A bad day is one like this

It was one of those absolutely quote-worthy line by Jon, if you will - except that this time it came with an ironic twist. It's not easy to re-enact that moment in words but i will try my best. Yes, for posterity's sake, i will!

We were taking a water break at a Shell Petrol Kiosk along Upper Thomson Road (I reckon we had covered some 3km). Jon and I were resting at a corner of the kiosk while waiting for EY to come out of the toilet.

I was standing up, probably trying to catch my breath. Then Jon, looking and sounding wise, rolled off the aforesaid (trademark) Jon-ism while lowering himself to sit on the kerb: 'Today is one of those days when you wake up in the morning and you know it's going to be a bad day.'

At which point he sat down - down, meaning butt on the kerb.

Almost immediately he rose to his feet. Eyebrows arching - a sign of imminent distress - he stretched his left hand out to reveal a palm covered with slimy grey paint. Next thing we knew, we were both looking at the kerb: it was still wet with paint although this wasn't very apparent.

I can't remember if he cursed and swore instantly but he probably did; it's Jon! His singlet and shorts were also stained with grey paint. But being the forever lucky person he is (and i really do mean he's one hell of a lucky fellow), the paint was soluble - some cheapo brand! - and he managed to wash the stain off his shorts, which otherwise would have been an unsightly patch at his butt.

As for his white NIKE singlet, well, he threw it into the bin with nary a second thought, but not without cursing (again) for good measure. It was the same singlet he had wore for his first marathon in 2003. Today it died a most dishonourable death - unceremoniously dumped in a dustbin located at an obscure, dingy corner. (ok, i should qualify that the singlet was tattering already so it wasn't a completely wasteful throw - at least according to Jon, who is ever ready with a reason to justify every action.)

I don't know why but it took me a while before i burst out laughing. You know, maybe it was natural reflex that held back the laughter: we aren't supposed to be laughing at the expense of a friend's misery, are we? At least not immediately anyway. When i eventually did, i told Jon: 'Hey your remark proved very prescient!'

Here's a classic Jon-ism spouted and validated instantaneously - though it certainly wasn't meant to turn out that way, i'm sure. The timing couldn't have been more perfect; it was comedic! For once, it seemed as if the table was turned on him - and by no less a person than himself!

I know what makes a bad day now. And I know if i ever woke up feeling that it's a bad day, I shouldn't say it out, and i should also look carefully before i sit down anywhere along the roadside or on the kerb.

Jon: 'Luckily (for Shell) I am not a customer, otherwise i will definitely complain! There should be a sign warning people of the wet paint!'

I guess even the luckiest of person would also have his share of bad days.

commuting: crossing paths

"I have always liked the process of commuting; every phase of the little journey is a pleasure to me. There is a regularity about it that is agreeable and comforting to a person of habit, and in addition, it serves as a sort of slipway along which i am gently but firmly launched into the waters of daily business routine.

"...Believe me, there's nothing like routine and regularity for preserving one's peace of mind. I have now made this morning journey nearly ten thousand times in all, and i enjoy it more and more every day... ...The walk at the other end from Cannon Street to my office is neither too long nor too short - a healthy little perambulation along streets crowded with fellow commuters all proceeding to their places of work on the same orderly schedule as myself. It gives me a sense of assurance to be moving among these dependable, dignified people who stick to their jobs and don't go gadding about all over the world. Their lives, like my own, are regulated nicely by the minute hand of an accurate watch, and very often our paths cross at the same times and places on the street each day.

"When i cross over Threadneedle Street by the traffic lights, nine times out of ten i pass a gentleman who wears a different garden flower in his buttonhole each day. He dresses in black trousers and grey spats and is clearly a punctual and meticulous person, probably a banker, or perhaps a solicitor like myself; and several times in the last twenty-five years, as we have hurried past one another across the street, our eyes have met in a fleeting glance of mutual approval and respect."

Galloping Foxley, from Roald Dahl's Tales of the Unexpected


Roald Dahl's short stories often start ordinarily enough: describing a seemingly normal character, or perhaps an all too imaginable scene. Yet that ordinariness is often what subverts the story. One reads his stories with a sense of cautious anticipation, as if preparing not to be caught unaware by the impending twist.

The paragraphs quoted above came from his short story titled Galloping Foxley. What struck me most when i first read it was how he captured in such simplicity the thoughts of a commuter and the almost mechanical regularity of his following a schedule in going to work everyday.

