on to be your girlfriend, but i had asked you to wait a bit, and you did. and so the next time, i had asked you.

“would you like to be my boyfriend?”

“i thought i had to dig through deep sea treasure to be able to date you—yes, of course i’d like to.”

and that’s how we came to be.

i liked that you had interest in meeting my friends, being integrated into my world. you met me when i was going through a serious case of alcohol substance abuse—with myself.

i liked that you had called me out on it, it was both refreshing and a little terrifying (you were so mad). and i held myself accountable for it. it was only then being with you i discovered that i probably had an early onset of a potential alcoholic—and so, i stopped heavily drinking.

i loved you then.

i liked that you knew who was i was, didn’t judge me for it and instead always supported who i am and who i wanted to become. you were my number one cheerleader. i always felt secure and able to be myself with you, that was one of your many qualities that i loved about being with you.

i liked that we were silly with each other, with our nonsensical car farts, our banter and your dad jokes (in which you had to explain to me). and even with our silliness, we had our serious moments too. although we’re not very good at them, but hey we always tried.

i loved you when we ran to the car in the rain after date night, after we had indian & french fusion. we had left the umbrella in the car, and you drove elsewhere so we could have our own little moment together away from the pouring rain.

i loved you when you came to pick me up from work, even though you were grumpy from your own work, you showed up. you were annoyed by the traffic, but i knew it was just you directing your frustrations of work towards something else. you just didn’t show me all parts of you.

i loved you when we spent lunch together at the police club, you had gotten us takeaway and we sat on the balcony, the wind battling against our plastic tupperware as we tried to spoon soup into our mouths. you gave me the grand tour of the place, explained to me where everything was and who was who. you treated me to 手打檸檬茶and where we bumped into your colleague.

i loved you when we dance shuffled at night by the pier, with the tunes of some old man’s playlist in the background of our late night bubble. that season was where our waltz became a core memory.

i loved you in every season, and will continue to do so like i’m continuing to breathe. because loving you is as easy as breathing.

you’re my honey, and always will be, because honey doesn’t have an expiration date, like how love doesn’t have an expiration date. it’s antimicrobial. it’s expiration-proof. with high sugar content.

my honey is sweet like honey biscuits. dunked in tea and incredibly addicting, it’s best on a cold winter’s day or even on a hot summer’s day under the air con. it’s kept in an old mooncake tin, like a piece of nostalgia.

being with you is like being a sunflower.

natural honey, in its raw and unprocessed form is the best sort of honey. although a little hard to find in the hustling and bustling city, it’s rare and worth the deep sea treasure hunt.

and i say this with conviction, even when things go astray, AWOL, we find ourselves like my honey. living, breathing, alive, and sweet.

honey, you are my goddamn sunshine.

love,

felicia

trigger warning: be prepared to sob your heart out, get your heart broken again, feel all the emotions in your subconscious. please read at your own discretion.

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there will be streets where i can’t walk around without feeling like i’ve been transported to the past, like in black and white films.

heartbreak isn’t just losing a person, you’re also losing the version of the world that only existed when they loved you. where the neon lights glimmered above you every time you kissed under the moon, where every light blue car whizzed around you like a firefly wanting attention.

i was in the lift, and for a fragment of time i smelled you in the air. it was a flicker, a moment, it made me look up from the floor and turn around, it was as if your ghost had paid me a visit.

i live in the aftermath of things unsaid. i world where the ache of all that is left of you feels better than forgetting. in the middle of conversations, yoga trainings, and even my day i catch myself searching for your opinion, your thoughts.

you’re not here, but you didn’t really leave either.

i’m learning how to survive, keeping silent when everything in me is internalising. i still pause at the memory of your laughter, your grin, your stupid dad jokes. even when someone mentions your name, i hold my breath and see who is there.

i know i’ll have to walk away, just not right now —not today. i’m not someone who enjoys pain, but because this is the last piece of you that i still get to keep.

just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean that it has disappeared. just as you can’t see the stars on a rainy day, that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

there is nothing weak about choosing to stay, it’s the most courageous thing to do even when others are telling you to leave. i would rather run and fall than stand still without you, and if loving you meant losing the game, at least i got to play it with you.

my silence is the loudest way to tell you ‘i love you’. i want to tell you everything, but all i can do is continue in this silence and pretend like it’s nothing.

loving you wasn’t something i chose, it sorta just happened. but i chose to stay, you didn’t ask for it—but i did it anyway.

and when the world is kinder to you, maybe you’ll hear it. you’ll hear it being carried by the wind, of all the things we left unsaid.

