Ramen and Revelations in 2025

Along Hakusan-dori on the final day of 2025, I found myself in the queue for Ebimaru Ramen, a specialty ramen restaurant specializing in lobster bisque. It was a long queue composed of a mix of locals and foreigners and I happened to be sandwiched between two young couples from Korea and Hong Kong. Keen to distract myself from the cold and their constant banter, I plugged into my earphones and started listening to the podcast on Spotify between Andrew Huberman and Steven Pressfield entitled Overcome Inner Resistance.

I was only 20 minutes into the podcast before it was my turn to be seated. The cozy interior was decked out in warm lights and featured wood furniture from Hida Takayama. My seat at the counter had already been set with exquisite cutlery that would not have been out of place in a fine dining establishment. As it was the end of the year, the chef was serving a special New Year sardine broth ramen that came with a serving of Hida pork chashu, thin chicken and pork slices and julienned seasoned menma topped with a cross-section of a strawberry and two tiny pods of french beans. My eyes were already in for a treat before my tastebuds were.

The few strands of scallion and tiny wedge of lime did not just elevate the aesthetics of the bowl; the tartness of these condiments went a long way to complementing the salty and briny sardine essence. The accompaniments were a delight and were a symphony of flavors in their own right, not least the slab of umami (i.e. the Hida pork) which disintegrated upon contact. Short of the broth, I cleared just about every morsel of this most satisfying meal very much worth the one hour of waiting out in the cold.

It was already past 4PM when I was done; the queue outside had shortened considerably but it was still a feat considering how the Yoshinoya further down the block was completely void of customers. Right above that Yoshinoya was a Singapore Hainan Chi-fan restaurant run by Taiwanese entrepreneurs which I would still recommend as authentic. It was where I chose to host my 中文社团 (as my previous company’s informal gathering of Mandarin-speaking colleagues is known) dinner. The food was good, the turnout was better and the conversations were the best.

I had been one of the six original participants when we first met in a hole-in-the-wall Xi’an noodle restaurant along the crammed inner streets of Ikebukuro in August 2023. And as it happens, all six of us hailed from different places: US, Japan, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Taiwan and Singapore. We were all working on different projects so the impetus for all of us to get together was this shared linguistic ability and a desire to know one another better. This dinner would then grow into a routine where every month, one of us takes turn to host a group dinner at a Chinese-themed restaurant. Inclusion to the group was simple: one just has to be able to hold an entire dinner conversation in Mandarin.

Representatives from US, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan, Singapore and Shanghai (Left to Right)

Gradually, the group grew. Just before I left in June 2025, we had 20+ members show up to enjoy Uighur cuisine in Ueno. There was a lot of shouting across tables just to make ourselves heard as the live band two tables away blared away. Towards the end, I had my fill of lamb but definitely not the camaraderie I knew I would miss when I left.

天下无不散的筵席

There is no banquet in the world that does not end. The writing had already been on the wall for some time. As much as I enjoyed the company of the friends I have made at work, it did not negate my work prospects; there was simply nothing left that I wanted to do. And so in April 2025, I responded to a solicitation from a recruiter representing a live entertainment scale-up from Spain.

Upon receiving the offer the following month, it did not take long for me to decide that it was time to part ways. I loved my time at Gartner Japan, but staying any longer than I did resembled the fate and fortunes of the country as a whole for my career: a slow, steady decline. I did not know if being a Partner Manager at Fever was going to be the dream job but what I did know is that I did not want to be sleepwalking through life.

And so I hurtled into a new phase of life and work, marked both by transition from sharehouse dweller to apartment owner and consultant to partner manager. The following months were then spent adapting to these new identities.

The former was easy enough. As much as I loved Room 207 of Couverture Itabashi, nothing beats having my own space and all that it entails. No more silently stewing at midnight while housemates continue to make a ruckus while being completely oblivious to the fact that the noises easily seep through the non-acoustic wooden walls. No more cleaning up after the last user who left unwashed dishes in the sink, oil splotches on the walls and crumbs on the countertop. No more picking up the clump of hair (and other gunk) clogged in the shower drain.

Just like Room 207 however, this unit gets an unbelievable amount of light. To the point where drawing open the curtains to the bedroom window transforms the alcove from a cave to an altar to the heavens. To the point where the floor-to-ceiling balcony door serves as the foot of an inverse sundial casting a beam of sunshine that sweeps westwards from the kitchen to the common corridor as the day progresses. To the point where the angular porthole by the kitchen sink casts enough sunlight to sustain the life of a small bouquet of cut flowers for weeks by the windowsill.

