Liew Life

Growing up, we were often told things like “stop crying”, “stay strong”, or “don’t overthink it”. As kids, we let our emotions flow like a river—laughing when we were happy, crying when we were hurt, and expressing frustration without hesitation. But as we step into adulthood, it’s as if the river is expected to dry up.     Suddenly, there are rules—unspoken ones that tell us showing emotions is a sign of weakness, immaturity, or a lack of control. A frown at work might make us seem unprofessional. Tears in relationship might make us feel like a burden. Even sharing our struggles with friends can sometimes leave us wondering,  Am I too much?   So, we learn to hold it in. We press our emotions into small, invisible boxes and tuck them away, convincing ourselves that “it’s fine”, even when it’s not. But emotions don’t just disappear when ignored. They sit there, stacking up like unread messages in our minds, waiting for the moment they spill over—often in ways we ...

Just got back from my hometown after a Chinese New Year trip. And if there’s one thing I keep thinking about since then, it’s this— so this is what being an adult feels like.   The weight of responsibility sits heavier each year. Being the only son means taking care of my mom, making sure she’s okay, making sure I’m okay. My back aches at least once a week, a little reminder that my body isn’t as resilient as it used to be. My eyesight is getting worse, even though I’ve tried to cut down my screen time. I’ve been trying to eat cleaner—less carbs, less sugar, more water, and workouts six days a week. ( Tried , at least. The last time I jumped rope, I somehow hurt my back. No idea how that happened, but it did.)   And then, there’s time. It moves differently these days. Slipping through my fingers faster than I can hold onto it. One moment, I was in Japan celebrating New Year, and now? It’s already February.  How?   Spending time in my hometown felt like a break from r...

Life is full of moments where choices aren’t just decisions, they’re turning points. And right now, I’m standing at one of those moments, looking at two roads stretched out in front of me. One path feels safe, familiar, wrapped in the warmth of everything I know. The other feels uncertain, a little unknown, but it hums with the quiet promise of something new and exciting.    There’s a part of me—a loud, restless part—that long for change. It’s a craving I can’t ignore anymore, a need to step into a new rhythm, to explore a life where every step feels like growth. I imagine what it might be like to wake up in a place that challenges me, pushes me, forces me to adapt. A place where even the seasons change, reminding me that nothing in life is meant to stay the same.    But chasing that feeling means leaving so much behind. It means walking away from the people who’ve been my anchor—my mom, my sisters, my close friends. The ones who know me better than anyone, who’ve se...