miles away, missed

Was it the brief interlude of respite that I miss? A free soul - almost - wandering in a foreign land, alone for short moments but feeling more than a pang of slight liberatation. Moving through unfamiliar streets, gazing langurously at new sights, feeling one's presence in a foreign land: a sense of detachment and foreigness quickly emerges to occupy one's consciousness. One's state of mind and being? Tender yet vulnerable; light and contented.

Or was it the joy and thrill of travelling? Being away from the familiar, the claustrophobic, the ceaseless; the promise and anticipation of the unfamiliar, the unseen, and the exotic. The excitement and desire to go beyond one's shores - these feelings never disappear.

Or was it the place - its particularity and character - that makes me think of it, miss it? Was it Shanghai and Shanghai itself that makes me recall fondly that brief interlude?

my ideal bed

Methinks the happiest person on earth is the toddler in the pram who gets around without having to move, without needing to get out of his bed, without having to squeeze through throngs of noisy people. All he does is to lie back in his little cozy nest, maybe suck his thumb, hug his little bolster and gaze curiously at the world around him. Most importantly, he can stay in his bed all the time but still get to places.

I want to be that toddler.

that perfect brew

It's nice to see (that's important) and it's nice to drink (that's also important, if not more). Ay, I'm such a sucker for aesthetics, i think it would be a good idea if i could get to know how my tea and coffee is served before i decide on what to get.

Which my polite friends would point out, you'll never get to drinking your tea/coffee. Oh well.

Sign of Middle Age

It is a sign of what my life is like right now: drinking wine with Bosses late after work; drinking coffee with boss early before work; having lunch with Bosses between work.

Quite unexpectedly, Big Boss (henceforth BB) walked out of his office, asked how many people were still around, said he had a bottle of wine; he wanted to get glasses. (When he's gone for a while, i whispered to colleague next to me, 'i don't want wine, i want to go home!') As things turned out, BB is a man who knows his stuff. He drinks well ('I drink my hard liquor neat'), eats the finest food, knows a goddamn awful lot about wine and food. Wouldn't be far off the mark if i say he's quite the connoisseur. I don't know a great deal about wine (though at the way my learned friend is lifting me from existence to living, maybe soon enough i will know a lot more), but I can say the wine that BB shared was good stuff. I enjoyed it as much as the stories volunteered by him, K and JW.

BB not only eats and drinks well, he is also ahead in the race when it comes to running. Way, way ahead, in utmost certain fact. Hearing him speak and knowing his timing, it is as if you so much as run a 4hr 01min timing for the full marathon, you belong to the category called 'Slow'. And because i belong to this category (i.e. anything more than 4 hours), as do most other ordinary folks, i believe, I was happy to be silent on the topic. Well, i did comment that there was a drastic, disappointing drop in the number of runspirators for the marathon this year. Almost no groups along ECP actually. (Where are the drummers, percussion groups and youthful cheer teams of yesteryears?!)

So the question was posed to BB: what makes him run the marathon these years? (He had remarked that our body is not designed to run marathon distance, or something close to that.) Sporting a wry smile - which is usually prelude to some sardonic or acute humour - he professed that when you hit middle age, you run a marathon. Actually, you either run a marathon, or you go skirt chasing, or you drive a sports car.

Which makes me wonder, maybe i'm hitting middle age a bit too early? ;))

Nirvana

My hunger appeared to have subsided, or so i imagined, and my mind started to lift itself out of starving mode. Good enough. It was tiring running for more than two hours, and to have to carry thoughts of my hungry stomach striking protests, that's another weight sapping one too little remaining ounce of energy that's left of me.

So, I began to lose thoughts of hunger. My weary legs seemed to have found strength, striking forward with greater assurance of their, er, foothold. The landing felt balanced, and there even appears to be a newfound momentum. Gathering slowly, but present nevertheless.

My hopes were rekindled. I felt less weak. Then my mind - that all-powerful tool that controls without a word spoken, or a finger lifted - detected a signal. Unmistakably so.

'Your mind's drawing the tiredness and pain away from your feet. It is sucking away the negative energy, that's why your steps not only don't hurt, they feel stronger. Mind over matter. You've mastered your strikes. And your running technique - landing on the front of your feet - that you've conciously put to practice - it works! Here and now's the proof!'

I felt stronger, could feel little pain (it's disappeared). My pace, my running posture, my confidence, they have never been better. My body is in sync with itself, all the critical drivers in kinetic unison.

The feel-good thoughts didn't stop there. My mind was in an excited state, I reckoned, and it decided to fill itself with positives. It detected yet another signal, this time as if it came from divinity.

'Amazing. You are running better, never felt so good, and if you continue like this - running at this speed, feeling little pain, thinking only good - you may just be able to achieve a superb timing, a record record! Hell, you are reaching Nirvana! You could go on and on, running at this pace!'

I am attaining Nirvana? Its mere existence - the thought - seems to corroborate its own prognosis.

Some time later - not that much later, really - the all powerful mind seemed to encounter a grave challenge. There could be internecine strife, I supposed. I tried hard to feel and search within for my nirvana strength, but it seemed to elude me. Tiredness and pain seemed to have been drained down from top (mind) to below (legs). The negative energy seemed to be exerting its presence. If i felt deep enough, if i concentrated hard enough, I swore I could hear and feel the devastating hungry thoughts. They were going to inhabit my erstwhile emancipated stomach, and bear me down with its mental weight.

