WHEN Olivia Chiong and Khong Lai Yee — otherwise known as Oli and Lychee, two creative strategists who thrive on chaos, creativity and questionable decision-making — walked onto the stage in London in July, they were handed something many creatives spend their entire careers chasing: a D&AD Pencil.
Both 23, with birthdays mere days apart, the talented graduates of Kuala Lumpur’s Dasein Academy of Art had just earned international recognition with the Graphite Pencil at the prestigious D&AD New Blood Awards 2025.
Often described as the Oscars of the creative world, the D&AD Awards have, since 1962, celebrated the very best in design and advertising. The New Blood Programme is its platform for emerging talent, drawing student and graduate submissions from across the globe.
To win a Pencil — whether Wood, Graphite, Yellow or beyond — is to have your work held up as an example of creative excellence.
For Olivia and Lai Yee, the award isn’t just a milestone, but also an affirmation: that the long hours of sketching, designing and refining could carry them beyond the classroom, onto a stage that recognises ideas of international calibre.
Behind the accolade, however, are two very different stories — journeys shaped by childhood obsessions, family expectations and the stubborn drive to make art a life.
IN HER BLOOD
Art, for the bubbly Lai Yee, has never been a choice. It was simply the way she moved through the world.
“I’m not smart enough to be a doctor or lawyer,” she confides, chuckling good-naturedly, before adding: “But art is my thing, and I’ve been doing it my whole life. Did you know, I could draw before I could even write?”
Growing up in Kuala Lumpur, the animated Libran, who has an older brother and an adopted younger sister, was the child who made greeting cards for everyone, the sort who was probably elbow-deep in macaroni crafts and glitter glue during kindergarten art days.
“It was my duty from small,” remembers Lai Yee, adding: “Every family birthday or anniversary, I’d be the one creating the card.”
Her parents — an architect-turned-businessman father and an insurance agent mother — never stood in the way of her inclinations, though they did, recalls Lai Yee, nudge her toward practicality. Illustration, she was told, was a dead end. “Tak boleh cari makan.”
“So, I tricked them,” she admits, grinning broadly. “Graphic design sounded safer. You can do business with it, work with corporations… Technically true lah! So, in the end, they were convinced that it would be fine!”
Still, there’s no denying where the streak might have originated from.
“I think it’s my dad,” muses Lai Yee, recalling the first time she saw his freehand sketches.
“He could draw so well, so precise. When I saw that, I thought, oh, maybe that’s where my genetics come from.”
Her first loves, though, weren’t blueprints or perspective lines. They were cartoons and anime. She started with The Powerpuff Girls, faithfully sketching Blossom, the pink bow-topped leader who matched her own girlish tastes.
When she discovered Powerpuff Girls Z — the anime adaptation of the American series — something shifted. Remembers Lai Yee: “That was the start. From there, I went into Vocaloid (fictional characters), and then just jumped into the deep end of anime. And here I am today!”
For Lai Yee, anime isn’t just a pastime; it’s a lens through which she hones her creative instincts — colour palettes, exaggerated expressions and kinetic storytelling that translate into her design work. It’s also what eventually led her to Dasein Academy of Art, Kuala Lumpur, where she enrolled in graphic design.
The path wasn’t always lined with validation. As with many Asian families, the stereotype lingered that pursuing art was akin to failure. But she stayed the course, propelled by the simple, unshakable certainty that art was what she was meant to do.
Chuckling, Lai Yee confides: “It has always just been hobby lor, but it’s also the only thing I’ve ever been good at. There was never really anything else.”
FROM RECEIPTS TO RAINBOWS
If Lai Yee was the child forever sketching birthday cards, Olivia was the little girl quietly doodling on the backs of her parents’ insurance receipts.
Recalls the more stoic of the two seated in front of me: “My mum and dad, who worked in insurance, would bring me along to their appointments. They’d sit me at the side, hand me a receipt and some coloured pencils, and I’d just draw.”
She doesn’t quite remember what she used to sketch — the images having inevitably blurred with time — but she does recall the phases. First came the Winx Club fairies, then My Little Pony.
