👑 Writer of scandalous stories. Author of "National Service: Confessions of a Skiving Soldier" and "Confessions of a Singaporean Weed Smoker." Buy my books here!
I Saw An Angel On a Bad LSD Trip
After that trip I became something of a psychedelic evangelical. I talked to anyone and everyone I deemed safe about them. Psychedelics are the future, I argued. Taking them has given me a new perspective, a spiritual awakening that would have otherwise taken me a lifetime to achieve. And hell, they’re not bad drugs at all. Those were all government propaganda, enforced lies funded by corporate dime―and did you know that the pattern of the 12-helix human DNA was discovered while the scientist was high on LSD? And did you know that there is strong evidence that humans have been taking magic mushrooms for centuries, that the use of soma and mescaline and ayahuasca predate and quite possibly kickstarted the genesis of organized religion itself?
Saving Helen Of Sparta
But barring the seductive whisperings of Lee’s offer, the rest of my weekend was good. It was good to train again, yes, good to hone my skills again, but it was better still to see the faces of my training partners and friends, friendly faces untwisted by camp discipline and too much power. We joked and we laughed and we punched and we kicked, and in between it all we had a lot of fun—but as the saying goes, time flies when you’re having fun and good times are not meant to last, because 48 hours and too soon later I was back outside camp again, back on the cross again, surrounded once again by the glum faces of resigned recruits and the waiting cars of waving parents.
We All Start Somewhere
I look back on the first piece I ever wrote and I cringe. I force myself to read it, however. I force myself to read it not because I enjoy self-induced pain—I've had enough of pain to last a lifetime, thank you very much—but because I think it's essential, as a writer, to look back on just how far you've come. I think it's essential for all aspiring artists to hold up, every once in a while, a brutally honest mirror and be our own self-appraisers, whether or not you like what you see within.
I Almost Slept With a Woman Who Was High On Ecstasy
I felt nothing at first. Sure, I was in a beautiful room with a beautiful girl, the girl of my dreams dressed in a tight white tank top and slim-fit yoga pants, but the pill, the MDMA pill we had just swallowed failed to elicit for me any immediate reaction. Sure, the lights were a little brighter, and the air-condition a little warmer, but all in all, I was less than impressed by Molly’s supposed exuberance. Feeling less than impressed I stood up and paced around the room. I paced and I paced―and say, why is the room so hot? Can’t Lady Pearl, the host of this three-hundred-dollar-a-night shophouse, afford even a functioning thermostat? And say, why do I feel so pumped up and energetic all of a sudden, like what I had been doing was not sitting in an air-conditioned room but running in circles under the sun? And hey, why do I feel like running around in circles right about now?
Loving Big Brother
But a new girl would soon enter my life and become my wife, and my wife made me forget it all: forget about talcum-flinging fat boys, forget about Ziggie and his deformed neck, forget about the rich kids with their Bitcoin collections and impossibly hot girlfriends. My wife made me forget not because she was so lovely, but because she was such a high-maintenance woman.
Surviving The Scoldings of a Sergeant
The rest of my confinement passed in a haze, a haze of hazings, route marches, and endless runs in the sun. By book-out day I was tanned a nutty golden brown. My shaved head felt good in the sun and even better under the shower. It felt strange but wonderful to not need a towel, to let the wind blow dry my scalp and the sun heat-dry my skin. I even managed to pick up some useful skills during my two-week stay in camp. The two that come to mind are an uncanny ability to sleep anywhere and the neat trick of finishing all my meals in five minutes or less.
The Woodcutter & The Snake
In a lonely cabin by the woods, there lived a woodcutter. His cabin was not a grand vacation home the nobles retreated to in the summer. Nor was it a decrepit shack, a hideout for outlaws and brigands. It was humble and homely: a simple home for a simple woodcutter. The cabin was spartan, carved out of hand-cut wood, unadorned save for a rough stone chimney perched on its roof. The floor was made out of the same pinewood as the walls, polished smooth by the passage of feet and the passing of time. And of course, there was the woodcutter himself.
The Lady of Issyk Kul Lake
I was drowning in the depths of depression when I first heard of The Lady of the Lake. Prior to that, my life was good. I was working as a Senior Writer at a well-funded start-up and was well in the running to become Chief Editor. The only other competitor I had was Jessica, a fellow writer who was also a very beautiful woman. Jessica wrote well, spoke well, and looked even better. Her auburn hair matched her eyes and tumbled like a chocolate waterfall past her hips. She was both sophisticated and svelte, possessing two Ivy League degrees as well as slim legs that seemed to go on forever. All in all, she was a formidable opponent, but that being said, I didn't think she was a match for me at all.
- Top Story - June 2023
An Open Letter to My Workaholic FatherTop Story - June 2023
Dear Papa, I love you. Throughout our 27 years on this Earth together, I've never said this one, simple phrase to you. Part of this has to do with the fact that we're Asian— and we Asians, as a rule, rarely express ourselves so overtly. But frankly, most of it has to do with the fact that I saw so little of you growing up. You, my father, are the hardest-working man I have ever met.
- Top Story - June 2023
Linda in the Sky with DiamondsTop Story - June 2023
When I met Linda at the shophouse I was already drunk. I was only twenty years old then, twenty and terrified of women. I had just got out of two terrible relationships and had no desire to get into another, so when Linda invited me to spend the night with her I almost refused—and I would have refused her, too, if she didn’t tempt me by offering me drugs.