A personal blog · Singapore · Pasir Ris
About me
I'm Nathan. I live in Pasir Ris — Block 118, if you want the exact coordinates — and most of my week moves between here and Tampines, the interchange, the park connectors, the kopitiams where a kopi can stretch into an hour without anyone rushing you. I didn't set out to run a blog. I set out to walk more and scroll less, and the writing followed because some evenings leave a thread in your hand that won't let go until you tie it to words.
Pasir Ris is where I notice the slow things. Laundry on lines that catch the sea wind even when you can't see the water from the block. Kids racing paper boats in drains after rain. An uncle at the void deck who knows which lift is temperamental without checking the notice board. Tampines is where the pace picks up — escalators, crowds, the small negotiations of shared space — and I pay attention there too, because kindness and impatience both show themselves clearly when everyone is trying to get somewhere.
What I write about is ordinary on purpose. Not because ordinary is easy — it isn't — but because the city I live in is full of moments that don't make the news and don't need to. A freewheel down a park connector with the chain silent. A stranger holding an escalator for someone else's groceries. A night on Chin Swee Road where sirens changed the air and I still don't know what happened one block over. These are not essays with a thesis. They are notes from a person who was there, trying to be honest about what he saw and careful about what he didn't.
I notice details that stick — the weight of a napkin with smudged ink, the particular quiet after emergency vehicles pass, the way a kopitiam table gets wiped clean and a story disappears with the crumbs. I notice people in passing, not as characters in my drama but as brief presences in a shared street. I try not to name anyone who hasn't asked to be named. I try not to invent facts where I only have gaps. If a piece ends unfinished, that's because the memory is unfinished too, and I'd rather leave the gap visible than fill it with something that isn't mine to claim.
I write in the evenings, usually after a walk or a coffee that went longer than planned. I draft on my phone sometimes, on my laptop others. Nothing here is commissioned, sponsored, or written on anyone else's behalf. StoryGlide is a personal journal I happen to publish — a place to keep the small stories before they roll away.
If something I've written doesn't match your memory of a place, tell me. Neighbourhoods are layered, and my view is only one layer. If you want to say hello, use the contact form or email me at [email protected]. I read everything, even if I can't always reply quickly.