Man's Bra

Now, I never knew that there existed a Man's Bra. There are big breasted men around, for sure, but i've never heard such men, or others, have any need for a brassiere. Not anymore.

This afternoon i was on my way out of the office when a man wearing a bra was spotted on CNA's programme. Why, the programme is featuring the Japanese, of course: these chaps have some of the most zany and innovative ideas amongst all societies.

Anyway, i didn't catch why there was a need for man's bra, but the snippet that I caught seemed to say that there's good demand amongst men for man's bra. One interviewee, speaking in Japanese, said something to this effect: 'It's been a long time. Im so glad they now have bra for men'. I was rather amused, for i can't fgure out why men would need to wear a bra, much less be excited about wearing one.

And the CNA programme that was on TV: Amazing Asia.

Truly amazing.

Autumn Transit

My heart leapt with sheer delight when I looked up and saw the vivid red, orange and golden rust interspersed with green gleaming above and sliding past me.

I thought i glimpsed autumn.

untrained

My friend Eugene once asked me if I had a choice, would I prefer to commute by train or drive to work. Without hesitation, I said I would drive if I could and had the means. Not because I am spoilt and despise public transport, but because the truth is that travelling by train – these days, at least – is an unpleasant experience. And if someone were to ask me to compare the situation here with Japan or other countries where their trains are far more crowded, I would politely say that’s irrelevant – because I live in Singapore and not Japan or anywhere else, for that matter. It doesn’t affect me if the situation elsewhere is far worse and that because of this fact I should be thankful for what I’ve to put up with over here. No.

One can’t really expect to have a seat or few passengers on the train during the peak hours – this much is granted. And I am not so much annoyed by overcrowding as I am by the inconsideration and disagreeable habits of fellow passengers. I have to admit that sometimes it’s to no fault of others that i find myself being irritated, and I should have myself to blame for being fussy.

Just this morning, I moved to the centre of the carriage as usual and planted myself there for the rest of the journey. After a while, I found myself having to listen to the bitching over the phone by the lady standing next to me. Nothing on the train seemed to quite affect her, and she continued her conversation with what I guessed to be her colleague throughout the journey. Her tone was mildly severe and I guessed she’s the sort of woman who is very particular and who one should like to avoid crossing swords with. She had a stern expression each time I glanced her side profile.

I wished I could be oblivious to her conversation but, as someone who is fairly observant and sensitive to his surroundings, I couldn’t shut out the information that she’s feeding into the mouthpiece, even when I resorted to plugging my earphones. (I am not one who can endure loud music so the volume will never be turned up beyond a certain level.)

While I was trying hard to ignore this constant irritation to my left, I soon felt a frequent jabbing at my back on the right side. The source of the jabbing: a magazine, the owner of which is a lady of keen focus, for she perused her magazine with a concentration that could probably only be shaken if the train derailed its tracks. I do wish I had the tenacity of such folks whom I meet all too often during my journeys of survival (I travel to work and earn a living, don’t I).

These incidents (and there are many more) may seem petty and I won’t disagree to some extent. But everyone has his or her own level of preference and tolerance. What these little actions and details and occurrences do is that they conspire to encroach on my consciousness, making it impossible for me to find quiet and equilibrium in the realm of space and rest within each of us that we could and would retreat into when we need to. These are the ‘noises’ in life that we can all do without.

I don’t need to drive a car. I just need to avoid contact with the kaleidoscope of disagreeable habits that unfortunately assault each of us everyday and which we can’t escape from – unless you live on a farm faraway in the outskirts of city. Maybe then you can. Just maybe.

Pictured Words

Ever since Facebook came along, I've been posting fewer random pictures here. Most of the photos are on FB, where i can upload them and add captions easily. It's a great way to share photos there coz you can control the privacy settings - something which i consider essential. I make it a point to share the photos with friends whom i took photos of and with, for i think sharing them is basic courtesy. And besides the aesthetic pleasure of viewing well-taken shots, one certainly would be able to find joy looking at fond moments that have passed.

That aside, as i shared with JpW over dinner this evening, i like to take pictures because now and then I like to have a good picture accompany what i write. Some pictures by themselves - as the saying goes - speak a thousand words - without needing any description. They demonstrate the power of images to stir emotions and fire up imagination.

On the other hand, adding a choice picture to a piece of article - or any text, for that matter - can help (vividly) convey the writer's message, or it could increase the pleasure of reading simply by making a subtle suggestion or through association, depending on what sort of conclusions/messages the writer would like to lead his reader to.

Here's a photo that i randomly took when i stumbled on a small haven recently. After uploading it and deciding on the caption, i was inspired enough to write the following (cliched probably) as caption:

The ever delightful hint of escape. Gone with the water - and the wind.

And no, I am not suggesting my state of being - though i would very much like a quiet boat ride out. Gone with the water - and the wind.

Here's another photo that I like, not so much the photo itself, but the nice, quiet place in the photo.

i like. magazines.

Somewhere i read: 'No modern abode is complete without some casually stacked books on your coffee table to reflect your taste.'

The 'books' could have been replaced by 'magazines', and it would still come off perfectly fine. And why, that line came from a magazine i'd read, of course.

I like magazines. I like the travel sections: the picture spread and interesting stories that tell of little known facts, curious information, amazing discoveries. I like the feel of their sleek covers, the glossy pages, the captivating fonts. And i happen to think that a magazine is not good enough unless it has lots of pictures. Gorgeous pictures, no less.

I like to read magazines, to be sure. From the serious type, to the lifestyle kind. The latter, i especially like the casual mood, stylish pages and easy texts. And if it comes with well-written, intelligent articles, all the more better. Words and pictures - they can hardly go wrong with me (the nice ones, i mean).

I like flipping through magazines and letting my eyes (perhaps more than my mind) guide me through the pages till they linger, unconsciously, on a particular text or picture. So frivolous, I know. But frivolity is as much a fact and need in life as are solemnity and propriety.

And i say again, I like magazines. Oh well.

i like. here.

Of the few times i was in the area, i never felt like stepping into the store.

But not this time.

I even think I will be going back again, when i have all the time to linger, explore, sniff out the good stuff - and be surprised.

And it all started with a random decision.

l like. walking here.

One of the few things about going home late at night is that i like walking through the road that runs between the two towering HDB blocks. Avoiding the covered walkways and void decks, i would purposely walk along the empty road (save for the retired cars) that stretches some 200 metres. Despite the closeness of the blocks, the narrow road (or carpark drive-through) is almost a piece of urban oasis, lying in perfect stillness. I like walking down and feeling the openess of the area, which can only be felt at night. Usually there is a gentle wind that seemed inevitably channelled through this open passage, and when it caresses me while the calm and silence of the place is pleasantly experienced, i would feel a transient jolt of rejuvenation.

If there's a motif that weaves through my life, it could well be the desire and longing for space: unstifled, uncluttered, unrestrained; expansive, luxurious, and peaceful space in which all the weight upon one becomes distributed and, as a consequent, one feels lighter.

I like. little D.

I made friend - sort of - with cute little D who has inherited the good looks of his Dad & Mum. Feeling restless halfway through the dinner, Little D moved out of his baby seat and sat next to me, though it was more because he was bored than he took a fancy of me.

On our way to the carpark later, his mum holding his left hand, his dad walking in front, i walking alongside the family - little D stretched out his little arm and reached for my hand. It was BIG hand compared to his. He sort of casually, almost as a reflex perhaps, took my hand and curled his fingers round my forefinger and middle finger. Then he just continued walking, holding my two fingers on one side, his mum's hand on the other, swaying a little, shuffling forward, lost in his own world.