Do you, Dear Reader, hear your own voice—or a voice, at any rate—in your head, which speaks to you?

What is it connects us?

The road winds. My favourite music plays. The route is familiar, and the other drivers considerate, and therefore distant, on the edges of my consciousness.

I’d say Singaporean society is extremely hostile toward fiction.

Whoever put the labels “lark” and “owl” in our heads did us no favours.

What does “taking criticism well” mean? What is “constructive criticism”?