My formative years were wild. Amidst the growth spurts were emotional firefights with life’s curveballs. I learned to laugh through the chaos, cry when I needed to, and most importantly, trust myself—even when life didn’t follow the timeline I once imagined.
This isn’t a “how to survive your 20s” guide. It’s just me, reflecting on the mess, the magic, and the unexpected lessons that made me stronger, softer, and a little louder. Growing up in public—both online and off—teaches you a few things. Like how to turn awkward questions into punchlines, or how to reclaim your story before someone else writes it for you. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me when I’m getting married, I’d probably have enough to pay for the last five weddings I attended this year. This is how I’ve survived adulthood in Singapore: With sarcasm, a lot of honesty, and the occasional self-deprecation. It’s also how I became “Preetipls”. By saying the things everyone’s thinking—just louder, sassier, and with an unhealthy dose of delusion.
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And no, this isn’t a pity (read: Preeti) party. Also, me in a sleeveless top isn’t courage—it’s just another random Tuesday. To me, courage is meeting societal pressure with humour and declaring myself “Singapore’s Top Everything” online, even when I’m spiralling with my insecurities.
For most of my 20s, I chased a timeline that a 12-year-old version of me had created. By 30, I was supposed be married, own a house, and have a kid. But let’s be real: Are these realistic goals for 2025? We’re raised to believe there’s a right time to graduate, get married, have children, hit peak productivity, and post a soft launch, all while manifesting enough money for your CPF for when you’re 65. Almost two decades on and I’ve come to realise that letting all those expectations go is the bravest thing I’ve done so far. Ageing gracefully is realising I’m not “behind”; I’m just not on that timeline anymore.
Let me let you in on a secret: Timelines are made up. Nobody actually knows what they’re doing—even the ones with aesthetically pleasing Instagram feeds and wedding couple hashtags. Most of us, especially on social media, are just really good at curating. I know because I was that girl, getting a great career opportunity, all while dealing with immense grief or the bad news that always seemed to be right around the corner. The best and only way I coped was by staying as authentic as I could be through my online persona.
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I remember being on a wellness trip to Bali (the irony) when I found out I was under police investigation in Singapore—all because of the “brownface” response video my brother and I made (2019). That same week, we became nationwide headlines in the mainstream media. Another time, I had to bail my father out of jail (after nearly a decade of not seeing him) only to ride back in a taxi hearing my own voice on the radio—stingers for my show—while my co-host went solo on air because I was, to put it mildly, preoccupied. Let’s not forget the 11 times I had to move house—not for fun, but because loan sharks were after my estranged, gambling-addicted dad. Through all that, I remained the best version of Preetipls I could be online. I can look back now and say that I didn’t just survive it, I evolved through it.
Living on your own timeline isn’t rebellion, it’s self-preservation. If I had tried to live up to everyone’s expectations while going through everything I’ve just shared, I’d have crumbled. I had to honour the emotional space and process it all. And it’s in that moment where growth actually happens—in the pause, in the “not yet”, in saying “no” to what doesn’t serve you, and replying with an unapologetically loud “yes” to what does, even if it makes you the odd one out. That kind of clarity takes guts.
The milestones I’m most proud of aren’t the ones with a party or a post. As much as people may see the big, shiny wins, it’s the quiet ones that matter most to me: Walking away from toxic jobs, letting go of friendships that ran their course, navigating the grief of losing my dad to suicide—and then, in that same month, meeting the love of my life. It was a crash course in how life can break you and hold you at the same time.
One area that got a major upgrade in my life was my friendships. Making real friends in your 20s is underrated. There’s no CCA or group project forcing closeness and proximity. It takes real effort. You reach out. You show up. You decide, “Yes, I will leave my house, put on my non-make-up make-up look, and meet this person at a place with a functioning aircon.” And the reward: Authentic connections. The people I’m closest to now are mostly folks I met after I stopped people-pleasing. These are the friends who don’t expect a filtered version of me. They let me be weird, emotional, chaotic—the full buffet of my personality. That said, some childhood friends still hold space in my life. They’ve grown with me, not out of nostalgia, but intention. Not all friendships survive the transition—and that’s okay. Courage is knowing when to let go, even if the past was beautiful.
Other milestones? I started therapy and discovered what a healthy relationship actually looks like with my partner. And yes, ending a situationship early on with a man whose most emotionally available moment was sending me an MRT riddle.
Putting yourself first isn’t selfish—it’s sacred. For years, I thought self-sacrifice was noble. But when you combine that with a deeply pessimistic view of the world, it becomes a very lethal combination. These days, my small acts of courage look different: Not picking up a call when I’m overstimulated; choosing sleep over scrolling; saying “I can’t” without justifying it. And yes, I still feel guilty sometimes. But choosing myself over “productivity” has led to so much more peace now that I’ve entered my 30s.
Courage isn’t always loud. It’s not just protests, speeches, or viral moments. Sometimes it’s sitting with your feelings instead of running from them, and learning that your value isn’t tied to how busy you are. It isn’t about never messing up; it’s about showing up and still believing in yourself, especially when the metrics don’t.
So, if you’re feeling “behind” (whatever that means) and reading this, know that you’re not. You’re just not on their timeline. You’re on yours. And that is brave as hell.