unwelcome shutterbug

It was a back alley somewhere in Chinatown. (I don't really know where but had stumbled upon it as i let myself wander about the area.) I had decided to walk into a corner instead of past the shophouses lining the main road. That turned out to be a rewarding move, for i chanced upon a mini flea market of sorts which i never knew existed in this part of Chinatown.

The first thing that one noticed isn't the haphazardly displayed items being laid on some groundsheet. It's the sellers who were sitting idly by their makeshift stalls on either sides of the alley. Unlike other flea markets which are often bigger and most certainly would have young entreprenuers selling their stuff, this one consists only of a few sellers, most of whom are doubtless in their sixties. Even the few passers-by who had stopped to examine the things displayed, they were mostly middle-aged adults. But of course, it was a lazy afternoon and here is an obscure corner of Chinatown, probably the reason why this small hub of activities had sprung up.

I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, observing the people and studying the scene in the least unintrusive way. But the rather bulky camera that i was holding made for unwanted attention. When i turned to the other side of the alley separated by a small road that joins the main road from where i had turned into, i caught sight of a roadside barber, one of those dying trades that belonged to the era of the 50s or 60s. The space in which the barber operated his business is but the size of a bathroom, sheltered by a canvass that is held up by wooden poles. At the centre of this small space is the central feature - an inclined armchair which his customers sit on to have their hair cut. From where i stood, which is a few polite metres away, i observed that the barber was trimming the nose-hair of his elderly customer.

I was thrilled. Somewhat possessing the the mentality of a prying, self-conceited photographer, the first thought that came to my mind was: I have to capture this rare find. But i had to do so without incurring the possible wrath of my subject. Inasmuch as one is just a curious, harmless photographer taking snapshots of the things and people that he comes across, I believe it is something akin to being unethical were one to take a picture of someone who is against being photographed. Two shots were snapped hurriedly when i realised that the barber was done with the customer. But as they were taken without any focus, i felt compelled to linger around and capture better shots when the next customer comes along. It was then that i became aware of a man standing not farwaway who was eyeing me warily. I did not look at him, not wanting to give him the impression that i was aware of his attention. Instead, in the most nonchalant and insouciant manner i could muster, i turned away and strolled back to the other side of the alley.

I walked about and surveyed the smorgasbord of items that were up for sale. They range from the usual old CDs - even pirated DVDs - and cassette tapes to the likes of plastic toys from the 80s, lighters, jade rings and other paraphernalia. A player was emitting a slow-tempo hokkien oldie sung by a high-pitched female singer - the image of a songstress in cheongsam singing comes to mind - that registered a rather lazy quality, as though the song had floated langurously through the air before reaching my ears, suffusing the entire backlane alley with a nostlagic atmosphere.

A woman whose entire hair is greyish-white spotted me trying to take a picture with her in the background, and she instintively held up a plastic board and covered her face away from the unwelcome lens of my camera. Feeling uneasy myself, i felt guilty of having become the face of an unwelcome, trouble-inviting photographer who with a camera in his hands can only possess selfish motives. This was all the more acutely felt as i wondered if these elderly people are making a living out of this. My presence was doing them nothing good, and in fact, it was their presence which i now appeared keen to exploit. Whether or not these people are licensed to sell their stuff here, it seems to me that they represent the part of our society who are robbed of their time by modernity and relentless progress. And how ironic it seems that Chinatown embodies that all-important link to our heritage and past, yet is simultaneously also a testament of rapid development and change, courting crowds of tourists to experience a taste of Chinatown, that quintessential place in cities around the world that supposedly exhibits cultural traits that are common to all Chinese in the world.

I walked back to the other side where the barber was at. This time around, the man who had observed me with a cynical eye earlier was lying on the armchair. Alas, as i walked in his direction with the camera in my hands - but not taking aim or anything - he finally spoke what was running through his mind when he first spotted me. 'You don't take any photos here,' he said in a steady, defiant voice as his stern gaze followed my every movement. A chill went down my spine but i once again pulled off an indifferent look, seemingly paying no heed to what he had just said. I avoided looking at him but merely walked on, neither hurrying nor slowing my footsteps. I meant to prove him wrong, that although i had my camera in my hands, i hadn't the intention to photograph him having his hair-cut; his worries are thus unfounded. Thank god there was a corner just ahead and i turned into it almost as a natural course, as if my purpose in walking this direction was only to get there and nothing else. Stealing a quick glance as i was about to disappear from the man's sight, i saw that his gaze had not left me even as i was surely leaving the scene. I thought, this guy surely has something against benign-looking lads like me holding a normal digital camera that isn't even the kind used by an amateur photographer. He had a most unfriendly and insistent stare that cuts to your bone and which conveys a quiet but powerful dislike for any creature that carries a camera.

