Sunday, 28th March

I love my Sunday mornings: the feel of cool morning breeze in my face; the still silent streets that are taking their time to get cracking; the friendly sky peeking above; and the gentle, luxuriant rays spreading across the earth.

It's all so lovely and is the perfect way to be reminded of the beauty of mornings.


Sunshine flooding the field


Classified Road


Bikers' Territory


I love these hanging colourful triangular flags - they always evoke a positive and carnival feel.


Im drawn to such quaint single-storey old buildings. Pity this is out of bounds.

快乐

“快乐无需特意追寻，因为它偶尔会找上门。。。”

White Whispers

Perfect Sunday

I couldn't ask for a more perfect Sunday. An excellent weather for a morning ride. Then the perfect storm to snuggle in bed. And like the day before, the rain retreated come evening, leaving behind a trail of wet debris but cool air. Lovely.


No words could describe how gorgeous the scene was. The fields were shimmering under the flood of soft golden sunlight that illuminated the entire area.


I often marvel at how taking a few steps forward or backwards or shifting one's position, could give a different kind of pleasure simply from seeing things from another angle. The most inanimate things can lend aesthetic pleasure if one can appreciate them.


Three lines across


Beauty from ground to top


Reflections after downpour


A street lamp and its tree pal stand against the last light

After the saturday rain

On my way home this evening, instead of heading straight home after I got off the train, I decided to walk over to the park. A few minutes ago, I was standing in the train, feeling tired and hoping to get home as quickly as I could. But then I looked out the window and saw the blue sky passing imperceptibly by as the train was pulling into the station. It was carrying the remnants of the undischarged rain, light grey clouds that were floating slowly in the same direction, as though dreary from the rain battle that had gone on for the whole day. There was something alluring about the scene, which is probably the sense of tranquility evoked by the after-rain evening.

My spirits were as light as my steps as I crossed the road, stepped on the grass and moved to the edge of the lake. Parts of the ground were still wet from the day's rain, while a gentle breeze refreshened my tired body. Then finally, I got an unobstructed view of the sky. Though it didn't seem as magnificent as it did when I saw it on the train, it now has moving water beneath and distant concrete outcrops to complement its silent symphony.

More than half an hour later and as the sky was fast darkening, I turned back and started towards home. I put on my earphones, tuned in to the radio searching for a station that hopefully was playing some music that matched my mood. A chinese song caught my ears - a pretty old song - and right after it came another nice song whose name I don't know though I've heard the song before and like it - it has a very upbeat tune. As I walked through the carpark flanked by two towering HDB blocks, I turned back to look behind me occasionally. The sky has not turned completely dark, but there was nearly no presence of people around. All was quiet and the only sound I could hear was the music playing from my MP3.

And so this was my evening, and I just want to say it was quiet and wonderful.

The Big Screen - 9 years on

You know these days, a wedding dinner is never complete without a photo slideshow of the wedding couple. It's as cliched as it can be, but I guess the purpose is to share the bliss of the couple's journey with guests, to share where they started their couplehood and how they have come so far. It's supposed to lend a warm and personal touch, a love story told through pictures.

Most friends I know aren't too sentimental about this, and not a few even had their friends do the slideshow for them. I often wonder if the couple gave some thought to the photos that were selected for the slideshow though. For they have to select a few choice photos to cover their entire life thus far, from pre-birth (that is, their parents!) to birth to toddler to school to army to university to - the list goes on. Yet there's only time and space for that many photos to be shown. Would they care to choose something memorable or signifcant, something that captures a part of their life journey before they now turn into someone's husband or wife? (It is noteworthy that all photo slideshows start with the groom, then followed by the bride - how typical of our paternalistic tradition!)

Truth be told, the only times when I enjoyed viewing such slideshows are at the wedding dinners of close friends. That's because I feel a closer connection, naturally.

Last year, I was at Cal's wedding dinner. The lights dimmed, the slideshow began to play. I was expecting the usual, to see a toddler grow to a young man to the transformed husband of somebody today. What I did not expect was to see a photo of Cal, Ts and me come up on screen. It was totally unexpected, and I didn't know if I was surprised or touched. It was silly because I didn't think C thought of anything about the photo. In fact, it's probably randomly selected. This much about C I know.

Nevertheless, I was struck by the photo. It was taken nearly 10 years ago, at a time when we were trouble free (compared to now) and clowning around like nobody's business. Our hair was long - mine was highlighted even - and we wore clothes that no self-respecting youth of today would be spotted in in public. It was also a time before we own mobile phones or digital cameras, before we learnt to drive, much less own a car. We were waiting for enlistment and had lots of time to kill.

But more than all this, that was a photo that bears proof of the friendship we once shared, before we each went our very different way, until today when one of us was going to embark on another different stage in life.

I have nearly forgotten about the photo - until it appeared on the big screen, right before nearly 400 guests. It caught me there.

Space & Solitude #1: Colours of Nostalgia

Does nostalgia have colours?

A brooding Chinese lady in Cheongsam (fanning herself with a paper fan, the high slit of her cheongsam revealing her fair slender leg) seated at the side would complete this picture.

