Watsky: Live

Watsky: Live

Saturday, March 28, 2026

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As the lights dimmed, I found myself in the middle of the floor at The Melkweg, a mid-sized music venue in the heart of Amsterdam's vibrant Leidseplein square, surrounded by an air of anticipation and excitement; with just a tinge of impatience bubbling up from several hundred people. People who either, like me, grew up on the same verses, or recently stumbled upon an indie artist they couldn't stop listening to.

One particular audience member was a tad too tall for my liking, so I gently nudged forward, inching closer to the front. Since I was there solo, it was much easier to find a strategic spot to soak in every single bit. Every moment that I travelled 10,500 kilometres for. 

The spotlight turned on. There he was. 

There's seven billion, forty million people on the planet/ 

And most of us have the audacity to think we matter/

- Tiny Glowing Screens Pt 2

The first lines. The absolute disbelief. The subconscious mouthing of the words. 

I had finally made it to see my favourite artiste perform live. 

It's been quite the journey since I first discovered George Watsky on YouTube in 2011. He's responsible for shaping my music taste--to this day, it still shocks people that my favourite genre is hip hop and lyrical rap. I've blogged about him several times here, back when I was less self-conscious about how my admiration for his craft would be perceived. Somehow, this even led to an exchange with one of his old high school mates, a professor at Stanford who reached out via email for information on a poetry collection I'd mentioned here (unrelated to Watsky, but still ridiculously cool how connected the world is).

Though I've become a more mellow fan over time, he's consistently my Spotify top artiste, despite (yet probably because of!) the diverse and sometimes experimental styles of music he's put out. 

When I posted on his Facebook wall almost 15 years ago (and apparently also commented on a YouTube video 13 years ago, as seen above), requesting a Singapore stop, he responded with something along the lines of 'that'd be cool, hopefully someday.' 

Though I'd love for more folks to appreciate his music, he's always been a huge proponent of not "selling out", sticking true to who he is and what he stands for--it's evident in every lyric. Admittedly, there's something charming about being a fan of the alternative. So I'm not mad that my request didn't materialize over the last decade; it just meant I could take matters into my own hands. When else would I find myself flying halfway across the world for a lil side quest that turned into to my favourite trip of all time? 

So here I was. 

As he performed 'Headphones'--the very first song from his first album, about using music as an escape to block out the noise of the outside world--I was fully immersed. I completely surrendered to the surreal realization that the voice I'd heard in my own headphones (ha!) for years was now moving the air in front of me. 

Then, he leaped into the crowd, immediately lifted by an audience that was game for anything. It was the perfect visual for the bars he was spitting:  

This one is for the people who raised me up/

If you remember one thing, then remember how it felt/

When you felt for the first time/

- Dreams & Boxes

Now, this was how you put up a show.

The final track, 'Nothing Like The Last Time', is an ode to Watsky's career, a mash-up of samples from his most iconic songs. Standing there relishing tunes that were earworms for specific junctures of my life, played one after the other, felt like an out-of-body experience. 

Watsky created the soundtrack to more than a decade of my life; I was revisiting those very moments just as much as he was recapping his. 

Then the lights came back on, the final curtain call was made, and I exited the venue. A bucket-list item that I never thought I'd cross off, done. 

I don't quite recall if I'd grabbed dinner before, but after the show, I made my way to the McDonald's two streets down. As I was waiting for my number to be called, a thought crossed my mind: Did I really fly all the way to Amsterdam and not even attempt to meet him in person? 

When my order was ready, I grabbed my brown paper bag from the counter, stuffed a fistful of fries into my mouth--mmmm salt--and ran back to The Melkweg. 

There, I saw a bunch of people I presumed were also fans waiting outside. After a bit of hesitation (I hadn't spoken to anyone other than mumbling 'thank you' to staff all evening), I approached two of the friendliest looking ones, and asked if they were waiting for him. 

They said yes, and mentioned they had friends inside the venue covering other exits to be safe. They welcomed me to join them (which I of course accepted!), and I later learnt they were locals who had seen him live on multiple occasions. Shortly after, one of them received a call: he was meeting fans in the venue! 

