My name is Vincent Lim. I’m 36 years old, a software engineer, and for most of my life, I believed that emotions were something to be managed, not explored. Raised in a household where silence was safer than honesty, I mastered the art of looking “fine” — even when I wasn’t.
I worked hard, earned well, and built a quiet life of efficiency. But somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to feel anything deeply. Joy, sorrow, love — everything had the same volume. Muted.
Then, something unexpected happened.
It Started with a Panic Attack in the MRT
It was a Monday morning. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was headed to work, coffee in hand, earbuds in. But at the station, out of nowhere, my chest tightened. My vision blurred. My breath shortened. I thought I was having a heart attack.
The doctor later said, “Your body is responding to stress. You need rest, and maybe… someone to talk to.”
That night, while scrolling aimlessly through my phone, I came across a forum thread discussing emotional intelligence programs. Someone mentioned a pop workshop — a space that helped them.
That phrase got to me. Could that even be done?
Walking Into That Room Was the Hardest Part
When I arrived at the venue, I almost walked away. A part of me still thought this was indulgent — that I should just man up and move on.
But I stayed.
The mentor had a calm presence. No pressure, no forced sharing. Just a gentle invitation to be honest. The other participants — different ages, different backgrounds — all sat in quiet tension, just like me.
We began with writing exercises. I didn’t write answers. I stared at the paper. My hand shook.
But then something cracked.
The Moment I Broke — and Didn’t Try to Hide It
It was during a group dialogue, when a young woman — maybe in her twenties — shared about her father never saying “I’m proud of you.” Something about her voice, her honesty, hit a nerve I didn’t know was exposed.
And suddenly, I was crying. Not tearing up — full-on crying. Decades of buried grief, frustration, and exhaustion poured out. I covered my face, embarrassed.
But no one laughed. No one looked away. One man placed a tissue box beside me. Another nodded, like he understood.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t apologize for crying.
Pop workshop Helped Me Reclaim the Parts of myself I Had Silenced
Over the next few weeks, I discovered stories within me I didn’t know I still carried — about being told not to cry as a boy, about losing my brother in a car accident and never really grieving, about always needing to be the one who fixed things but never asking for help.
At the pop workshop, I didn’t find solutions. I found space. And sometimes, space is what we need more than advice.
Now, I Feel — and I Let Others See It Too
I didn’t turn into a different person. I still work in tech, and I still love my routines. But I also journal now. I reach out to friends more. I even called my mother and told her something I hadn’t said in years: “I love you.”
She was silent at first. Then she whispered back, “I love you too, son.”
That’s when I knew the workshop hadn’t just changed me. It had rippled out to the people around me.
Not Every Transformation Is Loud — Sometimes It’s Just Honest
I still don’t fully understand how a few hours in a room with strangers made such a profound impact. But I do know this:
The version of me that walked into pop workshop was tired, guarded, and emotionally numb.
The version that walked out? Still learning, still growing — but alive.
If you’ve ever wondered whether change is possible… maybe it’s time you walked into that room too.