A sundial amidst the scaffolding; the time was 10:58, just a little off the midpoint between dawn and dusk

There is no mandate to buy instead of rent, especially in Japan when the laws, taxes and the structure of property agent fees are very much pro-tenant than pro-landlord. Renting would also have been a lot cheaper to say the least even if two years ago I had thought otherwise (though my benchmark then was living in a sharehouse). It also definitely offers a lot more flexibility than renting too, which is not a small consideration even for a small house.

But if there’s anything that I have learnt in life in my last six years here, it’s that you should never take the days you have for granted and put your dreams on hold in perpetuity. Home ownership was one of them. Even if it did not make any financial sense, I wanted a space that I could call my own in a place which I love. It really was as simple as that. And when the opportunity presented itself, I seized it with both hands even when it came with the shackles of a 35-year mortgage.

The switching of cuffs from consultant to corporate has been much more of a mixed bag. Specifically, my current role is to serve as the main contact person for Japanese partners and for the last six months and probably a few more after, it has only just been me. For someone whose grasp of the language is still relatively tenuous and who is usually relegated to the support areas in front of Japanese clients for much of my career, this was a tall ask. This was also just half the battle too; the other half was against internal teams based in other continents around the world who have a tendency to either botch or delay my requests.

There is no sugar coating it; the last couple of months at work have been a struggle and my morale dipped to levels below those during the early days of Covid-19. I could barely contain the vitriol within me at times and it expressed itself in vituperation and other acts of recklessness. Too many times, I contemplated just pulling the pin altogether. Thankfully, having a new manager whom I could commiserate and consult with did ameliorate the situation.

In spite of how hard the work has been, there have still been some sparks of satisfaction in seeing the work I do translate into new experiences for visitors. One of which is Light Cycles Kyoto. It was already an ongoing event at the Kyoto Botanical Gardens when my company took over as the main ticketing partner in a bid to improve flagging sales.

With a complimentary ticket on hand, I squeezed time in the evening after a partner introduction to my company’s systems to attend the ongoing experience in mid-September. For good (or for bad), the conservatory was relatively empty when I arrived on a Thursday evening. Upon entering the first of four exhibition zones, I was immediately struck by the interplay of light and sound. The spotlights swirled and stopped and switched in iterations of illumination. The aural ambience evoked in us both alacrity and amusement, and on occasion a resonant tranquility. Save for the final zone, I felt that this masterful manipulation of the senses could better engage the vegetation and leverage its botanical background more.

All in all, it was a wonderful experience and I felt it there that my job was to bring this to bigger audiences. For the first time in my career here, I could feel a link between the work I do and a tangible outcome which would likely not be killed in a boardroom brawl. And while I may not be the most competent candidate for this role, I was the one who was chosen, and this was what I chose.

Our choices can make all the difference. Chef-founder MASA of Ebimaru Ramen parlayed his early training in French cusine to bring the bourgeoisie to the boroughs, with a bowl starting at ￥1,530. As a result of his choice, thousands of people from all walks of life are able to enjoy his passion from a parlor that barely seats 10. His ramen is perhaps a reminder from him for us all to live more intentionally and to make more choices that elevate experiences for the everyman.

To that, I can hear Steven Pressfield pressing in about overcoming Resistance, that powerful internal force that inhibits us from pursuing our true callings, creative projects and personal growth. The trick is to show up, do the work and regard oneself as a professional.

This blog is a creative project that I would like to put more effort into for this year and for the many years that come after. In the age of TikTok, Instagram and paid Substacks, I am well aware that personal blogs like these are part of the fringe. No matter because these writings are for myself, and for you dear reader who wants a sneak peek of the life of a Singaporean salaryman fumbling through his life here in Tokyo and trying to make sense and peace with it all.

Thank you for reading and for being with me. Here’s to a wonderful year ahead!

Pull-ups

A common sight during the much-dreaded PE classes

Next to Art and Mother Tongue classes, I would say that Physical Education (PE) ranked up as one of my least favorite classes back in secondary school. You can count on me to be walking aimlessly around the soccer field during the mandated soccer practice. Where my goal was to stay away from the soccer ball rather than to chase after it. And when it inadvertently came my way, I would make some half-hearted effort to chase it and kick it back to one of my teammates, only to have the ball carelessly fly outside the boundary.

When it comes to sports, I wasn’t a sport to say the least.

But during the school’s 65th anniversary celebration, which doubled as an Open Day for alumni, the soccer field and adjacent pull-up station were amongst the first destinations which I gravitated to. The school had prepared a massive marquee over the parade square filled with festive fare. Which unfortunately was completely wasted on the likes of someone who made a conscious attempt to depart from his friend who had invited him to the celebration in the first place.