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love,

felicia

it was a 2 success out of 10 attempts sort of story.

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the reason why making mayonnaise is so darn difficult is because the components consists of 1 egg yolk to the ratio of 150ml neutral oil with 1 tbsp of lemon juice/vinegar (its officially lasered into my brain at this point).

the art of curdling

we all know that oil and water don’t mix, like when you go to an italian restaurant and they pour olive oil and balsamic vinegar for your bread. you will notice that the vinegar has some sort of bubble encasing around it. this is because they have different hydrogen bonds (i refuse to be a chemistry prof here). and for oil and water to actually combine, is through an emulsion.

curdling or the act of separation happens way more often than you actually think, this is what we call as a split sauce or broken sauce. this natural occurrence happens when you pour the fat in too quickly which disrupts the balance of the emulsifier (which in this case is the egg yolk’s lecithin). and trust me, when it curdles, you will know because the oil and water components of the sauce will separate creating a very visible grainy texture.

and in some ways, there are times we find ourselves in a separation. either with ourselves or with some people. the space in between two bonds that binds them together somehow turns slippery.

life is fickle like that.

these so-called breaks that we have, are essential to restart and try again, nothing is impossible. you have the choice, either by choosing to fix the original state by adding more vinegar to stabilise the bonds or by completely throwing it away into the bin and restarting.

curdled mayonnaise can be salvageable. just add acid.

the thing is, mayonnaise is unstable. the steady stream of oil and the constant mixing is the key. is it difficult to achieve? a little. is it impossible? no.

coming into terms with a broken sauce, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re broken or the situation is broken. you just need a little extra support. at the end of the day, you always have the choice.

i feel like curdled mayonnaise.

that’s how i would describe my being in the last month or so. pretty lost, no direction, familial difficulty, joblessness (will not be for much longer), and a resounding silence with my loved one. going to therapy helps at least.

the past few weeks, i’ve been discovering parts of myself that i haven’t really talked about yet here. i’m discovering generational trauma from both of my parents that have been embedded into me since i was a wee ol’ child. and that me (an entity) and them (another entity) are completely different. my choices may not always be supported and appreciated by them, as they are high-anxiety functioning individuals with an excessive need to control everything around them.

it feels like a high-stress environment at home.

(let’s not be a debbie downer here, fel)

but hey, baby steps. taking one day at a time. one argument at a time. and there will eventually come a point where their control won’t be able to faze me, and i will eventually build the mental resilience to take everything like a tequila shot. feel the burn, but with a let-me-make-it-feel-better-chaser.

did you also know mayonnaise can also be split when its heated?

harbouring too much resentment can make you split into two parts, you’ll start talking to yourself in two characters or maybe even into a few.

taking too much of a break can actually break the bonds you have. if you leave curdled mayonnaise on its own on the counter for way too long, you’ll find that it can’t be fixed —even with acid. don’t leave it hanging for too long, whatever resentment, sadness, letdowns, anger, and stress can be salvageable. but the longer it is, the more it builds. and soon, you’d find yourself in a position where you’re not sure how to start.

so, take the step. reach out and take that hand, send the first message, be the emulsifier that bonds you together.

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thank you for reading this week’s email.

see you next time.

love,

felicia

let me break it down to you.

the golden ratio of pickles is 1:1 water to vinegar

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for the people in the back, if you do 250ml of water, then do the same 250ml for vinegar. and you can fluctuate the measurements as you please. you can do 1 litre of water to 1 litre of vinegar for your bathtub pickles, it’s up to you. and then measure out the salt and sugar as you see fit.

you can use any sort of vinegar, store-bought pickles usually use white vinegar (it’s accessible and easier to find), i have previously made pickles using apple cider vinegar, and to be honest i think i added less water which turned the brine more alcohol-y. so, please remember the 1:1 ratio.

to balance the acidity, you will need 1-2 tbsp of sugar (granulated or cane sugar works best), you can opt for brown sugar but it will turn your brine more brown and 1 tbsp of salt (table salt isn’t very yummy but it works fine if that’s what you have in the kitchen, you don’t need to splurge on some crazy expensive salt from greece because you’re literally going to dissolve it in a liquid).

