Missed Connections: Microfiction from Asia
By Apollos Michio
Review of Missed Connections: Microfiction from Asia, edited by Felix Cheong and Noelle Q. de Jesus (Singapore: Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2024)
In an era dominated by short TikTok videos and brief news articles, it is increasingly challenging to engage with people’s short attention spans. To adapt to this trend, the genre of microfiction has emerged, captivating readers who prefer very short stories.
Featuring works fewer than 300 words and no more than a page long, as well as illustrations, Missed Connections, edited by Felix Cheong and Noelle Q. de Jesus, is a compilation of flash fiction from Asia that serves as a tapestry of voices encapsulating what it feels like to live in contemporary society. Most of these pieces are set in countries such as Singapore and the Philippines, and created by authors and illustrators actively engaged in the arts and literary scenes. Some of the authors also pursue various hobbies and work outside of writing, which inform the unique perspectives that shape their work.
It is challenging to summarise the myriad topics offered by the many works here, which range from parent-child relationships to sibling dynamics, romantic relationships to mental health, and more. Culture and modern life are commonly explored in these pieces of microfiction, giving the collection a kaleidoscopic nature that reflects the diverse facets of contemporary living.
There are a number of stories that attempt to highlight the complexities of parent-child relationships. Most notably, Diana Mandac’s ‘Parenthood’ succinctly encapsulates parental guilt in a mere fifty-two words:
Her doll-like frame shrank into itself, chin wobbling, moony eyes glazed with chunky tears, hands clumsily grasping the air, reaching for me.
“Why did you do it?” I asked, hands clasped, indignant, huffing for breath, trying to keep the word vomit from spilling.
“I’m sorry, I was still a child,” Mama replied.
The final line leaves us wondering what was done by the mother. Not all children are ideally filial; some are like parasites trying to live off their parents. Such is the case in Cherrie Sing’s ‘Inheritance’, where such a mentality appears in the following sentences: “Father loved you the least. You should get everything as compensation.” But whose fault is it when this idea stems from a lack of paternal love? Another story touching on guilt, but from a child’s perspective, is Vicky Chong's ‘The Painting’, which describes a daughter who procures her father’s favourite painting, not to keep but to sell.
Such fissures in parent-child relationships exist. In ‘Curry Puffs’ by Paul GnanaSelvam, a father-child relationship is fraught with tensions brought on by alcoholism and harsh words. Yet, love is present in the form of curry puffs the father buys for his adult child. A more optimistic depiction of parental love is shown in Chen Cuifen’s ‘Birdsong’. Here, a mother’s love is transmitted via recordings of the “oo-oo bird,” commonly known as the Asian koel bird, sent from Singapore to Birmingham, where her daughter is studying. When asked by her boyfriend about the “oo-oo” sound, the narrator tells him that it is “the sound of my mother’s love”. Together, stories like these reflect the emotional depth and conflicts often inherent in parent-child bonds, showcasing how love, guilt, and mistakes shape these relationships.
There are stories about sibling dynamics in the same familial vein. ‘Each Other’ by Yvette Fernandez features twins who remain close despite the different life experiences that pull them apart. As someone with a twin myself, I am comforted by the reminder that I have such a bond to come back to in times of need. In the poignant ‘A Feast for Neneng’ by Nixie E. Serna, a brother strives to give his younger sister a feast for her birthday despite having no money to buy food. He says, “You can have anything you want.” When she replies, “Fried chicken and spaghetti and burger,” he asks her to wait and then proceeds to the trash bags behind a food establishment to find the food. These stories show that the relationships between siblings can be tender and loving. Even in Anisha Ralhan’s ‘We Played with Same Dolls but Invented Our Own Games’, a woman attempts to understand and reconcile her differences with her sister, who has a very different character. Yet, because they are sisters, the protagonist desires to close the gulf between them. The thoughtful sequencing of the microfiction works by the editors is also evident here, as these three stories are placed adjacent to one another. By delving into the nuances of sibling bonds, the themes of support, rivalry, and reconciliation are explored.
Romantic relationships are also depicted in various tones, from affectionate to tragic. ‘The Musician’ by Chinie Hidalgo Diaz shows a woman singing to her man on his deathbed, hoping to save him. When he was alive, he sang and played the guitar. Her efforts to reach him through her voice beautifully and wistfully convey her love. Noelle Q. de Jesus’s ‘And Then’ also explores love, albeit after the death of the protagonist’s partner, depicting the deep longing of the one left behind.
One of the most memorable works in the collection is Dennis Yeo’s ‘P(X)’, which introduces a detail-oriented and analytical man who reserves a seat near a bus stop for a woman he likes. His fixation on numbers and time is surpassed only by his desire for the woman to sit beside him. Hence, he strategises fervently, hoping the probability P of the event X occurring is in his favour since life, unlike science, is “not a controlled experiment,” and the “universe orbit(s) around chance”. Another notable story is Dave Chua’s ‘The Ghost Marriage’, which combines the themes of relationships and culture. In this story, Ying meets a guy on a dating app, only to realise that he is dead and that his parents have been accessing his account. She overcomes her surprise and marries the ghost for money, imagining his “spectral hand on her chest.” These stories of relationships demonstrate how romance can be a surprising impetus for unconventional behaviour.