It was well that the afternoon was getting late and i needed to get home soon. This was actually the first time i had set off on a trip just to take random shots of things that i come across. I had decided that Chinatown wouldn't disappoint, for it has always been that odd place trapped between the past and the demands of the future. Yet I must say that even as Chinatown isn't quite what it used to be, there are still many scenes and things that are worthy of appreciation. You need to take time to walk the area in order to appreciate its multifarious contents, be it the large elderly crowd who live in the area or wjo hang around with their friends in the day, or the gentrified buildings that are justaposed with the looming commercial buildings at the fringe. Not many a young person today would find much in Chinatown that is attractive or a cool place to hang around, but i've grown to like the place a lot. Maybe someday in the future i will hopefully find the time to spend another afternoon visiting other alleys and backlanes which i surely have never set foot on.

Out of respect for the people whom i came across at that back alley, i shan't be posting here any of the photos that i took of the place and of them.

postcards from chinatown

Trucked off

Behind the gates

Company

(still) awake at 430am writing this

The meeting-up-cum-night-ride tonight was good. It felt like the good ol Friday leisure night ride was back. Being a farewell dinner of sorts for Dan who's going to Norway for his SEP, the focus wasn't on the ride. We headed East from our meeting point at the esplanade, where there were huge balls floating on the river at its front, and cycled a short distance to Upper East Coast Road. This was the first time i've been to the night eating place. The drinks and desserts they have are reputedly very good. I ordered 'si mud' tea which is basically just milk tea; it tasted all right. Not long after we sat down, two prominent local celebrities came along and they received immediate attention from the waiter who served them promptly. Heads turned and there was murmuring across the tables - as did happen at our table - but that was about it. No one stared rudely or continued to talk about the pair of celebrities after spotting them initially, much less approach them. Most of the patrons are young adults (late twenties to thirties) who were there having supper with their friends - very much like ourselves indeed. EY commented that in S'pore the paparazzi is not needed - because this place is so small, word gets around quickly. I say our local celebrities and other well-known public figures - whatever their profession is - have it good, coz our media/paparazzi ain't the invasive sort found in Hong Kong and Taiwan.

The ride was good because, as with past friday night rides, which were then a more frequent event, it finished off with a chit-chat session over drinks and light makan. Typically i'm the more quiet one because i have little intimate knowledge about cycling news and bikes, unlike the rest of them who are truly well-informed cyclists. My ignorance therefore precludes me from contributing much to the conversation. Nevertheless, laughter usually flows with easy abundance, for there would always be crass humour, coarse jokes or cheeky, laugh-out-loud comments from someone amongst us.

Tonight was no different.

no write

a host of reasons has kept me away from blogging, but mainly it's because i am feeling rather weary of many things. Being the very perfectionist me, i don't want to ramble aimlessly when the inspiration for writing is sorely absent.

I opened and read an email sent by a friend a long time ago, and there i was, smiling at his words which are all so knowingly foreboding:

"well in the US, people generally avoid courses where there are singaporeans. of course it's not the same for me, coz i'm so lousy that even the americans beat me! ugh... all my top boy genes go down the drain already. sad man. can't wait for graduation, really. wq you're almost there! after that can do all the exciting things like circling ads in the news paper and all that....

"so anyway, hope you have a great year ahead, hope nothing gets in your way and hope the years pass by like scenery in a moving car!"

Well...it's always the little notes, emails and words that people have said which bring a cheer to you whenever you recall them. words can fail us at times yet they also convey so much and make us go through the gamut of emotions - laughter, pain, anger, excitement etc.

my friend who wrote that note, he writes great poetry and songs, and he is able to create refreshing metaphors that are always so delightful, that have the capacity to move and leave a deep impression. I don't know if my years will pass by like scenery in a moving car, but i hope the engine of the car will be sturdy so that it will not cause car-breakdown so often along the long journey ahead of me.

well kept secrets

It's that time of the year again when you do your personal stocktaking. You dig into the deepest corners of your cupboards and drawers, rummaginng through old stuff that comprises old keepsakes as well as dusty albums, notebooks and what not. Not that you wanted very much to go through this tiring ritual, but you needed to clear away or rearrange your personal items to create badly-needed space for new additions.

Many of the things you find, they probably have little or no practical value. But you are loath to discard them. Some things, you can't just justify their utility (or lack thereof) based on hard-headed rationality. It isn't just about precious memories of the past, of people and of incidents, that make you cling to them. Often, you are reluctant to part with them because to do so would be akin to a seeming act of self-betrayal, as if you have decided to sever important links that reside in those items which, over the years, have been relegated to obscure corners in your room.

