Cookies

Last updated 11 August 2026

This page explains how Voice Bloom uses cookies and similar browser storage. I wrote it in plain language because the consent banner should not hide behind legal fog.

What runs on this site

Essential — always on. Remembers that you accepted or rejected optional categories so the banner stays dismissed for about six months (180 days). Stored as sg_blog_consent and mirrored in cookie_consent_v1.

Functional / embedded content — off until you allow it. Controls Google Maps iframes on every page. Each map is neighbourhood-scale around Bukit Timah / Beauty World, not a pin on my flat.

Analytics — off by default and not implemented. The toggle exists so future changes would not surprise you.

Google Maps specifically

When functional content is allowed, pages load a standard Google Maps embed (no API key on my side). Google may process IP address, device data, and interaction signals under its own policies. When you Reject all, you see a placeholder with a Load map button instead of an empty box — pressing it grants functional consent for that view and stores your choice.

Your choices

Use the banner buttons: Accept all, Reject all, or Customise. Accept all turns functional maps on. Reject all keeps maps behind the placeholder. Customise lets you flip individual categories, then Save choices.

Manage cookies

How long choices last

About six months from the timestamp stored in the cookie. After that, the banner may return so you can decide again. Clearing site data in your browser removes the choice immediately.

How to clear cookies

In Chrome: Settings → Privacy and security → Delete browsing data → Cookies. In Safari: Settings → Privacy → Manage Website Data. In Firefox: Settings → Privacy → Cookies and Site Data. Mobile browsers have similar menus — search your browser name plus "clear cookies".

Changes

If I change categories or add embeds, this page and the banner text will update. Material changes will move the date above.

More about personal data: Privacy.

The afternoon light on Toh Yi Drive has its own habit of arriving late, slanting across the corridor tiles after the hill has already taken the sun. I notice these small shifts because I live with them — the lift that smells of rain, the tree shade by the car park, the folded receipt I keep inside a notebook on the kitchen table. None of this is news; it is only the texture of an ordinary week above Beauty World, written down before I forget the order of things.

The afternoon light on Toh Yi Drive has its own habit of arriving late, slanting across the corridor tiles after the hill has already taken the sun. I notice these small shifts because I live with them — the lift that smells of rain, the tree shade by the car park, the folded receipt I keep inside a notebook on the kitchen table. None of this is news; it is only the texture of an ordinary week above Beauty World, written down before I forget the order of things.

The afternoon light on Toh Yi Drive has its own habit of arriving late, slanting across the corridor tiles after the hill has already taken the sun. I notice these small shifts because I live with them — the lift that smells of rain, the tree shade by the car park, the folded receipt I keep inside a notebook on the kitchen table. None of this is news; it is only the texture of an ordinary week above Beauty World, written down before I forget the order of things.

The afternoon light on Toh Yi Drive has its own habit of arriving late, slanting across the corridor tiles after the hill has already taken the sun. I notice these small shifts because I live with them — the lift that smells of rain, the tree shade by the car park, the folded receipt I keep inside a notebook on the kitchen table. None of this is news; it is only the texture of an ordinary week above Beauty World, written down before I forget the order of things.

The afternoon light on Toh Yi Drive has its own habit of arriving late, slanting across the corridor tiles after the hill has already taken the sun. I notice these small shifts because I live with them — the lift that smells of rain, the tree shade by the car park, the folded receipt I keep inside a notebook on the kitchen table. None of this is news; it is only the texture of an ordinary week above Beauty World, written down before I forget the order of things.