Symbal Magazine X All In! Young Writer’s Festival 2017 Articles

17218544_1377246412338761_3796582535932924008_oMy team over at Symbal Magazine had the opportunity to drop by Singapore’s annual All In! Young Writer’s Festival this year and cover some of their awesome events! Would really appreciate it if you could check them out!

To All Aspiring Freelance Writers: Just Wing It…? by Ong Hui Wen
Snackable Fiction (Pulp Toast)
by Paean Yeo and Jyotika Puri
Th3 FUtuR3 sTaRT5 h3R3!
by Paean Yeo and Jyotika Puri
Humour in Plays: Actors, satires and a whole lot of merriment
by Ong Hui Wen and Jyotika Puri
All In! Young Short Filmmakers Exhibition
by Lee Russell
Write On: Parallel Ink
by Paean Yeo
Asia and the Asian Film
by Lee Chong Ming
Writing in the Clouds, Cloud-Based Writing Platforms for Young Writers
by Ng Jun Sheng and Mira R

The One Cure

I think we are all born diseased, and we spend our entire lives searching for that one cure. It could be anything: a place, a profession, a person. Some people live to the end without ever finding theirs. Some people manage to find it, but through an unfortunate turn of events, lose that precious thing they seek. It’s not easy.

I hate the fact that you completed me so much that I stopped fighting. I hate that you made me feel sufficient, that I didn’t have to try to impress you. I hate that you told me it was okay to just be me, that I was good enough the way I was. I hate that you made me satisfied with the world and everything.

Because I can’t live like that. I can’t stop. I have to keep going, keep running down this road that has no end. Why, you ask? Because I can’t be happy with where I am or who I am. As long as there’s some place higher, some place farther off, I have to reach it. I want to reach it. And you know, maybe that’s who I really am.

Screw the cure.

Golden Steps

At birth we are found in
whitewashed rooms; our
baby eyes caught bright
by shimmers in the corner:
the sparkle of golden steps.

With a baby smile, our baby
hands pull baby knees fore-
ward, only to be grabbed by
withered hands old and dry:
the hands of The Elder Ones.

As did the Elders before them,
they tell stories spun from the
verses of The Great Rulebook:

Touch not the golden stairs.
The warmth, the light are but
rancid lies, empty promises.
Climb them and you will fall.
You will break every part of you.

Young and afraid we run into
arms rough as papyrus. They
lead us to the Grand Machine
where we are turned into cogs.
Ka-chunk, ka-chink, klang.

The years pass in fast forward
blur without colour, scattering
the sands of time which settle
over the golden steps like dust.
We cannot tell the difference.

But don’t forget –
Please, never forget –
We all have wings no one can see.
They can take us anywhere, as high as we want.
As grey as they may now seem, those steps will always be our

Golden Steps.

On Laziness & Stuff

I’m lazy. I know a ton of people who are lazy. And if you happen to be reading this article instead of working on an assignment/something else instead, you’re probably lazy too. This afternoon, just 10 minutes after I finally managed to convince myself to sink into the first chapter of my midterm revision for South Asian studies, I leaned back, slammed my head onto the headrest and asked myself: “What is life?” Dang. I don’t know about you, but I think we humans are a pretty lazy bunch.
Continue reading “On Laziness & Stuff”