Monogram

I am Marcus — no surname on this site, no job title, no follower count. I live in Pasir Ris, write in the evenings, and have kept this blog the way you keep a drawer of receipts: not because anyone audits them, but because the accumulation proves you were present.

I moved east after years in smaller rental rooms closer to town. Pasir Ris offered distance from office lights and proximity to the beach park, where low tide reveals sand bars that make the sea look undecided. I walk there when sentences clog; I ride buses when walking feels too directed. The notes on this site come from those circuits — coffee shops at dawn, market lanes on Saturdays, stairwell landings where paint gives up gracefully.

I write in British spelling because it is what I was taught and because it slows me down just enough to choose words rather than collect them. I leave out anything that would turn these pages into a product pitch or a performance of hardship. There is no workshop here, no mailing list, no tip jar. If you want to reach me, the gatepost page lists post and phone; I answer when quiet hours allow.

What I omit matters: crime reporting, speculation about strangers, advice dressed as certainty. When the Chin Swee memory appears at the root URL, it stays inside what I saw and heard, and it admits ignorance where ignorance is the honest position. Everything else is deliberately small — fans on setting two, kettles, rails, bus windows.