It seemed to convey exactly what a regular commuter feels. Leaving the house about the same time each day, taking the same route or bus to the train station or office - and, inevitably, meeting the same few familiar faces whilst performing this everyday ritual: the schedule is as routine and regular as it can get. And then there are others living in the same area who, too, have to report for work in their office at the same time everyday. Not surprisingly, they go to work on the 'same orderly schedule' as some of us do.

Is it not often, then, that some of us find ourselves crossing paths with some strangers so regularly, until it seemed almost odd that the relationship between the latter and us is that between strangers? These are people whom you see so often, you know silently their favourite standing spot in the train, the kind and exact clothes they wear, and many other details that you have long observed, whether casually or purposely. It's like knowing a secret that nobody but yourself would have picked up.

As the character in the story described of his encounter with a guy, "our eyes have met in a fleeting glance of mutual approval and respect". How true, for I have similarly exchanged knowing glances with individuals whom i see so often whilst commuting, so much so that i wonder sometimes if i should not approach them to make friends. Just imagine we would have much to talk about even though we might have only just been introduced to each other. Strange indeed.

random shot

As seen from beneath.

Changi Airport

“As a boy, i had often found airports exciting because they were the closest thing around to the starship Enterprise, a cut-rate Adventure-land, Tomorrowland, and Fantasyland combined, rich in flashing screens and exotic costumes; now you can see the same kind on every other street corner in Paris, or Sydney, or Vancouver. The modern city is a place where everyone's a stranger, so it seems, on his way to somewhere else."

"Airports say a lot about a place because they are both a city's business card and its handshake; they tell us what a community yearns to be as well as what it really is (much like the people inside them, often, who are dressed up for the occasion, and worn ragged and bare by the experience)."

Pico Iyer, The Global Soul

Airport. n A tract of levelled land where aircraft can take off and land, especially one equipped with hard-surfaced landing strips, a control tower, hangars, facilities for passengers and cargo, and usually a customs house.
(Reader’s Digest Universal Dictionary)


There's something about Changi Airport that makes it enduringly charming - to a local like me, at least. It's a place that I've always enjoyed going to, in large part because of its special character and the vibes it emanates. Accolades notwithstanding, Changi Airport has a snazzy appeal that is closely related to its functional design. I especially delight in its broad walkways and abundance of space. Not being a frequent traveller myself, I am of course only refering to the parts of the airport within reach of non-travellers, who go there variously to send or receive friends and family members, study, luxuriate in its cozy atmosphere or, well, work.

The role of Changi Airport, as with other airports the world over, similarly lends it a certain timeless appeal. It's that one place on the island where one embarks an aeroplane and - legally and officially - leaves the city-state (as well as a dreary soul). That's as close as one can get to feel almost out of Singapore. Even a casual visitor is not immune to such feelings of surreality. After all, remove the barriers and dismantle the physical structure, and one would find that he is as close to being out of his country as the traveller who has just checked in. And as if to accentuate its specialness, Changi Airport is tucked away at the fringe of the island, modestly situated where distance provides a veneer of exclusivity.

Travelling by car along the ECP towards the airport, there's a strange, familiar feeling welling up within as the car nears the destination and moves at a constant speed. The straight road leading to the airport is the first sign that hits on you, telling you that you're about to reach the building; the immaculate trees and flowering bougainvillea that line the road come into view soon enough; and one gazes out of the window to steal a peak at the control tower, that iconic structure that is captured in countless number of postcards and magazines. It's a feeling that is somewhat tinged with a mix of nostalgia and wistfulness: after all, for many Singaporeans, this is a familiar route leading to a repository of memories.

photo-essay: mtb race

Something i had wanted to write about but just never got down to completing. I was at Tampines MTB trail some weeks ago (a Sunday morning) - not as a race competitior, but a supporter-cum-photographer for Jon who was taking part in the race. It goes without saying that I took lots of pictures.

When we arrived at around 10 a.m, the road leading to the MTB trail was already lined with cars, many of which spotted bicycle racks on them.

According to Jon, there were a lot more participants this year. Quite a number of cyclists were milling around in their bikes, warming up for the race. The otherwise bleak compound was awashed in a riotous kaleidoscope of colours, with cyclists of different builds spotting a myriad of jerseys and bicycles.

You can't miss the Red Bull tentage for sure. There were even young, lithesome girls of university-going age who walked around approaching people to give them a free Red Bull - but not before you name a benefit of the drink.

Personally, I never quite like the taste of Red Bull. But that's beside the point.

That's Jon securing his race number to the handlebar. Notice the shadows on the ground and the clear blue sky interspersed with pockets of clouds: the weather was to turn hotter as noon approaches.

I was scorched and parched moving around taking pictures. And it was only until the following day that I realised I was mildly sunburnt.