We tried re-entering, and were initially stopped. With my new friends' quick exchange of friendly Dutch with the bouncer (ugh I'm so grateful), he let us in. 

And then, this happened. 

How do you encapsulate the pure gratitude of having someone's music accompany you through every step of your most vulnerable growing up years? His lyrics lent me a voice when my own words didn't suffice, they made me feel so seen, and they even helped me navigate and uncover my own existential thoughts (I've even cited lines from his songs in therapy sessions). 

I'm not sure I did a great job of articulating that in the moment, but I hope our short exchange gave him at least a glimpse of the impact he's had. 

He was exactly how I'd imagined him to be--and I mean this in the most non parasocial way possible--taking his time to truly meet every single person who stayed behind. 

Massive shout-out to Luke and his friend, who were the ones who made my little meet-and-greet possible, and even stayed to make sure I had a ready photographer and a marker for an autograph. 

'Dream come true' is not a phrase I use lightly, one because it's hella corny, but two especially because achieving a goal can sometimes leave a void. What's next? Yep, the arrival fallacy. 

However, finding an artiste who speaks your specific language is rare. While meeting George was a milestone, dream-come-true moment, I'm not left empty. I have the rest of my life to journey on with the best mixtape in the background, made even better knowing that he carries himself exactly how he portrays himself to be.  

'And I can't really tell/ If I'm a good person or I'm faking really well' - Ten Fingers

He has enabled the best possible version of myself to exist: a version that is fiercely independent, brave when it matters, and filled with a whole lot of heart. 

Thank you, George. 

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Amsterdam, the Netherlands (Solo)

Amsterdam, the Netherlands (Solo)

Saturday, October 18, 2025

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When I was younger, I used to tell others that I "didn't like to travel". In fact, some of my early posts on this very space contained such claims, writing off going on trips as a frivolous activity, and they can of course still be that way, if planned in a particular manner. 

The truth is, those statements were probably made with the intention to convince myself of that fact, stemmed from an unacknowledged insecurity, because I never had the privilege of going abroad often while growing up. To be clear though, I never felt lacking in this regard. 

In between then and now, something changed. I started relishing discovering cultures other than my own, and enjoying the strange irony of feeling smaller the more countries I opened my heart and mind to. I even considered taking a two year gap before starting university to become a flight attendant in bid to take in as much of the world in my "youth", but eventually chose a path in university that allowed me to go abroad on the school's dime, which then led to my current job that I get to travel pretty extensively for, while also being in a position to afford trips for pure leisure. 

Yet, I still hadn't experienced anything quite as life changing as the 10 days I spent in Amsterdam on my own in 2023, a trip I can only describe as the best trip of my life. And this status still holds true two years and 27 trips later, including a repeat visit to the beautiful city, because the pure moments of serendipity from summer that year showed me that I truly needed to be there at that point in time, at that point of my life. I could not make these moments up even if I wanted to. 

Instead of my usual trip/ itinerary recaps, I want to focus on what made it all so incredibly soul-moving. 

The Intention

more than a decade-long dream fulfilled

While I had been on solo trips or solo legs of extended trips, I'd usually meet someone in the foreign city, so I do consider this trip to be my first full-fledged independent travel experience. So what was the pull factor for me–why Amsterdam, and why then?  

Until today, my favourite artiste of all time is Watsky, and I've blogged about him on here several times before, with the earliest one dating 2011 and the most recent in 2016. Admittedly, over the years I've become less expressive about my love for his craft, but he never fails to top my Spotify Wrapped charts annually, even in the years that he doesn't put out any new music. 

Over 15 years ago, I'd posted on his Facebook wall (yes, when that feature still existed), saying that I'd hope to one day see him perform live, perhaps when he does a world tour which includes Singapore as a stop. Unfortunately, Watsky's talent remains somewhat undiscovered in Asia (to everyone's loss, may I add). At the ripe age of 26 and as someone earning my own keep, there was absolutely nothing stopping me from travelling to where he actually has a fan base. 

And so I did. 

