when i returned to singapore from overseas, after one of the most significant seasons of my life, something started surfacing. questions i'd been too busy to sit with before.

what happens to my family if i'm suddenly gone? would they be able to retrieve my body if i was still overseas? all the insurance policies i'd been faithfully paying into for years — who would handle those payouts? my money, my accounts, the things i'd worked so hard to build — would anyone even know where to find them?

and then, in one particularly raw moment, i said something out loud that cracked everything open.

"even when i die, i'm still thinking about others."

i was bawling.

that sentence told me everything. my anxiety about death wasn't really about death. it was about love. love that hadn't been arranged yet. love that had no form anyone could hold onto after i was gone.

before i could write a single line of my will, i had to sit with the fear.

through death meditation and visualisation practices, i started facing the questions most of us spend our whole lives avoiding. what am i actually afraid of? what do i love so much i can't stand the thought of leaving it unprotected?

death meditation isn't morbid. it's clarifying. it strips away the noise and leaves you with what actually matters.

and what i found, every single time, was this: it wasn't death i was afraid of. it was leaving the people i love without a plan.

once i understood that, something shifted. the anxiety didn't disappear overnight. but it had somewhere to go.

that's when i did something that changed everything. i stopped sitting with the fear and started converting it into concrete action.

accidents happen at the most unexpected moments. that's literally why they're called accidents. we can't control that. but we can control what we do today.

so i wrote it.

organ donation. funeral arrangements. where i want my ashes placed. how my assets are distributed equally to my nieces, nephews, and parents. not because of the amount, but because of the intention behind it. i'm single, no kids right now, but i don't exclude the possibility. if i have children one day, they will share equally with my nieces and nephews. the amount is not the point. the intention is.

厚德载物. an old chinese proverb meaning only a person of deep virtue can carry great things. if the people you leave behind don't have the values to steward what you've left them, the fortune disappears. so i think about that too. not just what i leave, but what values i try to model while i'm still here.

i also appointed an lpa (lasting power of attorney). if i ever lose the capacity to make decisions for myself, someone i trust steps in — for both medical and financial decisions.

i included my digital legacy. who handles my social media accounts, my email, my online presence. because our whole lives are online now. that needs to be part of the plan.

and i review it regularly, because life changes. maybe i get married. maybe i have children. maybe, who knows, i strike a million-dollar toto. the plan grows with my life.

unicorn's founder patrick reframed the whole thing for me. your will isn't a legal document. it's a love letter. a 情书. it's how you tell your family: i thought about you. i made sure you wouldn't have to figure this out in the worst moment of your life.

we say "no money" a lot. singaporean habit. but let me ask you something honestly.

do you have cpf? a bank account? investments? insurance policies you've been paying premiums on for years? maybe some cash tucked somewhere safe — in a drawer, in a biscuit tin — somewhere a scammer definitely shouldn't find?

you have money somewhere. most of us do.

the question is: does anyone know where it is? (other than keeping away from scammers)

if your bank accounts have no appointed beneficiary, your family has to submit death certificates, navigate legal procedures, and handle endless paperwork — all while they're grieving. every step of that process is another reminder that you're gone. that emotional burden is something we can spare them. we just have to do the work now, while we're still here.

after i sorted everything out, i started asking a different question. not what happens when i die — but how do i want to live?

as a single person, why am i working so hard? beyond survival, beyond travel, beyond all the insurance i've bought for peace of mind — what am i actually building? what do i want to leave behind?

i've been to funerals. i've seen people show up and say the most beautiful things about someone who was no longer there to hear them. and i thought: why do we wait?

if i love you, i want you to know it now. while i'm still here. while you're still here.

will planning, for me, is also about that. choosing to show up fully for the people i love right now. not waiting until someone's funeral to say what i should have said all along.

will planning didn't make me think more about death. it made me think more about life — and how i want to live it, fully, for the people i love and for myself.

the few minutes i spoke on channel 8 looked easy. it wasn't. it was built on years of inner work. sessions i don't talk about publicly. practices most people don't even know exist. the slow, unglamorous work of sitting with your own fear until you understand what it's really made of.

that's what i do as an expressive arts facilitator. i hold space for that work. for the ten years that nobody sees. so that when your moment comes, whatever form it takes, you're ready.

watch the full channel 8 interview: https://youtu.be/c8V9056PGY0?t=2249

i'm an expressive arts facilitator at ur soul toast. i work with women navigating major life transitions using mindfulness, expressive arts, and sound healing.

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