20 June 2009
26 March 2011
Same man, same vehicle-cart, except the canvass spots a different hue.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Then and Now
20 June 2009
26 March 2011
Same man, same vehicle-cart, except the canvass spots a different hue.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Things Just Happen
We were five people, five too many in a long sterile room crowded with others who have far more important duties than us. Only a while ago, we were chatting amongst ourselves as we walked down the main corridor. There was a palpable sense of worry as we shuffled alongside one another. Silence was an unspoken understanding that bound all of us together. As if the occasion wasn't sombre enough, the place we were looking for happened to be sited at the furthest end, in a corner which took us past all the other rooms. The distance had the effect of prolonging our pregnant footsteps, while time seemed to have slowed down to stretching seconds, weighed down by heavy anticipation of what was to come.
(I am reminded of what ShY posted on her FB status update one day later: "For once, keeping quiet seems to be the best available option.")
When we finally arrived, we weren't sure where we could stand, so we stood around awkwardly for a few moments; there just wasn't any suitable space to plonk ourselves. I looked around; there were numerous small movements glazing my sight, just like how a cinematic camera would play out fuzzy scenes to show how they are processed and perceived by a confused mind. Mostly, my gaze was met by either sombre-looking or stony faces. An admonishing voice - not directed at us - was soon heard: 'Visiting hours are over.' It was obvious that our presence was frowned upon.
After some hurried shuffling and exchange of disapproving voices, we were led to a small room at the end of the long corridor. Little was spoken in between that time; we just followed where we were led. When the door closed and the eight of us sat nearly huddled inside that room, it was as if the final stroke had been dealt to mark the commencement of our visit.
Once inside, the smallness of the room only served to amplify our unease. The size of perhaps two bathrooms, the room spotted a television suspended coldly from a corner of the ceiling. The only other furnishings were the rock-hard chairs that we sat on. For a brief moment, besides our physical beings, the void in the room was filled only by silence and the grim knowledge of K's illness.
'I guess things just happen,' K finally said in a gentle voice with a weak smile, as if to explain and rationalise things to his hapless visitors.
It is at times like this, I realised, that words fail us. Clasping someone's hands, putting an arm across his shoulder, giving a reassuring look with a subtle twitch of eyebrows or a smile - these small gestures are able to humbly convey something more powerful than what words alone could do. Sometimes, our search for the right words could be a struggle that finds no easy solutions.
Before and After
Only two days ago, we were all gathered at K's place for a happy occasion. We were enjoying ShY's nachos with home-baked salsa toppings, shepherd's pie, stingray, sausages and black peppered chicken, before finishing the night off with chocolate cake from Awfully Chocolate. We were recalling the happy moments of K's wedding and JM and Sa, re-enacting hilarious episodes and having a few good laughs. K was almost upset that we remembered so clearly the embarrassing karaoke songs sung by his parents' friends at his wedding dinner, but not the moment when he and R sang a song together as a wedded couple.
Earlier that night though, I sensed something was amiss when I first met K to buy food before the rest arrived. I noticed that his face was swelling and was certain it was not a case of getting fat - the reason given by the GP that K saw earlier. I urged him to see another doctor, which was what he planned to do anyway. I also did not want to sound alarmist, but I could already detect worry in his look.
Before we had time to know more, the grim and completely unexpected message came on Monday morning, just as all of us were getting started for the day and week. The cause of K's swelling face and neck was finally known: a tumor - in a most inauspicious part of the body. K wanted to let us know, and asked for our prayer; I replied immediately, and copied the rest in my SMS. The next moment, I googled to find out more about the tumor. Things didn't look too good. I was almost shuddering, worried about a good friend whom I have known for almost seventeen years. This came closest to what it feels like when a closed one is met with a misfortune. What Fate or God divined, we are completely powerless to it. There was little we could do against a tumor growing inside a young and healthy body. I was overcome with sadness.