Anxiety by Anngee Neo
Beyond love, this diverse book also collects commentaries on mental health, a recurring motif that is timely, given the increasing prevalence of mental health issues globally. When it comes to work, the pressure we place on ourselves can be overwhelming. In Rizza Corella Punsalan’s ‘My Everything’, work is personified as an unrelenting and tiresome guy in a relationship with the protagonist. Almost every paragraph in the piece starts by describing Work’s influence: “Work orders me pizza… Work encourages my love for alcohol… Work pushes me to be the best I can be… Work constantly messages me…” The dread of Work is so palpable that the protagonist tells her mother she is “going to end it” in the final paragraph, akin to ending a relationship.
In the wonderful illustration ‘Anxiety’ by Anngee Neo, apprehension and unease are conveyed through overwhelming visuals. A distressed woman is tied to the ground, surrounded by literal manifestations of her worries: a walking PSLE Exam book (symbolising the stress-inducing primary school national examination in Singapore) cutting her arm with a marker, a Javan myna picking at her left eye, a messaging app icon with the red notification badge showing “115” unread messages, fires blazing in the background, and even the eerie doll Young-hee from Squid Game and the twins from The Shining staring. How can these invasive modern-day worries, many of which are self-inflicted, not trap us like Lemuel Gulliver in Gulliver's Travels? How can they not push us to the brink, when even a computer literally hangs itself in Don Low’s playful illustration ‘Computer Hang’ (a figurative expression describing a computer system becoming unresponsive)? It is unsurprising that humour becomes our coping mechanism.
Computer Hang by Don Low
Speaking of humour, Claire A. Miranda’s ‘White Jade, White Elephant’ is an intriguingly deadpan story about a couple who initially believes in feng shui but quickly abandons it when it proves ineffectual in keeping the husband’s mother in good health. As the couple ultimately disregards it, we, as readers, are left to question our own beliefs and superstitions. Another instance of dark humour rears its head in Judy Tham’s ‘Draconian’, where an intellectually challenged man questions why he must die for smuggling coke into Singapore. At first, the man’s confusion between the soft drink and cocaine might seem amusing. However, as his intellect and the certainty of his death sentence become clear, we are left to grapple with Singapore’s draconian laws and the plight of those on the margins of justice.
Irony is also present, such as in the comic strip ‘Auntie Clutter’ by Quek Hong Shin, which depicts an auntie trying to clear digital clutter while neglecting the physical clutter around her. This illustration effectively shows how technology has altered our lives, for better or worse. In Daryll Fay Gayatin’s ‘Wifi Password’, the Wi-Fi password is a confidential secret not to be shared. The irony of technology and social media is evident in Alan Bay’s illustration ‘Living in the Moment’, where people who advocate for living in the moment on social media do not practise what they preach, precisely because they are on social media. (As a side-note, I find it ironic to be writing a rather long review of a book of microfiction. Even the Preface and Afterword by the editors ingeniously stick to the microfiction spirit by having fewer than 300 words!) Stories like these act as a mirror, reflecting the double standards we hold regarding technology use.
Auntie Clutter by Quek Hong Shin
The challenge of composing microfiction lies in its formal constraints, which inherently limit the opportunity for readers to develop emotional investment in the pieces. For the author, this means balancing brevity with depth, crafting a narrative that resonates despite its conciseness. For readers, the experience can feel disjointed, with each story starting from a blank slate, akin to entering a new world every few pages. Personally, I found myself needing to pause reading the book after every few dozen stories or so, reflecting on what I had just read before moving on.
Despite these pauses, the collection's diverse forms, styles, and themes maintained my engagement. The variety—ranging from prose to comic strips and illustrations, all thoughtfully sequenced—ensured that each piece stood on its own, often surprising in the emotions it evoked. Although some stories touched me deeply, others remained elusive, their meanings ambiguous but thought-provoking. The well-placed humour interspersed throughout provided moments of levity, inviting reflections on both personal and societal levels on the wide range of topics.
However, this diversity is a double-edged sword. Although it enriches the collection by showcasing a wide range of voices and perspectives across the tapestry of modern society, it can also result in an uneven reading experience. The thematic and stylistic shifts, though engaging, can occasionally feel abrupt, potentially disrupting the reader's immersion. This oscillation between different modes of storytelling might leave some readers yearning for a more cohesive thread.
Nevertheless, the collection's ability to evoke a wide range of emotions and thoughts is a testament to its success within the microfiction genre. The pauses between pieces become moments of contemplation, allowing the reader to engage more deeply with the material. Rather than detracting from the experience, these pauses provide space for the stories to resonate and linger. Ultimately, Missed Connections offers a varied and thought-provoking reading experience, demanding active engagement and rewarding the reader with rich insights into both the personal and the universal.
Apollos Michio was born in Singapore and holds a bachelor’s degree in Food Science and Technology from the National University of Singapore. He aspires to be a researcher and is preparing to pursue a master’s degree focused on nutrition.
Apollos Michio reviews Missed Connections: Microfiction from Asia, edited by Felix Cheong and Noelle Q. de Jesus.