Participants of the Men Masters Category. They had been waiting for quite some time under the tentage beside where they are in this picture. Being at the front gives an obvious advantage, but it is only so far as one could maintain the lead from start to end.

Many of them were foreigners, who presumably would have experienced more advanced and scenic MTB trail routes in their native countries. Amongst them was one guy whose bicycle chain had snapped in the midst of his race, forcing him to withdraw. It must be devastating not to be able to complete the race, especially so if one had been training hard and looking forward to a good race! Sometimes circumstance and luck play a big role.


Race participants had to manoevure an upslope right at the start of the race. Better to take it slow than to stop pedaling halfway under the watchful eyes of onlookers and supporters alike, who were standing just a few arms' distance away at the side.


This photo could hardly convey the immensity of the cyclist's exhausting labouring. He's probably doing his second lap in this photo.

Meanwhile, supporters and friends of race participants gather at various spots on the hill where the MTB trail cuts and winds through. Most of them only cheered a solitary cheer (as did myself) when their friends cycled past. Seemed to me rather discouraging for the other cyclists - which, basically, include all the cyclists - who gritted their teeth and sweated it out only to cycle past totally passive onlookers.

Not many parents would encourage their kids to take up off-road riding, much less compete in a race. These tenacious kids here, barely bigger than the bikes they are riding, had their parents cheering them from the side.

I noticed that quite many of these kids had fathers who were competing in other race categories. Mostly, they were Caucasian families though.

A picture paints a thousand words, as the old saying goes. Many an intrepid small kid had to cycle up this upslope as did all the adult participants. When gravity proves too much for them to overcome, they got off, pushed their bike and continued the race to the finish.


It's always a delight to take photos of kids. Their endless antics and amusing expressions give one free rein to play with captions.

This boy here obviously wasn't interested in bicycles. But neither is he contented with what he's doing here, coz...


...no sooner had he started fiddling with the large sunglasses (his mum's, probably) than he grew bored with it. Yawwnnnn.


First thing that Jon did when he got to the open space after completing his race was to dump his muddy bike on the cold, hard ground.


A close-up of the extent of 'damage' to the bike. Any more mud clinging to the brakes and derailer and the bike is going to cease working properly.

Cyclists queuing up to have their bike (and themselves) washed. Each of them probably has his own race story to tell.

Both the cyclist and his bike getting a good wash-down here, with a helping hand from the Indian man who basically stood there the entire morning splashing water at bike after bike.

My ever-wandering eyes beamed with delight when i saw this woman walk past holding this almost display-worthy bike. I wasted no time in flashing out my camera. 'Click!'

I was later told that the bike was often spotted at other races. So, the owner of the bike is a veteran of cycling races!

New Look

The old template appears to have mysteriously disappeared. So here it is, a new look. I realised, long long ago, that i would do well with some knowledge of html. Having (still) no knowledge, i feel so useless and hampered. Hmph.

On another note, i like the white border that frames the pictures uploaded to blogger. Just like those that i sent for printing, it gives a polished finish to the picture, accentuating the subject and/or colours.

this birthday

My birthday comes and goes quietly each year, just the way I wish it to be. A couple of friends would unfailingly arrange to meet up, but quite apart from that, it usually passes by with nary a pause or disruption to my everyday routine. I don't throw parties, nor do I treat myself to something indulgent. If anything, I merely turn older, and boy, here's another reason to lament/whine/laugh at how we are surely getting old.

This year however, I have been blessed by gestures and gifts that friends showed towards me. The earliest took me by surprise completely. SP gave me an absolutely elegant-looking MP3 player which, try as he convinced otherwise, did not come cheaply. I had not suspected anything when he asked me whether I had any MP3 player (on the pretext of wanting to get one himself). He's one sly fellow, I must say.

Then on the eve of my birthday, Ad and L drove down to my place (without my knowledge), only to learn that at 11plus pm, I was still on the train going home from office. (Ad could be heard groaning in the phone when L called me!) This time I suspected something was amiss when L called me earlier to ask if I were leaving office soon. By pure coincidence, it was exactly midnight when they picked me up at the train station. We proceeded to the void deck of my block where we had beer and chatted for an hour or so. This despite that Ad was visibly dead tired and L had work the next morning. It was a gesture I appreciated deeply. Nothing beats meeting up with good friends over drinks and a chat.

Later in the night/day I recieved an sms from 10, all the way from Alaska. Enough said.

I also received a birthday card via snail mail from Josh, who belongs to the rare breed of friends who still sends Christmas cards by post every year. It came a few days late, and his cheap excuse was that he was undecided on which card to use. The card was a simple gesture and no matter its late arrival, a card via post is to me a simple but unmistakable gesture of thoughtful sincerity.

