TRUEORIGIN™ est 2012 in Melbourne, Australia.
~Developed in Singapore & Melbourne~
by a single creator from Singapore.

Please note that I have no company in Switzerland.
No authorized representatives.
My linkedin profile & social media are inactive.
If googling me, you’ll have to key ‘Meryl Yeo Yawen’ in the search bar for accurate results.
I am in none of the women in the results for ‘Meryl Yeo’ in google image search because I switched all my accounts to private for a while.

I have never leased the rights to NoDamnPie. I own the domain nodamnpie.com and will set up the email soon. I have no proton/etc email under this name, to avoid fraud. I have only private email addresses.

I retain sole ownership of my property, IP and copyrights.

I retain all rights, and FULL unshared, undivided power over my estate.

Please refer all matters directly to me.

-Of INCORRUPTIBLE DREAMS of incorruptible souls-

Old-school Storyteller & Artist in a time of AI.

✏️”Opposite perspectives give us Strength in our own Views.
Together, we are stronger in our Differences.”

- M. Yeo. Trueorigin

Can anyone ever be certain, with accuracy, if they’re looking at the unstoppable force or the immovable object?

I'm an Independent Artist & Writer from Singapore and Melbourne 🇸🇬🇦🇺. In Switzerland until recently. Divorced and still going. US-Published, 100% Self-represented. Independent, Authentic. Late Bloomer. Intuitive. Reformed killer of plants. Divergent thinker. Independent from all influences and fake or forced narratives.

I’m an original composer of literary and art works. I think people know the real deal when they see it.

Thanks, strangers. :)

And others - watch out. Omw

——
26 MAY 2024

Prose

I arrive at a bank and glide swiftly in. Exterior and interior with 2-storey raised ceilings, rounded at the corner along where the entrance also is. Building is made with a reddish marble, similar to ngee ann city’s. It’s a short walk up to the service counters where all the tellers are. They’re also quite up the front so, although the ceiling’s raised, it feels like there’s not much space behind them, up to where the glass wall is that separates the bank from the outside. I approach the second teller, which is manned by an Indian-subcontinental-looking woman. Hastily, I say, “I’m looking for the bank but I wasn’t sure whether you’re the right place to approach..” To that she points outdoors somewhere past the window, duly informing me that the bank signage is outside. I correct her and say, “no, there’s a second door down the public corridor and it (the right part of the bank) could’ve been there.” She says nothing. I press on, and she looks up my name on her terminal. We look at it together. “Oh no”, she says, “I think I understand what they (her colleagues) did wrong.” She looks a little horrified, pausing and looking at the offending detail for a few seconds like she knows it’s wrong, and she’s just looking at it before she’s thought of what to say/do. I take a closer look, and see there’s “Yeo”, followed by a few words that form a name I don’t recognise; it’s certainly not mine. There’s a bunch of scanned pictorial documentation beneath it. Looks like those old yellowed papers with round official or date stamps in a kind of darkened red. It’s akin to looking at old paperwork from the 1900’s or something. I go, “no, that’s not my name, here -“ I scribble my name down in the sort of cursive writing I’ve occasionally opted for in the past (corresponding with real life, as well). The Y’s are very particular in the way they curve (see pic below). On a separate little tab of paper, I write a name with one syllable - don’t recall what, and below it a bit to the right, I write “Yeo Yawen”. I push the note a good few centimetres across the desk. As the woman slides it towards herself without really looking, as seasoned admin people often do, I have a little tugging feeling in me, sort of an urge to take it back just in case I’ve made a mistake. The feeling subsides; now I’m viewing from a different angle, the shape of the teller is no longer one straight line, but each teller desk is scalloped, like an inverse L; rounded on the left and a straight line to the next teller where another scalloped portion begins. It seems to mirror the entrance portion of the architecture. I’m at the rounded side now, and I can see whatever she’s typing on her terminal from here. As she starts to key in the name and a command into the field, I instinctively lean forward and instruct her, “oh, please make sure you use at the end -“ Then as she’s about to say something, I check myself and apologise going, “Ah, I apologise I didn’t mean to micromanage. I usually don’t (elsewhere/eg in Australia),” I chuckle and ease back languorously in my seat, saying this clearly and just loudly enough so it can be heard by others without being obtrusive, “it’s just that people here have trouble taking instruction this side of the world.” The woman stops at that and looks at me in frozen alarm, eyes darting briefly about before they fix just on me, widened, whites visible. The look is accompanied by a flash of fearful grin with two even rows of gritted alabaster teeth (at this point I see her hair is wiry-thick, straight and slightly below jaw-length, a little limp from harsh/wrong styling product - soz even in dream, I’m picky obv). She’d been bent over her computer a little, but straightens up/stiffens slightly as she does this. At the same time from a wider angle, all the other bankers at tellers, caucasian (mostly Germanic) men in various stages of action, stop and turn their heads in unison to look at me for a brief few seconds, then like clockwork turn back to whatever they’re doing. The Indian woman starts to say that ‘Maybe it’s because they have everything they need here (in Switzerland), or have a lot here’. And to that I reply, steadily, in a matter-of-fact tone of disbelief, typical of a scene where someone delivers an effective statement that debunks untruths, “but Singapore is exceptionally wealthy as well.”

Meryl YEO Yawen 2025 All rights reserved

‘Mind yourself and be ready, for everything is truly recorded.’