I was surprised at how heavy my heart grew that week. The night before news of K's illness broke, my heart was grieving at the devastation and loss of lives in Japan, as news of the Fukushima radiation leak had heightened the crisis that is still ongoing in Japan. It was dispiriting to read the news and see the heartbreaking pictures in the media. Bound by a common humanity, it is impossible not to feel the pain of the devastation that the Japanese are suffering. When a misfortune of such magnitude happens, everything else surrouding you seems to become relegated to an incosequential level and degree. Posting pictures of your happy weekend and parties on Facebook seems to me almost sacrilegious as friends from Japan posted and twittered updates on the situation in Japan and prayed for hope. The fury of Mother Nature is frightening. At such times, the only defence humans have against the destructive vagaries of Nature is their collective will and solidarity.
But the reality was such that the tragedy was not personal, and it happened miles away. It therefore did not hit me as hard as news of K's illness. For the next 36 hours after the news broke, all we could do was to wait for updates. The waiting proved to be most difficult to bear for R and K's family, who were agonised by a lack of information. Is the tumor benign or malignant? Is there a cure? How serious is it? These difficult questions must be surging through their mind before some light was finally shed.
Thankfully, our worst fears proved premature. When R called me the next day and told me about the preliminary prognosis, I was much relieved and happy. As quickly as the tumour was discovered and K hospitalised, the doctors were now concluding some final tests before sending K for immediate chemotherapy treatment the day after. No surgery was required at this point; K was to undergo chemo for the next 12 weeks. It appears that the doctors were quite confident of the treatment. But as with all kinds of cancers, what nobody could tell is whether there would be complications during the process. Besides that, K could become more susceptible to other illnesses and infections due to a weakened immnue system caused by the treatment.
Action
Regardless, we were relieved to hear the news. In fact, I felt more relieved for R and K's family. Coming to terms with such an unexpected challenge is one thing; having to cope with the innumerable small and big changes that immediately affect their living is quite another. Fortunately, as a young couple R and K enjoy the support of both their families. With K's condition known and understood, my worry turned to R, K's petite wife whom he wedded only 3 months ago. Over the next few days, I was in touch with R through SMS. I told her to let us know if there was anything we could help. Knowing that hospital and money matters would be taken care of by their families, I told R specifically that if there were other mundane things that she needed help with, we would just be a phone call away.
R turned out to be a very strong woman. She reassured me that she was all right, and told me instead to tell K that we would take good care of her, so that he could have a peace of mind. (K was worried for her well-being and the burden that his family had to shoulder.) R was also overwhelmed by concerned SMSes during the week. Though she obviously couldn't reply to everyone, she very much wanted to as she knew these were people who cared. Her strength of mind and resolve became clear to me when we started liaising on the very mundane matters that I spoke about. She asked if we could help clean up their house so that K could return to a fully disinfected home after the first week of chemo treatment. I told her not to worry about this; we would take care of the cleaning and make sure the home's spick and span in time for K's discharge.
Over the next few days, in between stressful work and more stressful work, I was communicating with R on the one hand, and discussing with Sa and Adr over FB messaging on the other. We realised how clueless we were when it comes to knowing what are the proper things to do when preparing a disinfected home for a cancer patient. Apart from a list of cleaning stuff to procure before Saturday, we had to discuss schedules and ask R various questions. As K had started his chemo treatment, we would not be able to see him until after 12 weeks, so as to minimise the risk of him getting any infection from human contact during this period.