if you prefer your pickles to be highly acidic, you can opt out of the sugar. it’s personal preference after all.

depending on what sort of pickles you’d like to achieve, spices is basically the jam to your bread. i highly recommend putting in spices that you enjoy, some of mine are sumac, peppercorns, mustard seeds, coriander, garlic, bay leaves, all that good stuff. did you know that some spices are anti-microbial and high in antioxidants?

pickles are usually a made through veggies/fruits that are more sturdier in their shape. hence, in supermarkets all you see are cucumbers. now, since this is a pickle recipe for you to enjoy at home, please for the love of god (excuse the blasphemy) personalise your pickles. that’s the whole point.

cauliflower is lovely raw (it has peppery notes and so good with a ranch dip), but in a pickle form. oh, heavenly *chef’s kiss*.

you could practically pickle anything, if you’re up for it.

it’s quite difficult to find unripe tomatoes in the supermarket, if you’re near a farmer’s market and have access to unripe tomatoes, please make a pickle out of them. they are fresh, delicious. if you don’t like tomatoes, please skip this part.

radish, carrot, cucumber, cauliflower, beetroot, asparagus, green beans, honestly, the variety is endless. pick your poison.

if you decide to pickle garlic, you’re going to find out they turn blue. there’s no need to call the food safety department, it’s all good. they just look a little gnarly.

the natural occurrence is them turning blue, it’s fine, it’s not an alien garlic, it’s the chemical transformation when garlic comes into contact with anything acidic. it’s perfectly edible and safe to eat. i have blue garlic in my fridge and still eat them.

cutting up veggies

there’s no correct way to cut up your veggies. slicing them, just take a shorter time to pickle as they have a larger surface area so it’s easy for the brine to penetrate. you can slice them up, cut them into rounds or even as small chunks. for green beans, you can just chuck the whole thing into the jar as long as you can close it up.

for the brine

combine all the liquids, in this case your 1:1 ratio along with salt and sugar. you would want to heat it up in a saucepan over a fire/hob until both the salt and sugar dissolves.

jar full of veg/fruit

you’ve packed your jar nicely with the veg you’d like, add in the spices as your second last step. make sure the veg doesn’t overflow the jar edge and leave at least a 1cm space at the top for air. slowly pour over the brine (careful its super hot) into your pickle jars, fill it until the liquid just covers the veg —too much and it will overflow and leak everywhere. leave the jar out in room temperature to cool until the jars are warm to touch. and then once it has been cooled, you can close the lid and store it into the fridge for about a week.

if you really liked the brine mixture you made, you can always reboil it the next time to use for your next batch of crazy pickles.

this pickling method works as an acidic marinade to create that sort of sour, tangy flavour that is quite similar to the lactic acid that is present when you do a lacto fermentation. quick pickling is a waaay easier process than calculating a 2% salt content of your vegetable/fruit.

however, if you’re up for it, i’d totally recommend doing a lacto fermentation if you’re crazy about fermenting like i am. the science behind it makes me a real freak beneath the pickle sheets.

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anyway, thank you for reading.

see you next time <3

love, felicia

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reading for me, is a silent plea — my safe haven, where i don’t have to think about my reality.

i don’t like to talk about grief. it’s the one thing i can’t bring myself to talk about, but maybe, after so long i can take the courage and talk about this on this coloured webpage.

i first witnessed grief in my father’s eyes as we cremated my grandad in 2008, the big fat droplets rolling down his cheeks as if they had been held in for years. i was still young and the relationship with my grandad hadn’t been close, but seeing my dad hopelessly cry next to a glass window, struck a thorn to my side. the funeral was long, we spent almost a week folding up gold and silver rice paper to send it up to the heavens as an offering.

my world first crumbled in 2015, during GCSEs when my uncle (mum’s youngest brother) passed away. i couldn’t attend the funeral an ocean away because of exams, that broke me. it happened to be christmas, I remember sitting in Chitose Airport waiting to board a flight back home upon hearing the news that he passed away. When we saw him in the morgue, his hands were cold and the air smelled musty. dad cried the hardest. following the next couple of years after his passing, every single time i visited the temple where he’s kept — i’d cry. (i still cry, even today)

i had been finishing up my internship in canada when i received a call from my cousin that our grandma passed away. i had around 2 weeks left in canada, and the last time i had seen her was 6 months prior. during covid, her health deteriorated rapidly. She would haul herself in her apartment, and would rarely go downstairs to play mahjong with the grannies in her building. i think she felt really lonely. i attended her funeral at the end of april in 2023. After years of not seeing extended family due to covid, we finally gathered together to mourn. i couldn’t cry.

