About

This Side

Stair rail in morning light — The stairwell outside the flat — where many notes begin on the way down.

Wesley writing at a kitchen table — Kitchen table, morning — notebook first, keyboard second.

I am Wesley. Bukit Panjang, Segar Road, a flat with a kitchen window that frames a rain tree when the wind is right. I write plain notes about walking, waiting, market mornings, and the LRT passing like clockwork with occasional mood.

I am not a journalist, therapist, or tour guide. I worked office jobs for years — spreadsheets, meetings, the usual — and kept walking in the margins. Rain Tree Steps is what spilled out when I stopped pretending the walks were just exercise.

The blog started as a single page after the Chin Swee evening in November 2025. I did not plan an archive. The Walk Index grew because I wanted to see weather patterns in my own memory — what happened before rain, what happened after.

My routines are small and repeatable: market early, park connector when the sun is low, coffee at the same table where the light falls on the left side of the notebook. I read slowly. I reply to email slower. I publish when a note feels finished, not when a calendar tells me to.

Rain Tree Steps is a personal blog — my experiences only, not professional, medical, legal, financial or news advice. The Chin Swee piece records what I perceived from a distance. Corrections welcome by email.

No clients, no workshop, no publishing imprint — just pages I host myself. If you want to reach me, the Bus Stop page lists a phone and address. I prefer email for anything longer than a greeting.

I keep maps on the site because place matters to these notes. Cookie choices control whether they load — details on the Cookies page. Privacy is handled plainly on Privacy; there is no ad network and no comment login.

Thank you for reading slowly in a fast town. That is the only audience I write for.

The photos on this page were taken at home and on ordinary walks — no studio, no assistant. If you see me on the connector with a notebook, a nod is enough; I am usually counting steps until the next sentence arrives.

I may add notes when the weather shifts or when a walk surprises me. There is no comment section by choice — conversation by email keeps the room quiet for the people who prefer to read without performing a reaction.