At the end of the week (which was only 4 days after we learnt of K's illness), I headed down to Borders after work on Friday and bought two books, a 'Have Faith' bookmark and a warm animal card (K loves animals) for K. The next day, only Sa and I could make it in the end as the others had work. R's brother and girlfriend joined us too. Though we had five pairs of hands, cleaning a small flat proved to be a massive task, for we literally turned the whole flat inside out and scrubbed every corner. It was particularly challenging because R and K own a dog which sheds a lot of hair. While Jolie (their dog) had already been sent over to R's parents' place, its hair was all over the flat and we just never seemed to be able to rid it completely. From 10am in the morning when I lugged a litre of disinfectant and cleaning equipment to R's place, till 7pm in the evening when I stank with sweat and grime, I had spent an entire day scrubbing, wiping, sweeping and emptying a three-room flat. I've never had such an intensive cleaning operation before, and the effects were duly felt on Sunday when I woke up with a stiff neck and aching shoulders. It had been a mentally exhausting week, but I was glad that the worst did not materialise and we were able to help in some way.
Now and after
As I am writing and updating this, K has updated us on his good progress thus far with the treatment. We couldn't visit him and might arrange to use a webcam to see him soon. He and R are both drawing strength from their Christian faith. We will continue to keep them in our prayers, and I hope he would get through this challenging period safe and sound.
Hope will prevail, and you will be okay. Stay strong my friend.
(I am reminded of what ShY posted on her FB status update one day later: "For once, keeping quiet seems to be the best available option.")
When we finally arrived, we weren't sure where we could stand, so we stood around awkwardly for a few moments; there just wasn't any suitable space to plonk ourselves. I looked around; there were numerous small movements glazing my sight, just like how a cinematic camera would play out fuzzy scenes to show how they are processed and perceived by a confused mind. Mostly, my gaze was met by either sombre-looking or stony faces. An admonishing voice - not directed at us - was soon heard: 'Visiting hours are over.' It was obvious that our presence was frowned upon.
After some hurried shuffling and exchange of disapproving voices, we were led to a small room at the end of the long corridor. Little was spoken in between that time; we just followed where we were led. When the door closed and the eight of us sat nearly huddled inside that room, it was as if the final stroke had been dealt to mark the commencement of our visit.
Once inside, the smallness of the room only served to amplify our unease. The size of perhaps two bathrooms, the room spotted a television suspended coldly from a corner of the ceiling. The only other furnishings were the rock-hard chairs that we sat on. For a brief moment, besides our physical beings, the void in the room was filled only by silence and the grim knowledge of K's illness.
'I guess things just happen,' K finally said in a gentle voice with a weak smile, as if to explain and rationalise things to his hapless visitors.
It is at times like this, I realised, that words fail us. Clasping someone's hands, putting an arm across his shoulder, giving a reassuring look with a subtle twitch of eyebrows or a smile - these small gestures are able to humbly convey something more powerful than what words alone could do. Sometimes, our search for the right words could be a struggle that finds no easy solutions.
Before and After
Only two days ago, we were all gathered at K's place for a happy occasion. We were enjoying ShY's nachos with home-baked salsa toppings, shepherd's pie, stingray, sausages and black peppered chicken, before finishing the night off with chocolate cake from Awfully Chocolate. We were recalling the happy moments of K's wedding and JM and Sa, re-enacting hilarious episodes and having a few good laughs. K was almost upset that we remembered so clearly the embarrassing karaoke songs sung by his parents' friends at his wedding dinner, but not the moment when he and R sang a song together as a wedded couple.
Earlier that night though, I sensed something was amiss when I first met K to buy food before the rest arrived. I noticed that his face was swelling and was certain it was not a case of getting fat - the reason given by the GP that K saw earlier. I urged him to see another doctor, which was what he planned to do anyway. I also did not want to sound alarmist, but I could already detect worry in his look.
Before we had time to know more, the grim and completely unexpected message came on Monday morning, just as all of us were getting started for the day and week. The cause of K's swelling face and neck was finally known: a tumor - in a most inauspicious part of the body. K wanted to let us know, and asked for our prayer; I replied immediately, and copied the rest in my SMS. The next moment, I googled to find out more about the tumor. Things didn't look too good. I was almost shuddering, worried about a good friend whom I have known for almost seventeen years. This came closest to what it feels like when a closed one is met with a misfortune. What Fate or God divined, we are completely powerless to it. There was little we could do against a tumor growing inside a young and healthy body. I was overcome with sadness.
