Some stories hit you in the chest no matter how much time passes. This is one of them. Even today, you can mention the name Lo Hwei Yen and people go quiet, because the memory is still raw, still personal, still close to the heart for many Singaporeans. She wasn’t a public figure. She wasn’t a politician or celebrity. She was just a bright, loving, ambitious young woman who went on her first business trip to India — and never made it home.
Her final message, sent while trapped in the Oberoi Trident Hotel during the 2008 Mumbai attacks, was simple and devastating:
“If I don’t make it out of here, I love you all.”
Honestly, that one line still stings. It carries the weight of fear and hope all at once — the kind of text no one should ever have to send.
A Life That Felt Full — Until Everything Changed
Before that trip, Hwei Yen was living the kind of life many of us dream of. She was married to Michael Puhaindran, who adored her completely. They had just watched Kylie Minogue live at the Singapore Indoor Stadium the night before she flew. You know that warm, glowing feeling after a concert with someone you love? That was their last perfect memory together.
He drove her to the airport on 25 November 2008, not knowing it would be the last time he’d see her alive.
Two days later, she was gone.
Shot in the head and abdomen. Identified by the husband who had loved her since they were young. It’s the kind of tragedy that leaves a scar on the country, not just the family.
Who She Was Before the Headlines
Strip away the sadness for a moment, and you see the real Hwei Yen — someone full of life, laughter, and drive. She studied at Methodist Girls’ School, Victoria Junior College, and later earned her law degree at NUS. A proper Singapore overachiever, but with heart.
She worked at Drew & Napier, Rajah & Tann, and eventually Stephenson Harwood. She wasn’t just good at her job — she was the kind of lawyer who organised everything down to the smallest detail and still found time to care for everyone around her.
Her friends describe her as the “wind beneath their wings.” One of them even joked she encouraged their misbehaviour — a true partner-in-crime type of friend. You know that one friend who always says, “Aiya just do lah, don’t overthink”? That was her.
Her smile? Apparently unforgettable. One of those smiles that radiated straight from the soul. Honestly, you can see it in photos — that kind of smile cannot fake one.
Michael’s Grief: A Love Story Interrupted
What hits hardest is hearing Michael talk about her. He once said being able to see her smile was “the meaning of true happiness.” When someone says that, you know it’s the real deal.
On the Monday before she flew off, she turned to him in the lift and gave him the kind of smile that makes you feel like the world is finally behaving. He still remembers it vividly.
Walking through the Oberoi Hotel after her death, he found her wedding ring and her phone in her handbag — with 150 missed calls. His attempt to reach her, again and again, while she was trapped.
That… yeah. There are no words.
A Friend’s Memory: More Than Words Can Hold
Others who knew her struggled to describe her too.
One friend remembered meeting her in the ladies’ restroom by accident — yes, wrong toilet, but apparently fate had jokes that day. From that awkward moment grew a deep friendship filled with indulgence, laughter, and absolute loyalty.
She made people better simply by loving them fiercely.
Another friend, Bryan Tan, remembered her creative eye when she directed his theatre pieces back in law school. He said she understood his creative intent without explanation — a rare gift.
Her Spirit Still Inspires Today
Even in the middle of such grief, Michael shared one of her quirks — her obsession with lists. Christmas lists, shopping lists, even mischievous notes meant to make him smile. It made her death feel even more unfair, because it interrupted someone who put so much heart into the small things.
He ended his tribute with a line many people still quote:
“If you’re staring at that new bag or pair of shoes and wondering if you should buy it… just buy lah. Enjoy it. She’d want that.”
He wasn’t being frivolous. He was saying:
Life is short. Appreciate your joys. Don’t wait until tragedy teaches you the value of happiness.
My Take: Why Her Story Still Matters
Look, Singapore is generally safe. We go overseas thinking the scary stuff happens “somewhere else.” But when terror struck Mumbai in 2008 and took one of our own, it changed how we see the world.
Her story reminds us that behind every headline is a real person who laughed, cried, annoyed her siblings, spoiled her friends, and had dreams so normal and beautiful that losing her feels like losing a piece of all of us.
And maybe that’s why her memory remains so strong. She wasn’t a symbol. She was just Yen — funny, driven, stubborn, soft-hearted, generous Yen.
And she deserved more life than she got.
Why We Still Talk About Her
Because remembering her isn’t only about grief.
It’s also about:
- valuing love while we have it
- recognising how fragile life really is
- honouring someone who made the world kinder just by being in it
- refusing to let terrorism define the way her story ended
She lived fully, she loved loudly, and she left behind a trail of warmth people still follow.
Singapore lost a daughter that day. Her family lost their heart. Her friends lost their anchor. And Michael lost his other half.
But her story lives on — not because of tragedy, but because of how brightly she burned before it.