around mid-june, i applied for a permanent job position. on the day they accepted me as part of their team, i received news from my dad that our uncle suddenly passed away the night before. you could hear my heart thud. we had just seen each other in grandma’s funeral! my head felt light, the tingles in my feet spread throughout my body. it was hard to wrap my head around what i had just been told. that’s where i fell apart, the tears that had been suppressed in april resurfaced and broke free. and just like that, the news about my future job role meant nothing to me. that was the day, tears streamed down my face in front of my dad for the first time in years.

my heart ached. thankfully, i had work to keep me sane. dad and i kept to ourselves in our own rooms to grieve. he went on a trip to tokyo with his friends a few days later to put his mind off it. mum went to europe with her friends a few days before. and i painstakingly waited for both mum and dad to come home, to bring some life back into the house.

my head was working on overdrive, all the nerves and the fear of abandonment growing as each day passed. i was stressed, sleep deprived and grieving. it was like a wave of relief seeing my parents walk through the front door unscathed.

“everything in life is fleeting.”

although i very much agree with that sentence, i did not want to go through another change right after one another — again. i’d probably lose myself right then and there.

i took the liberty to engross myself into books, page after page, book after book, soon enough, i found myself investing in a Kindle to soothe my broken soul. i have completely obliterated my 2023 goodreads reading challenge, which is perfectly fine. although as much as i would like to say that reading is healthy, i’m pretty sure it has turned into an unhealthy addiction.

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but as for now, getting through each day is already a milestone. i will continue to learn my life lessons. i just need something to anchor me, so be it — books, my partner and therapy.

thank you for reading this oldie but goodie. another medium publication.

see you next time <3

love, felicia

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the dessert is basically 2 components, 3 if you’re counting the dusting of cacao powder as one.

i remember when i was in university, one of my guy best friends drove us to a quaint italian restaurant at the foot of a mountain in switzerland owned by a nonno and a nonna (a.k.a. grandparents). that evening i had to unbutton my jeans as i had the largest portion of frutti di mare (translates to ‘fruits of the sea’), just carbs and seafood all in the casing of foil —so much indigestion that night. it’s a spaghetti/linguine tossed in a wonderful garlicky-tomato-based marinara sauce with a bucketful of assorted seafood, this is from shrimp, clams, squid, mussels, and bits of octopus.

it was heavenly. —cue the angels

i cannot even get that sort of taste anywhere else. it has been imprinted on my palate and even now when i go and have frutti di mare elsewhere, it just doesn’t taste the same! — grrrr the frustration!!!

anyway, getting a bit sidetracked.

tiramisu is something that is so simple, yet it’s so difficult to find really really good. i could be biased, having been a part of europe for 6 years.

my italian classmate makes the best tiramisu (aaaaand that’s a bold statement). he lived next door to us, living in another basement with the shortest entrance door and creaky flooring with spiders in every crevice (i once got called into his house with a vacuum to kill a ginormous spider, but that’s a story for another day). and, whenever he went back to italy for a weekend trip, he brought back the best italian ingredients as an italian local.

i kid you not, switzerland already had the freshest produce from the most local farmers and yet the pasta and cacao powder ain’t it bruh.

tiramisu’s first component:

the base

it is espresso and biscuits.

specifically, ladyfinger biscuits soaked in coffee.

you can make it spiked, with rum (go crazy if you will).

in european coffee culture, or in hotel service lingo, whenever you’re having a coffee there will always be a cookie on the side (apparently it’s a forbes standard). and in europe, an espresso or cappuccino is always to end the meal to aid in digestion.

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in life, that is the base or foundation we stand on. your physical self (soaked in caffeine to keep you awake, ahahah see what i did there?).

tiramisu’s second component:

the midsection

mascarpone.

a beautifully whipped, melt-in-your-mouth mascarpone filling.

there’s no textbook answer to making a mascarpone filling, as everyone has their own recipe. but a good filling, is something light and nothing overpowering, it shouldn’t be heavy to the point you have to unzip your pants and it shouldn’t make you feel like you want to puke everything all up.

egg whites are the key to a light and fluffy filling mixture.