The concert experience deserves its own standalone recap, but beyond that, the act of attending a concert I could only dream of more than a decade ago was a tangible representation of several facets of growth for me personally; of independence, of (relative) financial abundance, and of courage.  

The Foreshadowing

an unknowing glimpse into my future

Interestingly, Amsterdam was not my first choice destination. When purchasing tickets for the concert, I'd literally searched up 'safest city' to narrow down the list of cities he was touring and had initially bought tickets to Dublin, Ireland; which as we know now is where I'd consider my second home. 

However, a friend's wedding date turned out to clash with the Dublin leg of the tour and I decided to give away the ticket to an Irish fan via the Watsky Facebook community, and got a new one for the Amsterdam date instead (yes, that was the next safest city). 

Obviously this is a revelation that only hindsight can provide, but I absolutely adore how my first brush with the emerald isle was via my muse. 

The Being

doing things just because

As someone who was brought up with a scarcity mindset and am still actively teaching myself to take on one with abundance, I don't always feel comfortable spending money especially on what I'd consider indulgent treats. I tend to also optimize how I spend my time. 

Yet, for this trip, I decided to do the opposite, within reason. I splurged on experiences, and I did things (at times, repeatedly) without a clear purpose. Doing so allowed me to just soak in the act of just being, and to bask in my own presence; and somehow it all felt strangely serendipitous. 

On one of the evenings, I'd booked myself a seat at one-Michelin-starred De Juwelier (with a no-show deposit so I couldn't get cold feet). While I've dined solo before, it's never at such a fine establishment. Though initially self-conscious, the acute awareness of my own consciousness soon became something I appreciated. With growing life responsibilities and distractions all around, how often am I able to simply focus on just being fully present? And how lucky am I to be able to take myself out in a beautiful, random city halfway across the world? 

Food was unsurprisingly impeccable, and surprisingly unpretentious. Plating was refined, but not at all over-the-top. It felt like a homely hug. As I was sat by the chef's table, I got to see all of the action, and the precision required in a kitchen of this calibre was incredible to see. 

Being a solo diner, both the kitchen and wait staff would stop and chat with me in between courses; and I got to speak to the head chef Yoran (whom I later learnt won the 2022 Michelin Young Chef Award in the Netherlands). He almost immediately clocked my accent, "are you from Singapore?" and shared that he'd lived and worked there a few years ago and loved the city. It was such a sense of warmth and familiarity that came completely out of nowhere—no one can tell me I wasn't meant to dine there and meet him. 

In a very similar vein, I visited a bar on my own for the very first time on another evening. It was a speakeasy, Door 74, and I got sat by the bar counter, beside someone who was having a pre-drink before his birthday celebrations. Throwing my introversion aside, I toasted to him and also had a lovely chat with the bartender, Julien. 

It was a luxury to be able to feel confident enough in my skin to both be alone, and to chat with strangers. After my last drink (a very delicious clarified soy-milk cocktail), Julien shared a curated list of restaurants and bars in Amsterdam that he'd personally recommend to me. I got immediate chills when I opened the Google Maps link and read 'Juju's Eats and Drinks List Amsterdam'—yep, his nickname is the same as mine. Another complete chance encounter that signaled how this trip was truly something special. 

Continuing the trend of speaking to strangers, I'd also booked myself a spot on a beautiful boat tour in Amsterdam's iconic canals, and ended up enjoying it way more than I imagined, made better with the kindness of fellow boat-goers who shared great conversations and even offered to take photos of me.  

The boat ride was probably a peak example of just being, seeing as I was literally forced to take a pause, take in the sights, and relinquish all control to our captain, Oliver. 

By far though, the one example I'd cite when it comes to doing something just because, was when I visited the Van Gogh museum twice on consecutive days during the trip. The first day was planned, I'd pre-booked tickets and spent almost the entire day pinching myself while enjoying the original works of my favourite painter of all time. 

The following day, I was walking in the city and caught sight of some people with sunflowers. It was a handful at first, but the growing volume soon convinced me this was not a coincidence of sunflower-loving folk simply populating the streets. My immediate thought was, "this has something to do with Van Gogh", and I decided to spontaneously hop on a tram that took me to Museumplein, without knowing if something was actually going on. 