“Girly stuff,” she shrugs, before adding sheepishly: “But I was also really into Ultraman for a while!”
Like her loyal sidekick, Lai Yee, Olivia grew up in a family where art wasn’t dismissed. Smiling, she recalls: “I was lucky. My parents were supportive. They even sent me to art classes when I was young. I’m very thankful for that.”
Her younger brother Oliver, she confides, is her opposite — loud, talkative, a natural debater.
“He should run for prime minister,” Lai Yee teases with a knowing grin. Olivia merely beams, rolling her eyes in agreement.
Brows furrowing under her glasses, Olivia admits: “I don’t really talk with people much. Maybe it’s just my nature. And I’m scared to say the wrong thing. If I do talk too much, I’ll just ramble nonsense.”
Head bobbing in agreement, Lai Yee chips in mischievously: “She’s rigid. Olivia follows things exactly to the T. She’s not good at impromptu. You ask her a question, she’ll be like, ‘Wait, wait, wait. Give me three working days first!'”
Eyes widening with amusement, Olivia beams. She doesn’t deny it. “Well, Lai Yee is the articulate one — the talker between us,” she concedes with a small shrug.
PERFECT SYNERGY
Both agree that it’s this very contrast that makes their partnership click. “In a creative industry, you need someone who can think on their feet, who comes up with ideas quickly,” Olivia explains, nodding towards Lai Yee.
Continuing, she adds thoughtfully: “That’s her. But you also need structure — someone who can present those ideas clearly, make them viable, employable. That’s where I come in. I keep her on track.”
The balance is especially important given their personalities. Lai Yee has been diagnosed with ADHD and autism — “high functioning”, she clarifies swiftly, elaborating: “It makes my brain think very fast, but I also feel like people move too slow. Sometimes they don’t get me. So, I’ll tell her (Olivia), and she’ll explain it to people one by one. Slowly the ideas seep through.”
The dynamic, Olivia believes, is rare in Malaysia.
“A lot of graduates just go off and find jobs on their own. But for us, the partnership works. We complement each other.”
It wasn’t always a given. As a child, Olivia would quietly answer “I want to be an artist” whenever teachers asked about ambitions, only to be met with raised eyebrows. “They judged me,” she recalls, her gaze drifting towards the distance.
Then, turning back, her voice sharpens with conviction.
“Imagine hearing that as a kid. So, this is my big ‘F-U’ to them — I’m an artist now,” states Olivia, before continuing with a knowing smile: “But at the same time, we’re also designers. So yes, we can cari makan.”
Still, she stayed the course, pursuing graphic design at Dasein where she met Lai Yee.
Together, their contrasting strengths would grow into a collaboration that carried them from classroom critiques to the international stage — and finally, to a Pencil that marked their arrival.
MAKING THEIR MARK
Circling back to the awards, Olivia shares that when the competition brief was unveiled, she and Lai Yee didn’t hesitate. Out of the many options, one leapt out: personal branding.
Recalls Olivia: “At first, I thought, oh, I’ll just promote myself as a designer. But honestly, there’s nothing special about that. Everyone does the same thing. There’s no dynamic.”
And that was when the idea hit to join forces with her equally talented classmate. Recalls Olivia: “I thought, you know what? I’ve got Lai Yee here. Bring her in.”
Together, they reimagined the assignment not as two individuals pitching themselves, but as a duo with a distinct voice.
“The synergy was there,” Lai Yee says, before adding emphatically: “That makes us different.”
The brief itself was simple in wording, but tricky in execution: Make your mark. In a crowded industry, with new graduates struggling to stand out, how could a young creative prove they were worth remembering? Who exactly were they trying to reach? Agencies? Employers? Fellow artists?
In the end, they decided to aim squarely at where the professionals were — LinkedIn — and disrupt it. Says Olivia: “LinkedIn today is so corporate. It intimidates young people. You scroll and see everyone’s achievements, and then you’re like… what did I do?”
So instead of playing by the rules, they broke the mould. Their submission injected Gen Z humour, colour and authenticity into a platform often seen as sterile. Chips in Lai Yee: “It’s too much of a laundry list of bragging. We wanted to show the human side, to be real, not overly polished.”