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as for the filling, it would be all the other add ons that keep you being yourself, all the shitty things and all the good things that make yourself who you are today, your experiences, the habits you’ve picked up over the years, and perhaps even some fluff.

tiramisu’s final component:

the sprinkling

cacao powder.

it has to be, finely sifted cacao powder. layer it. do a heavy dusting of it, nobody’s judging.

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that sprinkle is what you do with your life, who knows, it’s your choice and yours to hold onto.

(says the lady trying to write life into a metaphor)

and that my dears is one heck of a life.

it might just be worth your while, it might make you grin or even if it does make it go nuclear in the toilet, it will be okay.

shit may hit the fan (me: literally), but it also may not.

so, will you take that bite of tiramisu?

thank you for reading.

see you next time <3

love, felicia

i like eating tangerines because it’s an offering for the dead — they get hungry in the afterlife. Also, another reason why i’m lactose intolerant.

“the acidity burned my insides” (kenneth, ‘aka. my manager’, 2022).

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thank you to all the demons, without you i wouldn’t be here today. thanks to my parents who didn’t sugarcoat, they told me everything as ugly, blunt and straightforward it was. their quote to everything i complained was “that’s life, deal with it”.

they grew up in a generation where they weren’t able to finished school, where they started working at 16. building a life on their own, how they were faced with immense challenges, how they built their company from a drought.

how their career became their life.

i will fight the grounds of hell to get where i want to be. because i am their daughter, it’s in my blood. i’m not going to sit like a demure asian girl in a society where they shoot arrows through their screens. no. i’m going to get up and tell them, what i want. what i need, and i’m going to get there.

i’ve run away too many times. when i ran t o the united kingdom, taking refuge in boarding school. when i ran to switzerland, taking refuge in the alps. and now, in whistler — willing to live.

but what is living? living could be different for the person sitting next to me, or for the person sitting in row F in the cinema. googling ‘how to live’ doesn’t seem to provide me an answer..instead just tips and advice.

food for thought, how do you live?

i live to see where life would and will take me, how far my perseverance and determination will lead me. i live to see the journey of my career, love, and relationships will go. i’m curious of my destination and the journey that comes with it.

i live for the challenges that plough through my veins, a driving force that continues to grow at every step/

where i fell apart, where i will stand again. if i fall again, then so be it i’ll stand up again. no matter how many times it takes me.

i will not stop, not when i fought the demons that tried to drown me, not when i fought the devil that wrapped me in his warm embrace.

i will do whatever it takes to see my life through. i want to live. i want to live so badly. please don’t take it away from me.

i will push myself to the face of earth to beg — beg to live. i don’t just want to fucking exist.

felicia pang will excel at living.

i can, and i will do it. only i can break myself, if i give up — then it truly will be over.

thank you for reading, although if you have transferred here via medium, you have already read this a few years ago, ahahah sorry not sorry! sometimes, i do this to keep things alive in here. this is actually one of my favourite pieces from 2022.

see you next time <3

love, felicia

(this photo was taken during my trip in jeju, my partner calls it the elegant photo of his dreams)

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spring is what we call rebirth, or being reborn again. a fresh start. i guess that’s why japan’s new school year starts during spring, in the season of cherry blossoms.

i’m writing this on a warm day in busan, having taken a short trip out of the country to explore and expand my creativity, to rest and recharge. but, also to spend some time with my girl friends in the midst of our mid-twenties chaos of life.

i don’t think the mid-twenties identity crisis gets spoken about as much as a mid-life crisis. in fact, facing this sort of crossroads at this turning point in my 20s is something i’m mulling over and over again.

i’m checking over my 20s bucket list and this to-do-list in itself is complicated and giving me stress about my lack of time with this...as humans we’re always running against time, even when time doesn’t ever stop, unless we acquire that time wormhole from Dr. Strange, then perhaps we can jump timelines (i’d be down).

these days i’ve been focusing on my daily rituals and getting my mental and physical health back. although, not going to lie, your girl here is as restless as she can be and it’s difficult to just sit her butt down and take a chill pill.

