A personal blog · Singapore · Ang Mo Kio
I am Priya. I live in Ang Mo Kio, a short bus ride from Bishan and the wet market where the aunties already know which stall I will queue at first. This site is my daybook in public — not a guide, not a brand, just one person writing down what a plain Tuesday looks like when nobody is counting the hours.
I notice the fan clicking off when the room finally cools. The plastic bag that catches on a railing and spins until the wind drops. Groceries on each arm and a shopping list with one item crossed out and two added in the margin. Small things, kept in short sentences, because the outline of a day slips faster than I admit.
Most entries start within a few blocks of home — AMK Hub, the park connector toward Bishan, the coffee shop where kaya toast arrives before I finish unfolding the newspaper. Occasionally I write from somewhere else, when an ordinary errand crosses a line I cannot unsee. Those posts sit here too, dated and honest about what I did not know.
51 Chin Swee · 12 November 2025
November evening, about 9.35pm. I was picking up a clinic errand near Outram when noise and sirens gathered near number fifty-one. Something serious happened close by. I stayed on the far pavement with an empty tote and no answers.
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About Priya
I keep this journal from Blk 447 Ang Mo Kio Avenue 10. My mornings often begin at the neighbourhood coffee shop with kopi and kaya toast, or a slow loop through the market before the queues thicken. I notice which fan clicks off first, which auntie saves you a spot without being asked, the way afternoon shadow moves across the void deck when you hang laundry.
I write in plain sentences because that is how my days arrive — one errand, then a gap, then another small thing worth keeping. If you want the longer picture of who I am and why this site exists, the about page has it.
Recent entries
AMK coffee shop, first light, toast before the errands claim the morning.
One extra turn, two extra stalls, and a bag heavier on the way home.
A stranger pointed toward the right lift without a word spoken.
Hang the wash, carry the groceries, forget nothing if you can help it.
The fan at home clicks off; the park path carries what's left of the day.