What greeted me there was the festival of my dreams. People were dressed in yellow, smiling & distributing sunflowers, alongside live music and street performers. As it turned out, it was the museum's 50th anniversary and there was a 'Sunflower Art Festival' that very day. 

Carrying the sunflower around the city for the rest of the day made me feel inexplicably happy. It was probably a combination of the sense of accomplishment I felt following my intuition, and the fact that flowers are simply a beautiful non-necessity, so symbolic of how I want to live my life—to not just be obsessed with the pragmatic but to leave room for the frivolous. 

The Nostalgia

a nod to my childhood 

On one of my final days in Amsterdam, I was contemplating skipping a visit to a farmer's market on my list, the Noordermarkt, which opens only on Saturday & Monday, as I was feeling slightly tired. However, as I was texting JX about it, he encouraged me to head there, since I probably wouldn't get another chance, at least not on this trip. 

I can't even make this up, but there was absolutely a reason why I needed to be there. As I was browsing through the stalls, I stopped in front of one that sold kid's toys and caught sight of someone all too familiar. There he was, in his pristine form, my childhood soft toy, also known as a 'chou chou' in Singapore, which literally translates to 'smelly' in Mandarin, referring to an emotional support pillow/ blankie/ toy that one owns since young. 

For the unacquainted, my 'chou chou' is a duck hand puppet affectionately known as 'Mr Ducky Wacky Oh So Funny', and through many, many years of love (or mistreatment), now looks pretty damn ragged, spots a short haircut courtesy of my mum and her concern for my sinus as kid, and a huge hole on his right wing. And somehow, ten thousand kilometres away from my childhood bedroom, I come face to face with Mr Ducky's younger self when I've never seen him being sold in any store, anywhere, ever.  

It was as though he was sending me a message from my younger self, saying "I'm proud of you for coming this far," both literally and figuratively. This encounter definitely choked me up. 

And with that, thank you Amsterdam. 

With the benefit of hindsight, I can quite confidently say that this trip was pivotal in showing me that the world was both so much bigger and at the same time smaller than what I thought it was. Bigger in that there was still so much for me to explore (and that I should), but smaller in that I was more than capable of exploring it if I wanted to, especially knowing that there'd still be pockets of comfort wherever I went, be it through the people I've yet to meet or physical manifestations of the familiar.  

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Moving Abroad: One Year On

Moving Abroad: One Year On

Monday, March 17, 2025

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The Before // 

Before one moves overseas, well-meaning folks would offer well-wishes and advice, words of wisdom they may or may not have tried and tested themselves. You would've had the time to psych yourself for the big move, preparing logistics, mapping out the most efficient route to an unfamiliar address which you'll soon commit to memory and which you'll later grow accustomed to calling "home", at least to your new friends. 

And as much as possible, you would've mentally prepped yourself. You get to prepare yourself for the unknown, and somehow expecting the unknown makes the actual unknown a bit easier to deal with. 

The First Return Home //

But no one can prepare you for the sense of uncanny familiarity that greets you when you return back home, especially when you've built a second one somewhere else. While it feels like a warm hug, it feels like one from a stranger–incredibly unnerving. 

It's unnerving because it's the familiarity despite. Despite how different I feel, it's so easy to fall back into the same routines–knowing how to cut across the road before the green man comes on because you can predict the traffic light's timing, diving straight into the snacks aisle of your local supermarket (the one you used to spend most of your post-work evenings in) and going back to volunteering on Friday evenings helping to write letters to government bodies on issues plaguing the average Singaporean, issues that feel so far from my own reality (and this time, not referring to it in a privileged way, though I hundred percent am). 

The most unnerving of it all? The immediate realization coming back from abroad that there's now a part of me that'll never feel familiar to the folks back home. And the fact that they don't see it. To them, 'you haven't changed!', 'wah thank goodness no accent', 'no European air eh!' While I'm glad I didn't seem foreign to my friends and loved ones, it was quite a bit to deal with on my own, feeling like I needed to reconcile these two 'versions' of me. 