That decision birthed Oli & Lychee, a playful pairing built around their existing personas. Olivia’s colour was red; Lai Yee was yellow. Chuckles Olivia: “It just made sense. Ketchup and mustard.”
What made their approach compelling wasn’t just the characters, but the way they worked. Rather than splitting roles into the traditional copywriter and art director model, both tackled every idea together.
“One of us would suggest something, and the other’s job was to tear it down,” explains Lai Yee, elaborating: “We find problems in the idea until there are no problems left. That’s what we call friction. And friction generates ideas.”
It wasn’t always smooth.
“Of course, we fought and argued,” admits Olivia, before declaring sheepishly: “All the time!” But those clashes were part of the process. “If we can find problems with each other,” Lai Yee says matter-of-factly, “that means someone outside definitely will. So better we fix it first”.
For them, this constant push and pull — balancing creativity with realism, imagination with commercial sense — became the backbone of Oli & Lychee. And in a competition designed to spot the next generation of standout talent, that dynamic was exactly what made them impossible to ignore.
LESSONS, DREAMS AND ADVICE
Winning a Graphite Pencil is no small feat — but for the duo, the prize is not a finish line so much as a beginning. When asked what the award means to them, they don’t speak in terms of trophies or rankings.
“I just want a job,” Olivia admits with a laugh. “That’s my goal right now.”
Lai Yee, however, has always had a different vision. “Since college — actually, even before college — I knew I didn’t want to work for people. My ultimate goal is to start my own thing. Ideally, an agency with Olivia. She’s my partner now, so why not take it the whole way?”
The dream isn’t without precedent. The pair had already sketched out a start-up concept back in university — a co-working and networking hub for young creatives. Resources and experience remain hurdles, but the idea lingers.
Concedes Lai Yee: “We know there’s a gap in the market. It’s just that for now, we need to get some working experience first, to learn how to deal with things before we can make it real.”
When it comes to inspiration, their gaze turns closer to home. Names like Ming Han and Jinnyboy — YouTubers turned creative entrepreneurs — come up quickly.
Muses Olivia: “They started small and built something of their own. That’s something we admire.”
Yet, for all the big dreams, their advice to younger Malaysians starting out is strikingly pragmatic.
“Learn to protect yourself,” advises Lai Yee, adding: “In Asia, creative people get exploited a lot. Overtime with no pay. Ideas not appreciated. Burnout. Sometimes even ideas stolen. And now with AI, it’s even more dangerous. So, you need to know your rights and stand up for yourself if you face a bad employer.”
Olivia takes a different tack. Her thoughts, she admits, come from a late-night conversation with herself.
“There are eight billion people in this world. There will always be someone with better colleges, better work, better resources than you.”
Adding, she says emphatically: “You can’t define your value only by what you can do or what you own. What really matters is your character, your purpose, your vision. The small sliver of human truth you believe in. That’s what sets you apart. That’s what people will see.”
MAKING A MARK
For Oli & Lychee, that philosophy — equal parts grit, friction and human truth — is what carried them onto the London stage. In the end, what Olivia and Lai Yee have built is more than just a portfolio piece.
Oli & Lychee is a statement of intent; proof that Malaysian creatives can step onto a global stage not only with talent, but also with a clarity of purpose and a refusal to blend into the background.
Their story isn’t about overnight success or a straight path; it’s about the small, stubborn choices that add up — doodling on receipts as a child, saying “no” to conventional career tracks, finding courage in each other’s differences, and daring to market themselves not as individuals, but as a duo defined by friction and trust.
As fresh graduates with dreams of an agency of their own, they stand at the cusp of possibility. For now, it’s jobs, experience, and the practicalities of making ends meet. But beneath that is a conviction that their voices matter, that their work carries value, and that there’s space in the world for what they have to say.
These two young Malaysians didn’t just bring home a Graphite Pencil from London; they’re reminding us of the importance of believing in our stories, protecting our worth, and finding the courage to make our mark.
© New Straits Times Press (M) Bhd