bit of an update: i resigned from my almost 2-year big girl corporate hotelier job at the beginning of march, and hence has just been sitting on my toes for the past 1 month and a bit (i think i really need to take up a part-time job, i’m seriously bored and restless out of my mind).

will be starting my 200-hour yoga teacher training at the end of may, so that will ease up on my supply of time (another check to the bucket list).

i’ve been cutting off alcohol out of my diet for the past year, and i think it’s the best decision i’ve ever made. i haven’t cut it out completely, there are days where i really need to just sit down and have a beer or two. but other than that, i haven’t been going hard on alcohol for the sake of my liver and mental health (also for the safety and worry-free sanity of my partner-shhhhh).

cutting off nighttime outings allows me to truly enjoy and relish my goodnight routine at home, this includes skincare, writing, reading and catching up with long-distance friends.

i’ve also been keeping up on my hormonal health with this app (its called stardust, if you want to know). trying to figure out when my hormones are way up high and are most suitable for productive tasks, or when my hormones are way down low and are most suitable for staying in and working on puzzles/word games. it’s also my way of balancing my nervous system, the crazy flight or fight mode, the hustling, rushing and stressed out version of myself, is where my body doesn’t feel safe and is screaming for me to stop and take a moment off to tap into rest and proper digestion (i have terrible digestion, and soooooo many gut issues).

these are just some things that have been helping me cope:

• yoga, pilates (low impact movement)

• being outside on my walks

• laughing (the big belly laughs feel so good)

• hanging out with loved ones

• physical touch (hugging & smooching my honey)

• sunlight (a.k.a. my photosynthesising-sunflower moment)

• stretching

• prioritising rest & quality sleep

• sleeping with either white noise or pink noise or the sounds of rain

• practicing acceptance & forgiveness

• reducing feelings of comparison, anger and envy

• taking accountability for my emotions and how that affects other people

• therapy

as we start to get older, these are some of the things that are truly the luxuries of life (in no specific order).

time

health

a quiet mind

slow mornings

ability to travel

rest without guilt

a good night’s sleep

calm and “boring” days

meaningful conversations

home-cooked meals

people you love

people who love you back

eating with intention, and as your no-brainer lactose free girlie likes to put it, experimenting at what extent of my dairy-free tummy can handle. i’ve at least gone and dumped my guts out because of a full-milk coffee, but not from a charcuterie & cheese board (although it depends on the type of cheese).

currently i’ve been munching on snack plates as a form of mid-day reward. unleashing myself to the aisles of cheese, jars and cured meats cuz your girl here is ready for quality fuel. these are just some elements to the snack plate of my dreams -

• veggies & crudites

• hard cheeses of all sorts

• butturrrrrr & flakey salt

• quince jam & apricots

• seedless GRAPES

• PICKLESSSSSSSS!~

• tinned fish

• sourdough (not the kind that gives you mouth scrapes)

• cured meats & sausages

• tomatoes of all sizes

my rule of no caffeine after 12pm still stands, although if i really crave coffee after 12pm, i’m definitely ordering a DECAF. this insomniac can’t handle caffeine like a normal human being.

the mountains of tea bags in the pantry begs to differ, oh whoopsies you caught me. but i have been craving matcha coconut lattes (partner says it tastes like grass), i think its just a refined bush (the matcha girlies will wreck me). but i mean tea in itself is just a bunch of leaves.

anyway, thank you for reading.

see you next time <3

love, felicia

my solitude is a sanctuary, where i can be in my head, the hum of my thoughts and within the safety of the walls where i have built around me.

then you came along, like a Lamborghini, zero to sixty in two point seven seconds. the silence i loved, was just a little too deafening. you didn’t invade my quiet space, you complemented it.

to love is one scary thing, as an introvert or as someone who is crazily independent. the difficulty to tear down your own walls that you’ve spent so long building, the walls you built to protect your own self. to trust them not to completely obliterate the protective bubble around you.

it was different with you, i didn’t feel suffocated or overwhelmed. i felt alive.

i’m grateful. as you were the exception to every checkbox, every standard in my rule book.

i had lived in my own fortress for so long, and you were the only one who didn’t force me to leave my fortress, instead you waited, sat by the bridge and waited for me to open those double doors.

you showed me that love doesn’t rip you from your peace, you didn’t give me an ultimatum.

it’s liberating.

ahahahahah because, nobody knows nothing about what i’m up to.

posting once a year or once every two years, there’s no rush to it.

i’m unbothered to update my instagram story, so if you think i blocked you, it’s not. i just really haven’t been up there hanging out my location.

figment of a memory.