Enlightenment came not long after. Again, the all-knowing mind.

Power Gel effect has been consumed. No more effect. Kaput. No more nirvana dream. No nothing!

So much for the positives.

Rainman

Sunday. Today. It was raining the entire day. Lovely weather to sleep in and snuggle under your blanket. But instead, I was outdoor in the naked rain - for nearly five excruciating hours save for a lunch in between. Had the rain started when i just stepped out of home, things would have been different.

After lunch, the rain was still beating relentlessly. It's the sort which you take one look and you know instinctively that it would go on for another eternity. Fat chance of the rain stopping anytime soon. So we finally braced ourselves to continue the journey. I was driven by only one overriding concern: to get home soonest and have a hot bath!

Home, however, was a good 40+ km away.

I can't remember if ever there was a time i was exposed in the rain for so long, seriously. When we rode out from Changi Village, I wasn't just trembling - that's too mild to describe my condition - I was shaking. The rain was hardhitting, the wind was swirling and the cold was envelopng. My arms, torso, hands, fingers - they started to shake like spasms which I couldn't suppress. I let out a Whooooo Wheeeeee every few seconds when i started to shake uncontrollably. Not too long after, I did the only thing that could make me warmer and alleviate my uncontrollable shaking: I picked up speed and surged forward along the coastal stretch. Ironically, while I was mentally and physically battling the cold, I thought this was just the training that i need to push myself to cycle faster.

By the time i reached home, i had transformed into a Rainman. Having been exposed for some 5 hours in the rain - torrential at some point in time - i was amazed that i survived at all and did not get pneumonia!
What an overwhelming showers of blessing for my Comeback Ride. It can only get better from here!

Hai Jiao Qi Hao

Cape No 7

Yes, I finally caught the show! So glad I managed to catch it before it runs out in the theaters - and with the bubbly, excited Ms T no less. As countless reviews said it, the movie is a crowd-pleasing favourite.

I sat through slightly more than 2 hours feeling satisfied and contented. With a local authentic setting, pleasing characters, funny scenes and pleasant music, it's hard not to like the movie. The love story - if there's one - is weak and some connections are filmsy, but the light-heartedness, the funny characters and the rustic setting of the seaside town together evoke a warm, laidback charm that makes all the shortcomings forgivable.

Lovely movie. If you haven't caught it, you can consider watching it.

I love pancakes!

Living my not-so-secret unambitious ambition of chilling out in a nice cafe, imbibing the langurous mood, forgetting the inexorable march of time.

runaway laughs

Running 84km (Addidas Sundown) is no longer challenging yourself. It's just 'insane', says Jon.

'The only time i will ever run a marathon is when I have to do it to survive, which I don't think will ever happen', says my fav co-worker. 'I can think of thousand other things to do.'

The lady in his office says she will see him at the end of the run. Can't be, he says, for he's running the marathon, which will take a couple of hours. She says yes, becoz she's running 10km, it starts later and she will take 2 and 1/2 hours to complete. Jon says: You run with your arms for 10km, you will also not take 2 1/2 hours!

Dancing to a Murakami tune

Ms C shot me an instant, unimpressed look - with a slight sneery smile - when i told her i was reading Murakami now. Yes, it's what everyone is reading. And by everyone, of course i don't mean everyone; i mean nearly everyone, people who read, you know.

The sort of books that everyone reads is the sort that i may consciously avoid. I tend to steer clear of populist reads, which Murakami's works surely fall under. This is a somewhat visceral reaction, counter-intuitive. I know some books are hugely popular because they are, as a matter of fact, darn good. I just like to get to them later, prefering to scan around for less well-known but equally good works. But this is very difficult, because more often than not one relies on store's and friends' recommendations, book reviews, critics' and book awards to suss out a good book. I mean, how else does one know whether a book is worth one's time reading - unless you have hell lot of a time to browse and read synopsis, which i think most of us do not have.

This is not going to sound impressive, but what i like about Murakami's books is his brevity, his surrealist (absurd, you may say) stories and the almost easy words that flow poetically. There are facetious lines that he writes which are easy on the eyes and mind. Then there are the somewhat pseudo-thoughtful words that seem contrived but nevertheless palatable. It helps that the language is simple and you can finish a book of his quite fast.

The first Murakami book that i read started well enough but soon worn me out after each new story turns out to be each new bizzare story. I grew tired and decided i shan't read another Murakami book. Then I read a book by another author, which i picked up from the paper's review. At the end of the review, it says there, 'If you like this book, read also Murakami's Wild Sheep Chase'. I like the book enough to decide to check out Murakami's book. Guess I wasn't disappointed, for now I am reading the third Murakami book.

Here's an exerpt:

"You're not such a bad cook," Yuki said.

"No, not true. I just put my heart into it. That's the difference. It's a question of attitude. If you really work at something, you can do it, up to a point. If you really work at being happy, you can do it, up to a point."

"But anything more that, you can't."

"Anything more than that is luck," I said.

"You really know how to depress people, don't you? Is that what you call being adult?"

- Dance Dance Dance by Haruki Murakami

Sinfully Good

Well, photos don't do justice to the awfully good food. Table was just too messy and it was impossible to snap an 'isolated' shot. What does one do then? Ditch the camera, eat the food!