Red Jacket and Specs

Hi guys!!! I know I’m a bit early today, but hear me out because this story needs to be told. So… today was assessment day, and I rolled into the training center thinking, “Alright, two sessions—one in the morning, one in the afternoon. I got this.” Or so I thought. Plot twist: I was only half right. Turns out, both assessments were squished into the morning...

The first session ran from 9:15 AM to 10:00 AM, and the second was from 10:20 AM to 11:50 AM. And the best part? If you finished early, you could leave. Sounds great, right? Except I was suddenly speed-running my assessments like it was the final boss fight in a game. The trainer wasn’t lying when he said the questions would come straight out of his exercises and practical workouts. He just tweaked the numbers a little, like adding 1 to everything to make us sweat. But I think I managed to answer everything—with maybe a 5% margin of “Wait…what?” moments. Overall, I’m pretty confident I’ll pass. If I don’t, you’ll see me writing a dramatic sequel next week.

The happiest part of today? I got a half-day off! To celebrate, I went to NTUC to buy eggs and bananas because I had this genius idea to use banana in the juice for dinner tonight. (Yes, I live life on the edge.) And let me tell you, the bananas were CHEAP—just 2 SGD! But here’s the thing: how on earth do you tell if bananas are ripe? No one taught us this in school, and honestly, this feels like a huge gap in the education system.

Normally, I just ask my mom:

“Mummy, are the bananas ripe?”

If she says yes, I eat them. If she says no, I don’t. Simple. But now that I’m trying to be an independent adult, I realize my banana-determining skills are non-existent. Asking me to judge ripe bananas is like asking me to haggle with aunties in the wet market—mission impossible. I just stare at the bananas, and they stare back. How do people know these things?!

I ate the first one as lunch, their signature noodle.

Okay, so I need to share this little thing that happened during training because it’s been living rent-free in my head. There’s this guy—and he’s really cute. Like, 10/10 cute. I sat at the top-right corner of the lecture theatre, and he sat second top-left, basically as far away as humanly possible for a crush, but hey, destiny works in mysterious ways.

The first day, he walked in wearing a mask (because, duh, pandemic fashion). No big deal, right? But THEN—plot twist—he threw on this bright red jacket. I kid you not, he lit up the entire room like Rudolph leading Santa’s sleigh. On the back of his jacket, it said, “NTU Singapore”, so I’m 99% sure he either studies there or is one of those alumni. Probably alumni, though, because most of us in this training are working adults.

And now the details: he wears glasses (chef’s kiss—totally my type), and his upper body? PERFECTION. Not too bulky, not too scrawny—just the right amount of "I-go-to-the-gym-but-not-obsessively." Honestly, it’s giving professional volleyball player vibes, except he’s not that tall. But can you imagine? Cute face, specs, and THAT body? Help.

Naturally, my curiosity got the better of me. And the only way to figure out his name? The attendance code system! (Side note: the system is ridiculously slow—one person scans, and their name pops up on the screen. One at a time. Honestly, it’s like it was designed for nosy people like me.) I patiently waited for his turn, trying to look all casual like, “Oh, I’m totally not memorizing your name right now.” And boom—his name is YS. (No full name here because if this blog ever goes viral and he finds out, I will personally dig a hole in Singapore and bury myself in it.)

Being the resourceful (read: slightly nosy) person that I am, I did some digging on LinkedIn. Turns out, he’s working, and based on my highly scientific calculations, he’s probably three years older than me. Why? Because he’s Singaporean, and he served in the army before entering NTU.

Now, do I know more about him than I probably should? Yes. Am I going to share the rest? No, because I like my freedom and don’t want to be declared a stalker. Sadly, today was the last day of training, so this is the end of my temporary crush story. YS, if you ever stumble upon this (please don’t), I wish you good health, happiness, and a bright future ahead. And me? I’ll just remember you as the cute guy in the red jacket with specs and a volleyball player’s body who unknowingly made training a whole lot more interesting.