In a bid to free up space on my cluttered work desk, i once again opened up all my drawers and cupboards, surverying how i shall go about to create additional space. Each time i do this, i am surprised that there actually are still things which i can afford to throw away, even if this seemed to be forced by circumstances. It's either because i take a longer time to convince myself that such and such actually has no use anymore, or that i have unknowingly discriminated against my possession, deciding that certain things are more important than the rest. The truth is probably something simpler: i have accumulated too much rubbish which hasn't been disposed of, and now's the time to act.

In the midst of my clearing the cupboard, i found certain things that got me re-acquainted with my early years all over again. Things which are probably worthy of grandfather stories many years down the road; things which may find unlikely historical value thrust upon them with the passing of time. First i took out a small box out of a yet bigger shoe box used to keep various little items. The small box contains phonecards which i used to collect at a time when it was still fashionable and obligatory to use public phones. There are so many of them, i wonder who i had called up when they were in use. Of course, many of them were taken from my mum after she had used them. Judging from the value of the cards, one wonders if the amount spent on purchasing them is not comparable to the mobile phone bills that are chalked up presently.

But i digress. Collecting phonecards is a simple hobby that i had picked up at an age when one is given to collecting all kinds of things, in part because there were limited entertainment and activities. Certainly it's not the forgettable memories of using smelly public phones that had me collecting them. New and different designs of phone cards were released frequently and different priced cards had different designs. Typically, the higher valued ones like $10 or $20 have prettier designs. These were the ones that i could only check out at the shops but otherwise had no money to buy. I also had no wish to purchase them. By buying the $2 and $3 ones, which would be used up in a shorter time, i would be able to own more cards. This, to a young boy who thinks only in terms of numbers - the bigger the better - is of course more important than owning exotic designed cards. I remember the different designs often fascinate me, not unlike how a child gets excited over worthless stickers (which become destroyed the sooner they come into his possession). Aesthetically, the phone cards are very appealing. Sometimes they have pictures of animals or vintage vehicles, other times they are simply portraits of different aspects of Singaporean life.

At some point of time, however, mobile phones become cheap enough for widespread possession and use. It wasn't a sudden realisation that i had ceased collecting phonecards (because they were no more), nor did the realisation ever really sink into my consciousness. It's the kind of thing which will just fade away quietly, until one day you rediscover them and reminisce about their history.

Not just my collection of phonecards, but i have also old watches, key chains, an unfunctioning pager, etc. etc. These are the things which i probably will never throw away unless a fire breaks out in my home one day and burns everything (Choi!).

the aftermath

Post marathon, i felt like i have dutifully finished the second round of examinations, that with its completion my holidays can finally be said to begin proper. Just like the school exams that i've had, the run on Sunday was an anticipated event, one that awaited to be finished with the full knowledge that once it's over all suffering would end. I make it sounds like i've been put through great misery that is of my own doing, but this is not true. Yes, my legs have been aching since after the run yesterday and, yes, the run was painful indeed. But as others who have taken part and who did their best would have you know, nothing beats the euphoria of having accomplished a marathon. It's not everyday that one takes the effort (which is considerable in extent) to run such distance, especially when one is neither an athlete nor a runner by profession. What i want to say is that as the marathon is over now, this brings to a close a chapter of my life in year 2005, so to speak. My schedule for the remaining days of the year, as it is, is now free from events and appointments that invariably inundate our personal calender. Which is why while one is still a student, the school vacation is always a delightful prospect. It provides an important respite that allows the human body to rest and refuel, the human mind to reflect.

Training
Training for the marathon started in earnest in August, although this little fact gives a completely lopsided picture of the truth. Twice a week Jon, EY and I would run 8km round campus, and this culminated in our running the army half-marathon in September. After that, as school work caught up with all of us, the frequency of training inevitably took a plunge, especially the weeks just before the marathon. Our training was very inconsistently maintained, to say the least. If one were aiming for a personal best timing in the marathon, there's no doubt that a training regime has to be adhered to diligently. To that end, Jon and I were hardly harsh on ourselves because we didn't set out to run the fastest that we could - we had neither the drive nor the wish to achieve that.

Gungho EY
On the other hand, EY, who has run the Philadelphia marathon the year before, had great aspirations. I knew him through cycling but it was through our training for the marathon that i got to know him better. A focused, imaginative, confident and often humourous guy, he pursues his interests with great passion. So much so that it was in fact his enthusiasm and discipline that pushed Jon and i to keep up with the weekly training. Without his participation, i can safely say for myself and Jon that we would be taking things easy and would most certainly not have trained as diligently as we had. For he's the one who takes note of how fast or slow we run, whether our timing has deteriorated, makes plan for running progressively longer distance, etc. etc. This was a far cry from two years ago, when Jon and I ran the same marathon without any proper training.

