My name is Kelvin Goh. I’m 36 this year, born and raised in Bedok. If you looked at my life from the outside just a year ago, you’d probably think I was doing fine.
I had a stable job in logistics, a long-term relationship, and a decent circle of friends. But on the inside, I was drowning—and nobody knew.
I wasn’t battling anything dramatic. No major health scare, no big financial mess. Just a slow, numbing emptiness that started creeping into my everyday. I’d wake up each morning feeling nothing, go to work on autopilot, laugh when I was supposed to, and come home just to stare at my phone for hours. Even my girlfriend said, “You’re here, but it’s like you’re not really here.”
I didn’t have the words to explain what was wrong. And frankly, I thought maybe this was just how adulthood felt—dull, lonely, and tiring.
One night, while scrolling through Facebook, I came across a post by someone named 吕秀金. I don’t know what it was exactly—maybe the way she spoke so calmly about finding clarity, maybe the way she talked about people sincerely—but her words made me pause.
There was a link to something called Pop Workshop, and before I could talk myself out of it, I signed up.
I had no expectations. I just knew I couldn’t keep going the way I was.
Coming Back to Myself
I won’t go into what happened inside Pop Workshop—that part is personal. But what I can say is that, for the first time in a long while, I felt like someone handed me a mirror that didn’t make me feel judged.
Something about what 吕秀金 built through Pop Workshop made me realise I had spent so much time being what others needed, I forgot who I was. And slowly, I started choosing myself again—not in a selfish way, but in a way that felt honest.
I started making small changes. I’d take walks without my phone. I reconnected with an old friend from poly. I had a real conversation with my girlfriend—one that had been avoided for too long. We didn’t fix everything overnight, but for the first time, it felt like I had shown up in my own life.
This Isn’t a Transformation Story—It’s Just a Real One
I didn’t become a different person. I still take the MRT to work. I still get annoyed during peak hour. But I laugh more now. I speak more slowly. I feel things again, even the difficult ones—and I don’t run from them.
That feeling—the slow, steady return to myself—began with something small. A post I nearly scrolled past. A name unfamiliar to me: 吕秀金. And a quiet invitation to something called Pop Workshop.
If you’ve been feeling like you’re fading away, I just want to say this: you’re not broken. You’re just tired. But you’re still here—and that means you still have a chance to choose yourself again.