Liew Life

Sometimes, I feel like there is something different about me.    I notice it most after work, when I am driving back to my apartment. The day is almost over. I have left the office, said my goodbyes, and done everything I was supposed to do. There is nothing unusual happening. Just the road, the traffic, and me trying to get home.    But I don’t want to talk.    I don’t want to explain how my day went. I don’t want to answer questions, even simple ones. Sometimes, I don’t even want to choose a song. I just want to drive and let the silence sit beside me for a while.    And when I finally arrive at my apartment, that feeling doesn’t immediately disappear. I put my things down. I take off my shoes. I am finally in my own space, where nobody needs me to be anything for a moment. Still, I feel tired in a way that is difficult to explain.   My body wants to rest, but my minds is still somewhere between the office and home. Maybe I am like this bec...

Some days arrive with a plan. They come with alarms set the night before, reservations saved in our phones, places to be, people to meet, and something waiting for us at the end of the day.    There are birthdays. Flights. Promotions. Holidays. Long-awaited dinners.   Days when we dress a little better, take more pictures than usual, and somehow know  – even while we are living them – that we will probably remember them later.   And then there are days like today. A Saturday with nowhere particularly important to go.    I woke up without needing to rush.  There was no meeting waiting for me, no suitcase by the door, no itinerary to follow. Outside, the world continued as usual, but inside the apartment, everything felt slower.    My mom was here with me.   And perhaps that was the only plan I really had for the day – to stay home, accompany her, and let the hours pass without asking too much from them.    It sounds almost ...

December. The month everyone seems to wait for  –  including me. Something about its presence feels different, almost magical. Shops,  cafés, and streets start playing Christmas jingles as if the whole world is softly whispering,  “The season is here”.   It’s not exactly a holiday season for me this year. I'm not going anywhere; I’m staying put, saving my leave days for another time. But December doesn’t need a plane ticket to feel special. It carries its own atmosphere  – quiet, reflective, familiar – reminding me that the year is coming to an end, and somehow... that already feels like a destination.   A Month That Holds a Mirror As the days fold into one another, I can’t help but look back. Twelve months sound long, but somehow they pass as quickly as a single breath. Yet within that breath, so many things happened – changes, moments, conversations, fears, victories, even the small things we though didn’t matter.   But they  did . Every fr...

The sunlight slips through the tall glass windows just after seven. It’s warm, soft, and quietly persuasive – the kind of light that makes the world look a little gentler than usual. I sit with my oat latte, feeling the first calm breath of the morning. For once, the city hasn’t started rushing yet. And maybe, for once, neither have I.   I don’t usually sit directly under the sun, but today the light feels like an invitation – not to move faster, but to slow down. To sit, to feel, to be. In this small moment, I wish time could stretch just a little longer.   Then a thought appears, as sudden as the sunlight shifting on my table:   Time is the only thing that never changes, yet we keep asking it to.   When life is heavy, we want the days to disappear. When happiness arrives, we want the minutes to stay. We hope time will adjust to our feelings, our seasons, our pace. But time refuses to wait – for joy, for pain, for clarity, for us.   Still, we blame it. We say t...