“practice loving what you have, not what you’ve lost.”

Share write out your feelings ✨

what i want vs. what is at hand

my partner is at a stage where he’s pretty much got his shit together, except that he’s focused on his stuff so he’s busy most occasions.

i’m left to dwell, thinking about what i want in this lifetime.

a career, to love, to be loved, family, someone to call home, close circle of friends, children, to learn, to have knowledge, emotional & physical intimacy, establishing healthy boundaries & communication.

to love life, the journey and its destination (whatever it may be).

the art of showing up. romanticising this one life, because come on! we only really remember one.

to never start, is to never have courage.

it’s actionable. but starting is always the scary thing.

we’re halfway through the year, months are flying by like weeks.

pillow talk with the girlies

throwing back to some pillow talk with the girls last week, we talked about feeling stuck, lost—like we’re in some existential crisis in our mid 20s.

mulling over the same ol’ question, the hell are we doing with our lives?

friends excelling in their careers, some getting married, some having children, some packing up and leaving a country they once called home, some just enjoying life and spending money, and some who’s just got no idea what they are doing.

did you know that FOMO is actually one of the major factors in most mental health conversations today. it’s basically the feeling of dread that your absence from said event will greatly impact your future, reputation, and friendships.

the main part of it basically is the pure exhaustion of keeping up with it all. at the end of march of this year, i committed a heroic act of sobriety. it’s definitely a choice, i deleted snapchat earlier this year, cut ties with my personal private instagram. and with most beginnings of substance abuse, it was hell of a struggle. but then soon cravings were less and naturally i stopped reaching for it.

of course it has its downsides, hong kong is known for their broad bar scene. and a lot of peers around me are still actively going out and drinking, you know they say “it’s part of the fun”.

but, i found enjoyment in the present moment and with the people who supported my decisions. the constant pressure of having to stay updated on everyone else’s lives gradually faded, instead i felt a sense of peace and contentment with what i have.

sure, of course i’m also going to feel insane FOMO when all my girlfriends are out on a junk party in the middle of the ocean, didn’t invite me because ‘i would be too sober to enjoy the fun’. you know what i said? “ahaha sober girls are fun too”.

cue JOMO.

according to some JOMO expert on the internet, it is said to “increase your productivity and focus, engagement in relationships, and improve emotional and physical wellbeing”.

as hard as it sounds, imma just have to get over it. get over the whole FOMO shebang. there will always be more time to make jokes and connect on a deeper level, in different circumstances and maybe even with different people. another huge part of ‘getting over it’ is trusting that we’re exactly where we need to be at the present moment. allowing yourself to feel the anxiety, fear & embarrassment and eventually to let it all go is a gift in disguise.

one of these days i’m going to limit my use on social media on weekends as a form of self-care. like one of those email auto-replies: “thank you for reaching out, felicia is only available during monday to friday. non-business days are reserved for loved ones only.”

i’ve been really into listening to podcasts lately.

some of favourites are:

1. Joy of Missing Out by Chloe Shih and Eric Wei

2. The Rooftop Pod by Jesse Zhan

3. Voice Hugs by Rowena Tsai and Vivian Van

4. Get RAW Podcast by Stephanie Chen

FOMO should be an experience that lightly motivates us to think outside the box and get excited about setting a goal or trying something new, what it shouldn’t be is a mental breakdown that causes us to question our relationships or how we’re living our lives.

at the end i don’t want any season to be filled with drama, complicated friendships ending in jealousy, and partying to no end. i guess its that willingness to live life on your own terms, i’m not going to apologise to anyone that i chose sobriety and JOMO over hungover weekends.

i’ve picked up a newfound joy over hitting golfballs over 150 yards with a utility 3 wood. it’s reading book after book and updating my 2024 reading challenge. it’s the morning oat matcha lattes. it’s going to the wet market on sunday afternoons with mum. it’s the in bed before 11 rule. it’s sitting in a cafe full of people and eating a whole pizza by myself and not giving a single flying fuck.

so, what is your JOMO like?

as per usual, if you feel resonated with anything from the above, please be my guest and pop a message or comment. share whatever comes to mind.

thank you for reading, and see you all next time.

