Author, Scrabbler, Traveler



My writing isn’t just story-telling. It captures a philosophy of how I live and the values that are important to me.


I love to entertain, build a ‘prejudiced ‘ view of a person or incident at the beginning of each story and come to an opposite conclusion

Each day I walk along a tight rope separating my past from my present. I’ll see a face and tell myself it’s my aunt come to greet me, then realize that aunt died a decade ago and the face I see today was really the face of my aunt all those years ago. How does that help me to steer through my life today? And pass on values that are priceless to me yet seem archaic to my two sons in their early twenties?

My stories and blogs crystallize what those values and beliefs are. Each story has its own destiny and sometimes it shows me how prejudiced I am when I take those prejudices and treat them as values or morals to hand down to my boys.

How Do You Find Inspiration?

How Do You Find Inspiration?

It took forty years for me to pluck up the courage to write.

My second chapter was now finished. It had taken twelve weeks to write. A time of struggle and toil. Then doubts crept in.

Do I really need this?
How long can I go on for?
What am I trying to prove?

The story revolves around a Filipina passenger on a rickety, springless bus travelling through the heart of Cyprus. She had worn a beige T-shirt with the words ‘Blessings from Baguio’ emblazoned upon it.

I thought my writing career was at an end. I could think of nothing else to follow my second chapter. Why bother? Me a writer? Who was I fooling?

Going to the mailroom in my building, pinned to the notice board, I saw a toque. It was beige. Along its edges was written ‘Baguio City’ in bold dark letters.

Twenty years I had been living in this building. During the winter I had observed the occasional glove which, when found by the caretaker, was pinned to the board. I waited a week. The toque was still there. I had never seen one from the Philippines, let alone Baguio. The Philippines baked in heat and humidity all year round. What need was there for a toque?

And another week. . .

It was still there.

I knew most of my fellow residents and asked if they or their caretaker or nanny had lost such an article. I received a universal “No”. I had never seen a toque from the Philippines, let alone from some place called Baguio; and of all the colours, beige!

I took it. And still have it. What were the chances on completing a story on Baguio, a minor provincial town, I would find a toque bearing its name staring at me from a notice board?

Serendipity or an oracle ?

Foolishly, I took it as another blessing from Baguio. From my guardian angels exhorting me to carry on.

I continued the weary process of creating yet another story and proceeded to venture through another round of obstacles and setbacks on the way to completing my book.

Have you too found your own Baguio and succumbed to the tide that leads to fortune?

What I mean to say is;

What surprising things have you found inspiration in?



Writer’s Voice: How to Find it

My father worked for East African Airways and gave me tickets to fly all over the world. The catch was we had no money and I had to travel on my own. Most of my travels were done between the age of twelve and eighteen. To avoid sleeping on an airport floor (which happened most of the time), I would talk to my fellow passengers and, sometimes, they would invite me to stay with them and show me around. Yes I was Couchsurfing before it got a name and a website!

Read 'Writer's Voice: How to Find it' . . .