It was a conscious decision rather than a forced one, although I do admit that my weekly trips to Singapore conveniently do not count as travelling in my head. If you can take a bus there, it feels more like commuting than wandering.

The book is Dior Scarves. Fashion Stories, published by Thames & Hudson, and it explores decades of scarf design from the house of Dior. It is one of the most beautiful books I own. The pages are exceptionally thin, almost tissue like, which somehow makes the experience more luxurious because there are so many of them. You turn one page and then another and another, and it feels endless. Scarves upon scarves, each one telling its own small visual story.

What I love most about this book is the sense of freedom in the designs. You quickly realise that a scarf does not need to be rigidly structured or overwhelmingly intricate to be impactful. It does not always need to be engineered with mathematical precision. Sometimes it is simply one flower, placed with confidence, and that is enough. Sometimes it is a bold sweep of colour or an expressive illustration that feels almost spontaneous.

Many of the designs appear hand painted or hand drawn, and that human touch is unmistakable. You can see the softness of the brush, the slight irregularities in the line, and the life inside the composition. There is warmth in it. There is personality. It does not feel overworked or digitally perfected.

As someone who spends her life thinking about prints and patterns, I find this deeply inspiring. It feels very close to what we believe in. Florals that are not shy. Patterns that are allowed to breathe. Motifs that carry emotion rather than just decoration.

This book is a reminder that flowers never go out of fashion, and neither do patterns. They evolve and reinterpret themselves, but they never disappear. They simply return in new colours, new scales, and new moods, ready to be loved all over again.

Then I started Chinese brush painting.

This is only my second session, and I can say without exaggeration that this is one of the most humbling things I have ever attempted. It looks free. It looks expressive. It looks like you just flick your wrist and magic happens.

It does not.

There are rules. Very precise rules. You have to manage the water in the brush, the amount of ink, the balance between the two, and sometimes even load the brush with a gradient so that a single stroke carries light and dark at once. You have to think before the brush touches the paper because once it lands, that is it. There is no correcting. No layering. No going back in to fix a wing that suddenly looks like a potato.

The second you hesitate or do not fully know what you are doing, the painting reveals you immediately.

It demands full presence. You cannot multitask. You cannot be distracted. It is deliberate and focused in a way that feels almost meditative. That intensity is exactly why I love it.

My Laoshi is extraordinary. When he demonstrates, I honestly do not understand how one person can know so much about how plants grow, how leaves curl, how fruit hangs from a branch, or how birds balance in the air. His understanding of nature is phenomenal. Watching him paint is an absolute pleasure.

As for me, my birds are a problem. They refuse to cooperate. They do not look like they can fly. They barely look like they want to. The flowers are not too bad, and my latest pomegranate is my favourite so far. At least the pomegranate looks confident.

The class is every Saturday, and it has quietly become my favourite day of the week. It is a challenge, and I am not naturally good at it. But I love that. It reminds me that even when you have painted your entire life, there is always something new that can humble you and make you start again from the beginning.

Before Jerusalem, I cooked quite normally. After Jerusalem, vegetables became the main character in my kitchen.

Ottolenghi has this magical ability to turn vegetables into something so rich, so comforting, and so satisfying that you genuinely forget about meat. Not in a preachy way. Not in a “this is healthier” way. More in a “why would I even want anything else” way.

When I opened my first restaurant, DR.Inc (which is now called Lisette’s, run by The Social), the entire foundation of my buffet came straight out of Ottolenghi cookbooks. Dish after dish after dish was inspired by him. And of course, I never made any money, because I also followed his ingredient lists religiously.

If he said macadamia nuts, I bought macadamia nuts.
If he said maple syrup, I bought maple syrup.
If he said the best olive oil, I bought the best olive oil.

No shortcuts. No compromises. Zero business sense. Lots of flavour.

But the colours, the textures, the abundance, the richness. It was completely intoxicating. Big trays of roasted vegetables, herbs everywhere, yoghurt, tahini, citrus, crunch, softness, sweetness, heat. Everything layered. Everything generous.

I honestly don’t think I have ever cooked an Ottolenghi dish that wasn’t delicious, and more importantly, one that I didn’t immediately want to eat again.

I went with Narelle and her closest friend Chris, a textile designer. Narelle introduced me to every Tom, Dick, and Harry. She is essentially the mayor of Art SG. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. Artists, gallerists, collectors, curators. It made the evening fast paced, social, and surprisingly warm.

There was a strong Malaysian presence, which stood out!

If I had bought the two pieces I genuinely liked, the bill would already have been around USD200.000. Nothing wrong with dreaming.

Art Singapore is held at Marina Bay Sands Expo and Convention Centre.

The evening ended with an Italian dinner and good stories. The only high you can feel after spending time looking at the effort made by amazing world class artists.

The fair runs until Sunday.

Opening times
Friday: 12 noon to 7 pm
Saturday: 11 am to 7 pm
Sunday: 11 am to 6 pm

General admission tickets are around SGD 30 to 40, depending on the day and advance purchase. Children under 16 enter free with a ticketed adult.

Highly recommended.

Contributors include names such as Yo Yo Ma, Naomi Wolf, Nick Cave, Helen Macdonald, Elizabeth Gilbert, and many others. Each letter feels intimate and generous. They write about creativity, doubt, courage, curiosity, kindness, failure, and the quiet urgency of becoming yourself. There is wisdom here, but it is never loud or preachy.

Each letter is paired with an illustration by a different artist, which makes the book a visual treasure in its own right. The techniques, styles, and moods vary widely, yet they sit together beautifully. Some illustrations are delicate, others bold or playful, others deeply poetic. It feels like leafing through a small exhibition, where words and images speak to each other and invite you to slow down.

What makes this book even more meaningful is that all proceeds are donated to the New York Public Library system. Libraries are described as bastions of democracy and oxygen for the life of the mind, and that belief quietly underpins the entire project. In a time when depth feels increasingly rare, this gesture feels both powerful and necessary.

Inspired by this book and by conversations with E-lene, we have made a decision. I will hold an exhibition of my art on the 15th of November next year, on her birthday. It feels like the right way to honour friendship, generosity, creativity, and the belief that art, like libraries, exists to be shared.

E-Lene wrote it for her sister’s, Shih-Lene’s, 60th birthday, sparked by a very real thought most of us prefer to avoid. What if time runs out before you ever properly say the things that matter. Not out of drama, just out of habit, busyness, and the assumption that there will always be another moment.

What I love about this book is that it never tries to be emotional for the sake of it. It is warm, observant, and often very funny. There are small moments that stay with you. One of them made me laugh out loud. She writes about dropping out of the car, an image so unexpected and absurd that it catches you completely off guard. It is those kinds of details that make the book feel honest rather than polished.

What makes that even more surprising is knowing E-Lene herself. She is strong, grounded, and assured. You would never imagine that insecurity had ever played a role in her life, and yet here it is, acknowledged with humour and ease.

When you don’t know both sisters, what strikes you immediately is how different they are. They look different, think differently, move through the world differently. And yet they borrow each other’s clothes, which somehow says everything. I see them as friends rather than “sisters” in the conventional sense, and that is exactly what makes it work. They complement each other without trying to be the same.

That is what makes this such a good example of how sisterhood can function. Not through sameness, but through contrast. Through acceptance. Through letting the other person be fully themselves.

The book is beautifully illustrated by Mulaika and available at Book Access.

At its core, this book is not about grand statements or perfect relationships. It is about saying things while there is time, allowing yourself to be seen, and finding humour in moments you might otherwise gloss over.