Race Day morning: Deja Vu
430am - i reached the stadium just in time before the chartered bus was about to leave. I wasn't feeling excited, nor was i worried. I got on the bus and was greeted by a scene reminiscent of army days. It was the wee hours of the morning, passengers on the bus were mostly - overwhelmingly - young males, and what's more, a quick scan on the bus registers the unmistakable observation that most of the fellow marathoners have very short and neat hair, not unlike that of a typcial soldier. Perhaps i shouldn't be surprised, since i've noticed that most people who do sports regularly tend to prefer to keep their hair short.

The Run
For the majority of us, when we attempt a difficult, unfamiliar or new task, especially one that challenges our comfort zone and mental strength, we are bound to feel jittery, excitement perhaps, a keen sense of anticipation definitely. I felt none of that before the race started nor during the race itself. I hadn't expected to. This being not the first marathon that i'm running, i had no mental barrier to overcome. I knew that with a comfortable pace the first 21km was going to be easy-going, even enjoyable. The sun's not out yet at 6am and you run in the early hours amid a city that gradually emerges from darkness to daylight, though in the midst of running you probably wouldn't bother to appreciate or notice the change. As the day slowly approaches noon the heat is acutely felt and makes every minute of your run increasingly unbearable. After the 30km mark every kilometer seems such a neverending stretch - there's a signboard showing the distance covered at every kilometer interval - that you begin to wonder whether the authorities have made a mistake with the measurement of distance. All this i had expected to face during the run, and all this i did experience on the actual run.

As EY so titled his blog post, 'doing it for the second time does not make it any easier', this is certainly true of my second attempt. Yet on hindsight, having done the marathon before makes you mentally prepared for the challenge. When every part of your leg aches terribly in protest while the scorching sun (the heat this year was exceptionally excruciating) hangs resolutely above throughout the morning, this calls for perseverance and self-motivation to work against conditions of adversity. It is when you merely have to grit your teeth and run on, resisting the constant urge to quit running and walk mostly for the remaining distance. Of course this is provided one has done sufficient training, for it would be utterly foolish to persist running and risk self-afflicted injuries if one wasn't prepared.

Why run a marathon then?
Firstly, i never aspire to run a marathon. Running certainly isn't my cup of tea. I find it a fairly monotonous activity and, besides, in the long term it does damage to your knees. i signed up because Jon wanted to, because two silly young men wanted to prove their worth while they still are able to do so. Secondly, because i need motivation to run regularly, which the marathon provided me with. It is a goal whose fufilment requires commitment and purposeful planning; it forces me to make a concious effort to run regularly. As someone who has to take the IPPT every year, it's important that i keep up with running, yet the problem is that i am not motivated to do so. Signing up to run a marathon helps in that sense. Above all, i run with my friends, something which is important because i just can't bring myself to run on my own. Having company is definitely essential for someone who lacks self-discipline.

In the end, i reckon i've never before clocked so much running mileage in a few months. Thanks to the company of Jon and EY, there was never a dull moment during our training.
Now, the third day after the marathon, i am quite fortunate and surprised that my legs have taken a shorter time to recover than the last time. I'm not sure if i would do it again next year, but if i were to, this time i would aim for a personal best timing - before my knees give way and age catches up.

Re: my tom yang diarrhoea friend

On msn with my tom yang diarrhoea friend:

gin: uncle where's the p-h-o-t-o?
him: still in the camera lol
gin: can u make urself a useful man
him: hmm
him: lazy to xfer until the card gets almost full haha
gin: ur holiday is going to be bad. Coz i say so. Coz u aren't uploading ur photos
him: choy
.
.
him: r u writing an email telling everyone abt my inefficiency at uploading photos
gin: i wasn't. but since u mentioned this, i shall blog about it

from where i live

It is not a breathtaking scene, just a typical view of the suburban landscape which I live in, very nondescript. You need not take a closer look to agree that its character is given by the ubiquitous HDB high-rise flats that litter the landscape. Incidentally, this is taken from the block which i live in. But I never find this scene that greets me everyday attractive, mainly because it is very ordinary, you can probably see this from any high-points in the heartland.

Whenever the sky turns ominously dark and heavy cumulus clouds hung threateningly low, however, i invariably find myself surveying the scene. It is a scene that is always there, unchanging no matter the days or months or years that have gone by. It was on one such occasion that it dawned on me how far and wide the landscape encompasses. There aren't any spectacular landmarks, nor are there verdant mountain tops or rivers within sight. But it is a reassuring sight whose vastness seems only visible when rain or stormy weather is imminent.