The Invisible Growth //

It was also a strange phenomenon because in Dublin, I didn't feel like I'd changed at all. In fact, there were moments in the past year where I questioned my decision to uproot myself completely from a place where I had everything going for me, and it wasn't because things got challenging. Instead, it all felt too easy–so much so that I wondered if I was truly going to get the dramatic "personal growth" I'd envisioned getting by moving abroad. 

Yet, returning back to Singapore made Dublin feel like a complete dream. Not in a rainbows-and-butterflies-kinda-way, but in a 'did that even happen?' way, because that version of myself felt so far away. That version of myself felt different: the one that had a newfound sense of independence, the one that takes control of her social life and not let it be dictated by obligations, the one that has a decent work-life balance. 

These were changes or little growth areas I'd never noticed till I relegated back to my other self in Singapore–and I'd argue not because of a lack of responsibility, but a shift back to old circumstances. At least, moving has shown me what's possible. 

The Leaving Home Again //

And with visiting home, comes the need to leave it again. This time I left really knowing what to expect–there no longer was that sense of adventure or novelty anymore. Because I moved abroad for work, it also felt like I was returning to the place I associated with back-to-back meetings, sending emails, and a good amount of workplace shenanigans. 

As much as I do enjoy aspects of my job, there's no denying that sense of dread that comes with settling into the plane seat you'd be trapped in for the next fourteen hours and knowing you'd have to to go into the office jet-lagged the next day. That's not even counting the emotional aspect of it all: it gets even harder to leave home the second time, not knowing when's the next time you'll be seeing the people you left behind. 

At some point, I'll be back home for good. When that happens, I can't wait for my two selves to merge into one best self–obviously not a given, but I'm prepared to put in the work. Till then, I'll continue to chase all the growth I can get, in every aspect of my life but particularly in my personal sense of self. 

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Taipei, Taiwan (Solo)

Taipei, Taiwan (Solo)

Thursday, July 11, 2024

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I'd describe my trip to Taipei end-2022 as a series of unfortunate events where everything that could go wrong, went wrong. Hilarious in hindsight, but pretty miserable in the moment. Perhaps it was the impromptu nature of the trip, where I booked it without much thought simply to utilize my company's "work from anywhere" policy, leading to all sorts of disasters. Think: booking the wrong hotel, realizing that the hotel you ended up in was a Covid-19 isolation facility, falling sick alone overseas, and feeling the tremors of the earthquake in that said hotel while nursing my illness. 

Yet, these moments made me discover a side of Taipei that I wouldn't have otherwise explored, which made my visit feel more authentically local. 

The wrong hotel gave me a peek into local life 

The hotel I was supposed to book, 'York Hotel' was centrally located, near the Taipei Main Station and the office, where I was meant to work from for a couple of days. However, the 'York Hotel' I ended up booking (yes they literally had the same name) was located in Banqiao District, and a ~40 mins commute to the city. 

This slight inconvenience necessitated a long, early stroll to the metro every day I was there, passing by local eateries and homes, ones I wouldn't have gotten to see otherwise. The morning rush hour commute was memorable and as real as it gets–squished up in between sliding doors and the warm human bodies who gave no hoots about personal space. 

These were the little things that gave me a taste of what working and living in Taipei felt like, and I did end up still having a lovely time meeting my Greater China colleagues and touring our office situated within the Taipei 101 building. 

With Z, whom I'd been working with for a year at that point.

Of course, we had to have my favourite drink in its birthplace.

Always fun visiting the offices abroad.

A cozy nook, and the snacks in the Taipei office are elite. 

Dinner on one of the nights post-working in the office with Z.

Covid-19 isolation facility, but so very homely 

So how did I realize this god-forsaken hotel was moonlighting as an isolation facility for the pandemic? Well, there were some signs. I first arrived in the early morning of 11 December (yes, I only had an 8 hour "stopover" in Singapore in between my Hanoi and Taipei trips). As I wanted to make sure I had a room to shower in prior to starting my day instead of waiting till the usual check-in time, I had booked my stay from the night before, expecting the room to be ready once I arrived. However, when I stepped into the hotel, the lights of the lobby were switched off, and a lone lady at the counter was clearly not expecting me. The booking confirmation from my inbox was scrutinized, before she informed me my room wasn't ready and instructed me to take a seat and wait–not before turning on the lights though. 