Just because this dear friend actually maintained friendships with our ex-schoolmates and was going to meet up with them. On my end, I had decided that I did not have enough social battery to say hello and make small talk with people that I might have once been close to, but who are now the ghosts of my past from half a lifetime ago.

Looks like when it comes to friendship, I am not much of a sport at all either.

What I am though is an introverted sentimentalist clinging on to nostalgia. It helps that the school hadn’t really changed all that much in the last 15 years. The pull-up station that had weathered the caprices of Singaporean tropical climate and many strained attempts from 15 year-old male adolescents remained exactly as they were in my memory.

One of the most difficult transitions for male physical fitness tests was the change from “inclined pull-ups” to “pull-ups” when one turns 15. It was difficult enough that most of (the non-athletic amongst) us couldn’t manage to do a single pull-up. And because the overall National Physical Fitness Awared (NAPFA) result was a function of the weakest station, that also meant that most of us could not pass it.

After several failed tries, the PE teacher would allow us to jump and grab the bar, and counted the jump-assisted attempt. Mr Singh was a trim Indian man with a neatly combed moustache who was usually decked in t-shirt and shorts . He who was also the PE teacher to just about half the students in the school and surely could not have most of his male students failing the test.

Collectively, we were known as “zero fighters”, an ironical spin on the term we picked up from history classes about the fighter jets powering the Japanese military at the start of World War II.

For the larger part of my last 2 years in secondary school, I was a zero fighter. But closer towards the O-level national examinations, I started going to the pull-up bars as a form of stress relief; between my grades and my body weight, pulling up the latter was beginning to feel more realistic.

Before I realized it, 0 became 1. And from there 1 became many. Such that by the time I graduated from secondary school, pull-ups became my best performing station. My frame remained what it was though and it was hard to shake off the cognitive dissonance (for me at least) that came from trying to reconcile my lanky build and my repetitions on the bar.

Winning admiration from other guys for physical performance was refreshing but not entirely foreign; I had received recognition for being amongst the Top 20 male runners for cross-country races in secondary school as well in multiple years. But it felt different to be acknowledged for strength rather than stamina for someone who has been skinny (fat) pretty much all his life.

Am I strong?

At an age plagued with insecurities, this ability was an ego booster and an affirmation to say the least. My self-worth became intrinsically associated with the ease and frequency which I could tip my chin over the bar.

Yes, I could and I would lift my own weight.

Such that even at this age of much-fewer-insecurities, this tenet has become firmly ingrained in my outlook of life. At its best, it champions a spirit of independence and self-sufficiency. On the flipside, it implies a certain nonchalance and aloofness which I am ready to admit to. All of which could be embodied in that single-minded decision to single-handedly build a career and life in Japan from scratch where I had neither kin nor kith.

15 years ago, arms shaking and palm calluses forming from attempting my first pull-up, I never thought that my life 15 years later would be what it is today. Back then, I never had grand plans for the future and my most immediate concerns were on making the grades for National Junior College and

To be fair, I don’t know what my life will be like 15 years later. Or even 5 years later, as I bluntly shared with a crowd of potential and current NTU-USP students during an alumni panel discussion at a tea session two weeks earlier. On stage, I shared merely that I would continue to be curious and continue to engage with the world around me, regardless of where I am in the world or what I may engage in as a main occupation.

In quieter moments however, the answer is a lot less lofty but no less cherished. I will still take the effort to ensure that the dear friend who invited me to the anniversary celebration will continue to be a significant part of my life. Our paths eventually converged in the corridor outside the library where I still ended up crossing paths with ex-classmates. I exchanged cursory hellos with the ex-classmates anyway, after which I left with my friend for lunch outside of school.

On the stairway down, we brushed past Mr Singh, whose hair is much more salt and pepper than before. And fleeting as the encounter may be, we reflexively uttered “Hello Mr Singh”. The answer now includes treating as teachers those who have once offered instruction and guidance to me.

And of course, being able to do pull-ups.

Juunenmae (Ten Years Ago)

Exactly ten years ago from today, just a day after arriving in Japan for the first time

It’s been more than half a year since my last entry, which is to say that this entry has been half a year delayed. Life (or if I were to be more honest, laziness) got in the way.

Today marks the start of a new year in Japan. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom here in Tokyo although that’s the only natural phenomenon in sync with the calendar this year. As I type this, it has been raining monsoon-like for 24 hours with temperatures hovering around 6 degree celsius in the day. Spring may have sprung upon us, but summer threatens to creep in even while winter refuses to let go.

