Last week, I was fortunate enough to have a profile about me published on Channel NewsAsia (CNA). It’s a Singapore-based multinational news channel that primarily covers Southeast Asia. A regional equivalent to Al Jazeera, if you will, but for the part of the world where I grew up.

Profiles are one of my favorite things to write. I’ve written 18 so far — 13 in my book Digital Mavericks, and 5 more on my Paragraph. The joy, for me, lies less in the writing than in the process itself. There’s something about the conversation and the quiet act of listening that feels like a privilege I don’t take lightly. I currently only profile people in crypto, but it’s usually the last thing we talk about. Most of our time is spent on childhoods, heartbreaks, immigrant parents, and unexpected left turns. We talk about books, hobbies, songs, and the cities that shaped them. We talk about what they lost, what they gained, and what they’re still chasing.

My aim is always connection. To help the person I’m profiling make deeper sense of the life they’ve chosen. To offer readers a mirror, so they might recognize a part of themselves in a stranger’s story, and ultimately find the courage to step into something they didn’t think could be meant for them.

So when the tables turned, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew I was excited. My work in crypto has been featured before, but this felt different. A full-length profile in my country’s national news wasn’t just something my friends and family would read. It was something they couldn’t ignore. And maybe, just maybe, it would help justify the life decisions I still find myself questioning.

I was also nervous for that same reason. The piece mentioned a few white lies I’d told my parents years ago (though I’m pretty sure they already knew). And while I’ve got better at speaking about my accomplishments, having them spotlighted still feels deeply uncomfortable, especially when weighed against the Asian values of humility and “do more, say less” that I was raised with.

What I didn’t expect to feel was a weird cocktail of surprise and irritation. Not from anyone who mattered, but from faceless strangers on the internet: quick to take jabs, eager to miss the point. My feature wasn’t a mirror. It had become a canvas for other people’s projections instead.

Parts of the article were, as is often the case with traditional media, written to be clickbait. A push notification sent to CNA app users read: “Driven to put Singapore on the world map, ex-GIC scholar Debbie Soon co-founded a business with Mark Zuckerberg’s sister.” The headline described me as someone who “took a risk and booked a one-way ticket to the US during Covid in search of a job.”

Cue the comments on CNA’s Instagram carousel, which had neatly distilled the feature into seven swipable cards:

"Sounds like a lucky, young Singaporean who… could afford to twang around and do nothing really concrete or develop any real, essential skills without worrying much about money in the meantime," said @cm10_

“Only those with privileges (can) have a ‘chance’ meeting with Mark Zuckerberg’s sister. Already got connections lor," said @kristytingofficial, with a punctuation of Singlish.

And one that was for the lack of a better word, entirely baffling. 

“So you can see the male species have to struggle to keep Singapore famous. I am sure she has a dark side which probably won’t share how she REALLY MADE IT. And when you are a female, it’s ALWAYS ALWAYS easier," said @ghost_in_the_shell_sac_2045

My feelings weren’t hurt. If anything, I was bemused. These comments were tame, and far less vicious than what reality TV contestants endure on a daily basis. (Has anyone watched Love Island lately?)

But it did get me thinking: When did we start breeding an entire subculture of keyboard warriors? What compels someone to post something so bitter about someone they don’t know? And why is it so often women who end up on the receiving end?

None of this is new. It happens all over the internet, crypto notwithstanding.

Just a couple of weeks ago, my friend and founder of Chipped, Winny, posted a harmless video showing all the outfits she wore to Cannes during EthCC. Every look was chef’s kiss. Still, the comments rolled in: “she would look so much better without the tattoos,” and “the biggest argument against liberalism has to be what it does to our women.”

Another friend of mine, Betty, founder of Deadfellaz, has faced this kind of scrutiny for years. But more recently, after an inspiring health journey, she’s been hit with Ozempic accusations, ironically, from the same people who once mocked her weight.

It’s tempting to dismiss all of these comments as noise. Jealousy. Boredom. Or maybe, someone was just having a bad day, I tell myself. But zooming out: a pattern emerges. The internet today is built on ambient hostility disguised as critique, and usually aimed at women who dare to be unapologetically themselves.

Because here’s the thing: the comments aren’t really about Winny’s tattoos, or Betty’s weight, or my resume. They’re about what those things represent: confidence, autonomy, self-expression. Women who don’t shrink themselves to fit someone else’s comfort zone or broader societal expectations. For a certain kind of online commenter, the way we show up  to the world presents not just as audacity, but a threat.

The feminist movement has come a long way. Yet, it’s been a mere fifty years since women have achieved true financial independence. The gender wage gap still exists today even though it’s been a number of years since it’s become acceptable for women to have a career worth celebrating. It’s no wonder that women continue to be punished for being too much. When we do succeed, we are either labeled as cringe, or accused of doing something insidious to get there.

Regardless of the actual comment, what they say beneath it all is the same: you didn’t earn this. You didn’t deserve this. Not like we should have.

But who exactly is we?

That part is less clear. It will be easier if all these comments came from men. Maybe then we could laugh them off as basement-dwelling trolls or full-blown misogynists. Thing is, many of these types of comments come from women too, either jealous or wronged by our success.

The irony? I consider myself far from successful. The work I have done is barely close to complete. Every day, I wake up with a relentless drive to prove to myself, and to the world, that I can and will accomplish more.

To me, that is the beauty of life. The knowledge that every day is a gift. That ultimately, when I do leave this world, there will be few, if any, that will remember what I have done, but while I’m still here, there’s still an opportunity to make a difference. I choose for that delta, small as it may be, to be positive. Naysayers, by advocating for “merit”, “fairness”, and "just asking questions”, somehow think they are doing the same.

But, I don’t write for the naysayers. I write for the ones still finding their way. For the person who’s never seen their story reflected back at them without distortion. I write because I believe stories can be mirrors when we let them. And whenever the mirrors feel too honest, too sharp, or too clear, that’s usually when someone else tries to shatter them. 

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep trying. So, we keep showing up — even when it’s hard, and even when the reflection isn’t what others want to see.

Over ten years ago in college, I stumbled back into my dorm room grey-to-black (hex code #666666) out drunk from one too many Smirnoff Ices on a night out at Cindie’s, the college nightclub on Cambridge’s main street in the UK. I woke up the following morning to a mirror shattered into over a dozen pieces. Oh no, I thought, seven years of bad luck, or bad sex, depending on the saying. 

Spoiler alert: life has gone on just fine. Sure, I’ve had periods of bad luck, like the time I nearly died from a freak bacterial infection that came from eating raw fish... and um sure, a handful of somewhat unenjoyable sexual encounters. But all things considered, I think life’s circumstances have converged to the mean. Everything I’ve done since then has both been because and in spite of them.

So if the mirror cracks again, so be it. I’ve lived through worse. What matters is that I still choose to look. Still choose to show up. Still choose to reflect, even if it means being misread. 

I hope you do the same. Because no one will ever see you more clearly than you do. And that, truly, is enough to begin.

P.S. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider ordering my first book - Digital Mavericks: A Guide to Web3, NFTs, and Becoming the Main Character of the Next Internet Revolution. It is a beginner-friendly guide to entering and navigating the crypto industry, filled with heartwarming stories of real-life builders and creators that I hope will inspire you as much as they inspired me.