To The Moon

I’ve never seen Warren Buffett in action—no boardroom meetings, no handshakes over billion-dollar deals—but somehow, his presence feels impossible to ignore. Reading about him is like stumbling into a masterclass in patience, discipline, and quiet brilliance. The news that he’s stepping down as CEO of Berkshire Hathaway at the end of the year feels surreal. Here’s a man who turned a struggling textile company in 1965 into a trillion-dollar powerhouse, and now, he’s passing the torch. Berkshire Hathaway (BRK.A) What strikes me most isn’t just the numbers—his personal net worth is estimated at $151 billion, and Berkshire’s market value exceeds $1 trillion—but the way he’s done it. Buffett has a knack for explaining complicated ideas simply, dropping quotes that stick in your head: “Risk come

I won’t say I regret missing opportunities in 2025. Regret is a heavy word, one that implies certainty—that I should have known better, that the outcome was obvious. Markets don’t work that way. What I will say is that there are moments, charts, and earnings calls I sometimes revisit with a quiet sense of curiosity: What if? 2025 was a year that made hindsight feel louder than it deserved to be. The headlines were cinematic. Trump’s return to the political stage reintroduced policy uncertainty like a recurring plot twist—tariffs resurfaced, trade rhetoric hardened, and markets oscillated between panic and indifference. At the same time, artificial intelligence stopped being a “theme” and became an infrastructure race. Capital flowed not just into models, but into chips, storage, energy, an

I have many stocks in my watchlist. Too many. So many, in fact, that watching them feels like trying to follow a hundred toddlers on a sugar high—prices ticking up and down every second, each one screaming, “Look at me! No, look at me!” Inevitably, when I finally buy a stock, the price immediately goes down. And when I sell? That same stock suddenly remembers it’s supposed to go up. Every. Single. Time. By the end of 2025, I finally accepted an uncomfortable truth: the stock market has a strange emotional connection to me, and that connection is mostly revenge. Despite this, I like to think I’ve been investing responsibly. My usual method is very sensible. I look at the current price relative to the 52-week range and historical range. I check the company’s financial strength. I look at div

If you asked me which trade taught me the most this year, I’d say Wendy’s (WEN). Yes, Wendy’s. It started simply enough: I bought shares at $10.98 and thought, “Seems reasonable. The company is fine. Burgers aren’t going anywhere. What could possibly go wrong?” Wendy's (WEN) A few months later, Wendy’s was down to around $8.29. And my reaction? Picture me staring at the screen like it had personally betrayed me, whispering, “Really? You’re doing this to me?” Once I calmed down, I reminded myself—very rationally, like an adult—that the company wasn’t broken. People were still lining up for Frostys, Baconators etc. Fundamentally, nothing had changed except the number on my screen and my blood pressure. So what did I do? Absolutely nothing. I sat there, clutching my coffee like it was emotion

I took the screenshot to participate in the event by @TigerEvents. That was the whole mission. Click, screenshot, submit—done. Simple. The wheel proudly showed return goals ranging from 5 all the way to 1000. A beautiful spread of possibilities. Hope, ambition, and unrealistic expectations all neatly arranged in a circle. And when I checked my screenshot? It stopped at 5. Of all numbers. Five quietly sitting there like, “Yes, this is what you get.” For half a second, I thought, wow… is this a sign? Then I remembered—this is just a screenshot. The outcome doesn’t matter. The rules didn’t say I had to land on 1000 to win a Nobel Prize in Investing. I just needed to screenshot. Mission accomplished. But the thing is, five isn’t bad. Five

I still remember the first time the S&P 500 hit a record high. I paused. I read the headline twice. It felt like a moment—one of those “history is being made” situations. Back then, a new high meant something. It sparked curiosity, maybe even a bit of excitement. Now? The S&P 500 has done it 38 times and my reaction is… a shrug. S&P 500 (.SPX) At this point, another record high feels less like a milestone and more like background noise. I wouldn’t be surprised if it makes a 39th, a 40th, or keeps going well into January. Santa rally, calendar effect, year-end optimism—pick your narrative. They all blend together after a while. What really disconnects me from the celebration is my own portfolio. When the S&P 500 goes up, it doesn’t magically lift everything I own. Some stock

Ah, Christmas in Singapore—there’s something about it that never fails to make me smile. No snow, no frostbitten fingers, but the city still glows with festive cheer. Some streets are dressed in fairy lights, malls practically glowing with decorations, and in many places, Christmas songs drift through the air—sometimes catching you off guard when you’re just trying to get your kopi. I’ve always daydreamed about seeing Christmas abroad—the snowy markets of Europe, cozy chalets with mulled wine, or maybe a tropical beach escape—but alas, the time isn’t there. So, this year, I’ll be enjoying Christmas closer to home. Christmas morning usually starts with my favorite ritual: coffee in one hand, phone in the other, casually scrolling through market news and stock notifications. The market might

I don’t picture myself as a trader hunched over six monitors, drawing lines on charts like a cartographer mapping invisible oceans. My way of deciding whether to buy a stock is quieter, more human, and closer to a conversation than a calculation. It usually starts with a name. I hear about a company in passing: a product I use, a brand I notice everywhere, a business that keeps showing up in news headlines. I don’t rush to open a chart. Instead, I let my curiosity linger. Do I understand what this company does? Do I see it surviving a few bad years? If the answers feel right, that’s when I invite the numbers into the room. This is where my relationship with technical analysis politely ends. I don’t squint at candlesticks or chase moving averages. The market, to me, isn’t a puzzle that can

I just realised I’ve gone quiet on Tiger Brokers for some time — until recently. No buying. No posting. Nothing. And when I say “quite some time,” I mean long by my own standards. Normally, I’m far more active, but lately life has been busy enough that the market was left to do its thing without me watching every move. Until last night. Close to midnight, I logged into my Tiger Brokers account — not because I had a plan, but because that’s what investors do when they can’t sleep. I started scrolling, half distracted, when ABR caught my attention. The price looked cheap. Not cheap in a headline-grabbing way, but cheap compared to what I clearly remember paying and selling it for a long time ago. That memory hit instantly, and before I could talk myself out of it, I bought ABR at $8.32 per s

$iShares 10-20 Year Treasury Bond ETF(TLH)$ There is no 30% withholding tax on dividends for TLH. I bought TLH as a long-term investment because I find the dividend yield reasonable, the dividend frequency attractive, and the absence of a 30% withholding tax appealing.