Ten years ago, it was different. I would know because ten years ago from today marked my first ever trip to Japan. Back when I was touring and looking at the country with sakura-tinted glasses. Back when I would muster the courage to ask questions in Japanese to service staff memorized from textbooks and guide books. Then do a little jig to myself when I get a nod of understanding and a reply that I could not understand anyway.

Ten years ago, I checked into a hotel in Tsukiji upon touching down and thereafter let myself roam and explore without an atlas, thinking that I’d end up in Ginza only to find myself in Shiodome.

Ten years ago, I woke up at 3AM in the morning just so I could catch a glimpse of the first auction of the day at Tsukiji. And killing time at the waiting area by reading Letters from a Stoic.

Ten years ago, I was trying to submit a claims form for a CD transcription assignment (back when AI tools didn’t quite exist) by asking for a scanner before heading to Tokyo Station.

Ten years ago, I pulled my Delsey wheeled luggage bag across the cobblestone walkways in the Imperial Gardens, and worrying about destroying the wheels on the very first day. Back when I was unaware that lockers existed in train stations, let alone tried looking for them.

Ten years ago, I had a Yokohama-style omelette rice bento for my very first ekiben on the Shinkansen.

Ten years ago, I felt that waiting a 15-minute interval between trains bound for Miyajima-guchi from Hiroshima station was very long.

Ten years ago, I struck up a fleeting friendship with a solo American female traveler who had been living in Bangkok while waiting for the ferry to Miyajima.

Ten years ago, I got lost searching for my own accommodation after safely guiding my newfound friend to hers and had to ask a young Japanese couple for help.

Ten years ago, I chatted with a guesthouse owner who knew about Lee Kuan Yew’s recent passing and expressed his condolences.

Ten years ago, I got lost again, this time at the sight of the Itsukushima Shrine floating above the sea against the soft evening hues in the background.

Ten years ago, I went to a ramen restaurant for dinner with this newfound friend and was prodded by a fellow Caucasian customer to eat the noodles quickly before they get soft at the owner’s behest. The Caucasian lady’s fluency in Japanese became my own inspiration to understand the language and culture of places that I visit and live.

Ten years ago, I embarked on my inaugural 11-day solo travel in Japan.

Ten years ago, I was so infatuated with the trip that I wrote a blow-by-blow of the entire journey by hand after I returned (and which I later typed and saved on the PC). I would be giving my memory too much credit otherwise.

Today, I woke up at 8.45AM in my sharehouse of five and a half years in Tokyo after spending the whole of my Sunday binge-watching When Life Gives You Tangerines.

Today, I worked at home through the company-issued laptop, grateful that I do not have to be commuting to the office given the suboptimal weather.

Today, I am reading a book written in Japanese about the influx of rich and educated Chinese nationals into Japan. It’s called 潤日 for anyone who is interested.

Today, I no longer have a deadline to my time here and have chosen to call Tokyo a home.

Ten years ago, if I had known what I do now, the trip to Japan would not have been as dreamy and magical. Tourists are not subject to onerous income taxes and deductions and neither are they expected to give fluent work presentations in Japanese. What I do know is that if I had not gone on that solo trip as a very impressionable 21 year-old, I would not be here today, sufficiently charmed by my experiences as an explorer to presume that living here would be a way to extend that dream.

As a much-less impressionable 31 year-old, I know better now. That the grinding bureaucracy is more the stuff of nightmares for one. But I also know that I have grown use to the cleanliness and little civilities here. This is also the place where I have achieved many of the milestones that mark adulthood. This is where I feel at ease to be myself and be by myself.

The longer I stay, the more comfortable I get. Too comfortable perhaps. Throwing down the gauntlet and uprooting myself to live and work in another foreign country again though may be besides the point. It feels almost petulant to be repeating the challenge just for the sake of it. That being said, my current lackluster efforts to learn Korean and French would definitely benefit from this.

Beyond expanding my polyglot portfolio, I do have a keener interest in being better at what I do. Consulting as a profesison has its fair share of criticisms, but I still do believe that there is value in what we do in certain contexts. Even if it’s just borrowing the client’s watch to tell them the time. Because based on my experiences, it can be audacious to assume that the client can tell the time and understand its full implications. Plus there are times where many key stakeholders may have different methods and incentives for telling the time.

Ten years ago, I had no idea what I wanted to do. Only what I could not. And I ran away to Japan shortly after as a way to escape from turning down what I thought was the biggest dream and ambition of my life back then.

Now, I have a clearer idea of what I am doing. And what I can. And I am still in Japan to see this through.