Coming at the end of K's three-week long birthday celebrations (haha!), I also met him and Jon for dinner earlier in the week before my birthday. As always, our conversations are riddled with jokes and irreverent comments (mostly from Jon).

All in all, a birthday is an occasion where one is reminded of friendships that one is blessed with. As someone who has always been comfortable with giving more than receiving (for to give more than to receive is to be blessed and content), I am humbled by the generosity of my friends.

Holy Cow

Dug out from my photo album. Meet my cow friend!

Photo courtesy of 1-0.

unfateful episode

Finally went kayaking today. But something totally unexpected happened. A guy standing at the river bank waved at me and beckoned me over. Naturally I couldn't just ignore him so i kayaked over. That proved to be a fatal move. The guy turned out to be part of a production crew who were doing some filming nearby. In less than a minute, he hastily explained and requested that i kayaked over when two well-known local TV personalities walked over - they were filming for a variety show and the TV personalities were approaching people to sample their food as part of their publicity efforts.

Given the bizzare situation - i mean, hello, kayaking and being stopped by a production crew who's doing filming? - I was too stunned to react. It didn't seem right to just ignore him and kayak away.

Soon after, said personalities came over with an entire crew with them. I acted accordingly, having been 'briefed' earlier. Then the TV personalities shouted for others who were kayaking nearby to come over, including my friend.

I hope this will not go on TV though i think it most likely would. Damn!

hair-less truth

You know you are entering a particular age, leaving the yesteryears of hippy youth behind, when topics like receding hairline and balding start creeping into your conversations with friends. Suddenly the Beijing 101 advertisements fronted by mediacorp artistes don't seem that funny or ridiculous anymore. No, they've become, what shall i say, relevant?

If wrinkles are an incriminating scar of lost youth for women, hair loss must be the equivalent for men. I don't think guys are bothered by wrinkles. Besides, it seems that people tend to observe wrinkles in women more than in men, hence guys aren't particularly concerned about it. And I can imagine having a paunch would be less traumatising than losing hair. After all, a paunch is popularly linked to lack of exercise and frequent beer drinking, which seem legitimate enough an excuse. But balding?

What sets balding apart is that, remedies notwithstanding, it appears to be something beyond one's control. I don't know about the science of balding, but i should think watching one's diet and lifestyle wouldn't have much of an impact on controlling hair loss, or does it? While a paunch can be hidden by judicious dressing, it's rather hard to conceal a balding crown. You can't be wearing a hat to work or social functions all the time.

That said, is there anything to feel embarrassed or worried about losing hair? For guys, losing hair is often associated with a drop in confidence and ego. Hair is a potent and visible symbol of vitality and youth. Hence losing hair appears to expose the unpalatable bald truth: one is losing one's youth. And as with many other things, there's always societal perceptions to blame. Guys lose sleep over receding hairline just as women do over developing wrinkles: they worry about what people think of them. It is not for nothing that advertisements on hair loss treatment (as with slimming, treating wrinkles, pimples etc) portray the 'before version' of a satisfied client in a most unflattering light, which is almost surely a gross exaggeration: hideous, repulsive, unattractive, these before-treatment pictures reinforce the fears of you and i who grapple with issues that affect one's self-confidence.

So, what inspired all that above commentary? Well, just the other day F and SP were talking about it. They are probably the last people amongst my friends who will lose confidence about themselves, so for now i don't think they are taking the issue of hair loss too seriously, though F said that he's stopped dyeing his hair for fear that his thinning hair might just become worse. As for me, well, i believe i haven't had to lose sleep over hair loss - yet.

tired but happy

It's been quite a week. I've been meaning to write about a few topics but never got down to doing it. Was busy doing other stuff instead, and was too tired at the end of the day to sit down and write.

I've never worked out so frequently in a short span of time before, maybe except during army, which is quite a different matter, of course. I ran thrice this week, the distance each time ranging from 3km to 8km. Also swam, played badminton, beach volleyball and frisbee. And I was going to kayak today except that I played my friend out and headed down to Comex instead. That proved a bad move: not only did i not get anything (ok, i had wanted to go look-see only), i was cursing and swearing as i wormed my way through hordes and hordes of people in Suntec City - specfically the areas within 500m radius of Comex exhibition hall. I swear i won't ever go again unless i have something in mind that i want to buy.

It's been a tiring week, and i'm going to bed right after finishing this. But i was also happily busy, no doubt because of the endorphins my body have been releasing. More running to come next week!