Breakfast at Tiffany's

What would a good start on a weekday be like for you? If each day were a story waiting to unfold, the morning the opening scene, afternoon the development, night the closing - how would you like to write yours, and who do you want to cast in it? Will there be a climax, or will it be uneventful? Nobody wants to read about uneventful stuff. Will it have a happy ending, or a sad one? Happy endings give a feel-good vibe, most people would want it, no? And if your story were but a chapter of a book, then does it not make your life a book, your everyday a chapter of a book-in-making? Then it begs the question of what makes a good book, and therefore a good life? JW quoted and told me this of his book: My life's an open book, just don't expect me to read out to you. I wish to say of mine: My life's an open book too, just don't expect to find it easily. Perhaps when we all find our books, we will find some pages missing, some turned yellow, some we wished torn and removed. But the plot's already developed, things have happened. Which perhaps leaves us to do the more logical thing: to write the rest of the book the way we want. That's what they say, live a life of no regrets. Be the author of your chapters, write your own book. And maybe it will come to the point where not only is yours an open book, but you yearn to read out your story to others, at least to those who are interested to hear it.

Strange why I wrote this. All it took was Breakfast at Tiffany's to send me into a fleeting moment of felicity. I was on the train this morning, and I thought the best way to start your day is to hear a terrific song that sweeps you off the ground when you least expect it. Call it the opening music to the day's story; it's got to be upbeat, inspiring. Music can have that effect.

And I like to suggest that to sustain the happy shot, you might want to consider topping it off with a breakfast set of half-boiled eggs, toast bread and tea.

I did. Today.

Im lovin it!

I really like the pancakes I had on Saturday. I really do. ;)

1.48 AM

I cycled on Sunday and it was a good ride. Nevermind that I had not cycled this hard for a long time and my legs were groaning with familiar pain at the end of the ride. The thing is, I finally got to exercise, after like a month-long hiatus due to work. And to think this was just the first good thing that started my Sunday.

Then it rained in the afternoon, a really long, heavy rain. Although I could still feel the heat even as the rain was pouring, I knew it was better than having dry, pungent air baked by the sun, which was pretty much the condition for the past month. I was, to use a favourite local term, slacking away at home. At 3pm I went down to the kopitiam to eat char kway teow, and was forced to remain there for the next hour because the rain decied to launch a renewed second strike, only this time it was stronger with greater water power. This was fine with me, seating in the airy kopitiam filled mainly with balding uncles, a few stray teenagers and other aunties that you see around in a typical housing estate. I had a book with me (yes, I carry a book around), and there was TV. It sounds pathetic, but I assure you it's not. I am not just the sort who can only read and hang out at nice cafes, mind you.

The final good thing about last Sunday was that I turned off the lights and went to bed at like 11.30pm. I tell you, this has to be a record. The last time I slept so early was probably three years ago. Of course I am joking. But it's goddamn true that I have not slept before midnight for the longest time ever. You see, it's 1.36am now and I am typing this post for no clever reason. That's why I say 11.30pm was a record.

SX said that as she gets older, she realised she needed more hours of sleep, not less, which is what older people apparently could do with. I guess when you are really old, it is nature's and your body's way of reminding you of the time you have still, hence we could do with fewer hours of sleep when we get really old and fogey. Anyway, I agree with SX. I need more hours of sleep. A lot more in fact. What does more than more makes by the way?

Today was Monday, and it was the most bearable Monday I ever had. No blues at all. This I attributed to the abundant sleep I had had. It's true, a virtuous cycle begets another. Coming on the heels of Sunday's ride, I took to pounding on the asphalt road tonight; I ran: not from the office to the taxi-stand, but from the office to some unwalkable end and back. And boy, did it feel good. I needed my exercise back to purge all the stresses and bad vibes my body have been subject to, and I finally got my stride. Nothing comes quite close to feeling so good like after a good work-out, I tell you.

Only now I need to maintain and not lose the momentum. Let me check the time now. It's 1.46am. My virtuous cycle ain't that virtuous after all, I reckon. The good thing is, it's 3 more days to Friday. Hopefully when Sunday comes, it will bring with it beautiful Sunday rain, and the start of another virtuous cycle.

Good night. I mean, good morning.

Generation Gap

Unseen Moments # 5: Free Falling

5.15pm. Standing on the platform.
Staring into the rain-dazzled space,
he paused to listen to the whispering drops
that are free falling, free falling,
the feel of release in their weightless motion,
before it ends in the final act of arrival.

Intermission

I heart Chalk & Board


The bourgeoisie choice


Before night falls and the golden leaves darken


A Red Blob that passes me by one too many times. Snap you!


Fish&Co Seafood Platter: Rarely disappoints! Slurp.


Light on blind


Not so pure ovaltine

Hey Bob

When it comes to introducing myself to foreigners and non-chinese, I've taken to mispronouncing my name just so to make it, hopefully, easier for others to address me. I do not have a Christian name, and one of the characters in my first name cannot be pronounced in English phonetics. So it is often a challenge for others to pronounce my name, more so to remember it.

Even when I speak on the phone, there have been times when others somehow (mis)heard my name. Once it was 'Richard'. Another time it was - gasp - 'Rachel'. My name seems to have other English variations, I found out.

Just the other day, a newly known friend, after asking for my name again, said tongue-in-cheek: 'Can we give you another name? Like Bob or something.'

Right, Bob.

Journey

'To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.'