love,

felicia

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“lead with my heart”

i get it, from someone in my 20s, the confusion, the questions of “what am i doing”, “who am i”, “what is wrong with me”, “what the hell am i doing with my life” are all completely valid and its okay to be feeling this way.

as we say when we meet someone new, to slowly peel back the layers of their onion to understand them better—this lifetime of mine is to also peel back my layers of the onion.

the words joyous and happiness are similar in context. happiness to me is short-term and usually comes externally. joyous on the other hand, to me is long-term and comes from within. so to be joyous in life, it’s a slow grind.

as humans, we’re bound and shaped by our experiences, our environment and how we see things. we’re basically sponges, we adapt and we change.

as dave ramsey quotes “children are sponges—they are going to absorb whatever is around them, so we need to be intentional about what surrounds them.”

that hits deep, and i feel that anyone who grew up in emotionally difficult or abusive families have not come out unscathed. it really brings out that truth of this world. how this society built around us is basically just a whole bunch of trauma-ridden souls trying to fit in.

i saw this contemporary poem spoken out loud on instagram, and it echoed in my bones. because it honestly is so true, as much as i hate to admit it. i don’t want to preach it or constantly remind anyone that i’ve been through shit. because i think we all have been through shit and it traumatised the fuck out of us.

how we deal with it, is another set of questions to be asked.

we all have our coping mechanisms, exercising, working, eating, shopping, just to name a few. for me, it’s just always being in my head—thinking, dreaming up scenarios that weren’t reality. work to me, is an addiction to being constantly on go mode. it was a distraction to get out of my head. but then it would contribute to my own suffering, a vicious continuous loop.

i realised that treating it as ammunition to move forward with trauma was just not working for me, i needed something at a gentler approach, instead of it being a blunt force to move forward, i needed something to guide me, speak kindly to myself.

through this process of guiding myself, i’m taking ownership, i don’t want to be a victim of my own life choices.

you know that feeling of “i don’t feel enough”, “i feel undeserving”, “i feel worthless”, where does this stem from? my whole life, i manifested perfectionism. and not only has it flowed outwardly to my work, my career, it flowed inwards and i caught it within my hands and i thought if i was perfect, that everyone around me would want to talk to me, to love me, to hang out with me.

people pleasing, it’s a terrible weapon to have.it’s basically doing things you don’t want to do, it builds anger and resentment. i have so much rage inside of me. i look like i could get blown away by a typhoon, but girl i have rage.

i hated myself so much, because i wasn’t perfect. i’d punish myself by not eating on time or by not eating at all. and it grew into a massive eating disorder.

yesterday, i was thrown off my own resolve because of what my facial therapist asked of me “你咁靚女皮膚咁好 又高又瘦 點解唔參加香港小姐嘅“ (you’re so pretty, your skin is so nice, you’re tall and thin why don’t you participate in the hong kong beauty pageant). i don’t want my life to be under a magnifying glass, to be under the eyes of millions of people—i’m so much more than just that.

subconsciously, i didn’t feel worthy of it.

this drinking culture, it’s crazy. maybe it’s just the people around me, who are around the same age, the partying and drinking culture basically is just a large scale socialising event. if you don’t drink, you miss out—FOMO is the word. i always associated drinking as something that i can let the real ‘felicia' come out into the open, as if drinking made me more funnier, happier, the fun version of myself. it shuts my brain off. it’s exhausting to have your brain always going. i could just drink and dance my thinking away. the problem with this dependency is when i overdo it, blacking out in the end. and it’s so fucking scary.

for someone who desperately needs control over her life, blacking out and not having a clue or control over what happened is honestly so scary. i can’t remember. the aftermath of a blackout always leaves me emotional, depressed, angry, stressed. i thought the person who came out while drinking was the most authentic person of me, but it wasn’t. i felt like a fraud, like whoever that was out there, it wasn’t me.

my partner called me out on it, mad was an understatement, he was worried for me. this red flag of mine, needs some healing and some greenery in it.

i’m still finding my way, still finding what works for me and what doesn’t. and drinking, it’s just not it. i’m sticking to juice, soda water and lime.

i’m a human being, we go through roller coasters, life is a roller coaster. things are ugly, sometimes. and my superpower, is being resilient.

and that is a beautiful lesson.

thank you for reading, i’ll see you next time.

love,

felicia