I made the life-saving choice to quit, but man I could use a smoke break

It’s been 10 years since I quit smoking. I didn’t stop because I wanted to, but because my fiancé quit smoking and asked for my support in the form of solidarity. I agreed to quit but after finishing my last cigarette, I couldn’t sleep. Desperate for a hit of nicotine…


Why Bond can no longer hack it as a hero for our age. *spoiler alert

Growing up, my dad wasn’t a big cinemagoer, but he was always first in line at the box office whenever a James Bond movie came out. The first Bond film I watched was “Octopussy” with…


How to craft personal essays that don’t put your readers to sleep.

Medium recently informed me that I was a top writer in the topic of “Life Lessons”. I felt almost embarrassed that I had written so much autobiographical content but was nonetheless thrilled that my stories got read.

I…


A self-satisfied wife sees her husband talking to her friend’s teenage daughter.

“He doesn’t even realise he’s being inappropriate, that’s how thick he is! The idiot sends out all the wrong signals cos he’s so eager to be liked,” Janet was complaining about her husband Dan. Grace noticed how much…


Why knowing your calling in life can be both a good and bad thing.

My 52-year-old husband is in transition. Like so many pandemic casualties, he got laid off earlier this year from the company he was with for 21 years. He’s been feeling overwhelmed and is finding job-hunting to…


How I got over my hankering for the conventional life.

“So, what’s going on with you?” My therapist asked me.

“I don’t really know. I’m just a little unhappy. Not like depressed or miserable, but a little agitated and ill at ease.”

“Why do you think that is?” She said.


A story about art, love and ghosts.

Daisy Taylor spent most days in her painting studio on the top floor of a Mayfair townhouse where she lived with her husband Felix Reginald Taylor.

Felix owned a small gallery called The Faeger, which had an impressive collection of post-war Japanese abstracts…


Why the skilled, white-collared migrant worker is the perfect whipping boy in the age of globalization and corporatization.

I recently wrote an article about what it felt like to watch my expatriate life in Hong Kong come to an end. The story engaged people in a way that I hadn’t…


A love letter to the places of my past.

I’ve lived in seven cities during my 43 years of life — Singapore, Perth, Sulawesi, London, Boston, Hong Kong, and I’m now in Portland, Oregon. In each place, I had friends and/or partners, I had daily routines, work and purpose, and…


A misfit teen comes of age at Singapore’s Far East Plaza.

The machine made a soft, crackling sound as it dissolved the ink under my skin.

The wedding gown’s a halter-neck, a tattoo would ruin the look.

“Not that painful, right Audrey?” the aesthetician asked me, moving the laser beam…

Michele Koh Morollo

Journo | Copywriter | Short Fiction Author | www.michelekohmorollo.com | Author of “Without:Stories of lack and longing”

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