When I got to my room, it was cozy, nothing amiss yet. I did notice that every other room in the corridor apart from mine had some sort of two-tiered trolley rack near the door, and it seemed like standardized meals were being delivered to the guests, left on their trolleys. These meals were soon replaced by trash bags, to be picked up by the staff. I put two and two together, and it all made sense when I saw that the staff running these errands were dressed in PPE (personal protective equipment) from head to toe.  

Throughout the five days I spent there, I didn't see any other hotel guest. At least, none who could leave their rooms. This made me the most identifiable person for whoever was on duty at the lobby each day. At first, service was not given with a smile–alas, this was no luxury hotel. However, it seemed like word spread amongst hotel staff about this random Singaporean girl, and I was greeted one night when I returned with an "哦!是妳啊?" (translation: "Oh! It's you!"), by someone I'd never seen before. I suppose, yes, it's me, the girl who paid for a room in this isolation facility. By the last day though, the staff were all talking to me, making sure I knew how to turn up the temperature in my room as the weather was getting colder, and making sure I was putting on enough layers before I left their doors. It was very sweet. 

The hotel lift that only serviced a single hotel guest–me, post surviving an earthquake.

Valuing health, and time

Falling sick overseas, especially when you're alone, seriously sucks. I probably spent a good two out of the five days trying to nurse myself back to health, made easier with the wonders of Asia's 7-11/ Family Mart stores and apple milk, a beverage I waited 6 years since my last Taiwan trip to drink again. 

Heaven sometimes takes the form of a convenience storefront serving up tasty hot, microwaveable meals.

 

Yes, I was sick, but I clearly still had quite the appetite. 

I only had about 50% of my taste, but this still hit. 

Yet, the limited time I had left to explore the city made the hours feel so much more valuable and special. Instead of relying on myself, I enlisted the help of my Taiwan-crazed friend who's practically a local. She happened to be there at the same time I was, and I knew I could count on her to give me the right Taipei experience. It also helped that this was my third time in the city and I've already been to all the tourist must-do's, so no pressure there. 

And when it mattered, plans worked in my favour. Receiving this very message on the day I was due to fly was such a gift: 

A flight delay when I most needed it!

Instead of moping around feeling frustrated about why I fell sick in the first place, I dragged my sorry nearly-recovered ass out the door and properly begun my trip, with about eight hours left to spare. The first stop was a quaint cafe-and-bookstore near my hotel, literally called 'eslite me-time', exactly what I needed. 

Tea for one. 

I couldn't resist a strawberry pon de ring from Mister Donut at the metro station, while waiting for my friend RN. 

Dinner was a place called 燈籠滷味, serving up a dish called '滷味' which I can only describe as a braised version of mala xiang guo/ yong tau foo. 

I enjoyed it, didn't taste like anything I had before. 

The next stop was 師園鹽酥雞 (translation: Shi Yun Crispy Fried Chicken).

This is popular with locals, it's not your usual over-seasoned Taiwanese fried chicken cutlet (Shilin-style), but served in a variety of batters and cuts you could pick and choose from. 

And we ended the night on a sweet note with mango shaved ice, of course. 

Thank you for readily showing me around your favourite city, and jam-packing the few hours I had with everything I was craving, and undeniably the best versions of each one. 

Just like that, my trip to Taipei came to an end. Quite a banger of an end, if I may say so myself. 

Sure, there were a couple, or loads, of bumps along the way, but everything could've been a lot worst. The series of unfortunate events turned around to become some of the greatest blessings, due mainly to the unique experience I ended up with. Being the only hotel guest and having some of the cutest conversations with the staff, nursing myself back to health and understanding the importance of rest, surviving the earthquake tremors, and having an absolute adrenaline-packed speed-run of delicious Taiwanese cuisine; what more could I have asked for?

If this is what an impromptu trip results in, count me in for the next one. 

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