I was surprised at how heavy my heart grew that week. The night before news of K's illness broke, my heart was grieving at the devastation and loss of lives in Japan, as news of the Fukushima radiation leak had heightened the crisis that is still ongoing in Japan. It was dispiriting to read the news and see the heartbreaking pictures in the media. Bound by a common humanity, it is impossible not to feel the pain of the devastation that the Japanese are suffering. When a misfortune of such magnitude happens, everything else surrouding you seems to become relegated to an incosequential level and degree. Posting pictures of your happy weekend and parties on Facebook seems to me almost sacrilegious as friends from Japan posted and twittered updates on the situation in Japan and prayed for hope. The fury of Mother Nature is frightening. At such times, the only defence humans have against the destructive vagaries of Nature is their collective will and solidarity.
But the reality was such that the tragedy was not personal, and it happened miles away. It therefore did not hit me as hard as news of K's illness. For the next 36 hours after the news broke, all we could do was to wait for updates. The waiting proved to be most difficult to bear for R and K's family, who were agonised by a lack of information. Is the tumor benign or malignant? Is there a cure? How serious is it? These difficult questions must be surging through their mind before some light was finally shed.
Thankfully, our worst fears proved premature. When R called me the next day and told me about the preliminary prognosis, I was much relieved and happy. As quickly as the tumour was discovered and K hospitalised, the doctors were now concluding some final tests before sending K for immediate chemotherapy treatment the day after. No surgery was required at this point; K was to undergo chemo for the next 12 weeks. It appears that the doctors were quite confident of the treatment. But as with all kinds of cancers, what nobody could tell is whether there would be complications during the process. Besides that, K could become more susceptible to other illnesses and infections due to a weakened immnue system caused by the treatment.
Action
Regardless, we were relieved to hear the news. In fact, I felt more relieved for R and K's family. Coming to terms with such an unexpected challenge is one thing; having to cope with the innumerable small and big changes that immediately affect their living is quite another. Fortunately, as a young couple R and K enjoy the support of both their families. With K's condition known and understood, my worry turned to R, K's petite wife whom he wedded only 3 months ago. Over the next few days, I was in touch with R through SMS. I told her to let us know if there was anything we could help. Knowing that hospital and money matters would be taken care of by their families, I told R specifically that if there were other mundane things that she needed help with, we would just be a phone call away.
R turned out to be a very strong woman. She reassured me that she was all right, and told me instead to tell K that we would take good care of her, so that he could have a peace of mind. (K was worried for her well-being and the burden that his family had to shoulder.) R was also overwhelmed by concerned SMSes during the week. Though she obviously couldn't reply to everyone, she very much wanted to as she knew these were people who cared. Her strength of mind and resolve became clear to me when we started liaising on the very mundane matters that I spoke about. She asked if we could help clean up their house so that K could return to a fully disinfected home after the first week of chemo treatment. I told her not to worry about this; we would take care of the cleaning and make sure the home's spick and span in time for K's discharge.
Over the next few days, in between stressful work and more stressful work, I was communicating with R on the one hand, and discussing with Sa and Adr over FB messaging on the other. We realised how clueless we were when it comes to knowing what are the proper things to do when preparing a disinfected home for a cancer patient. Apart from a list of cleaning stuff to procure before Saturday, we had to discuss schedules and ask R various questions. As K had started his chemo treatment, we would not be able to see him until after 12 weeks, so as to minimise the risk of him getting any infection from human contact during this period.
At the end of the week (which was only 4 days after we learnt of K's illness), I headed down to Borders after work on Friday and bought two books, a 'Have Faith' bookmark and a warm animal card (K loves animals) for K. The next day, only Sa and I could make it in the end as the others had work. R's brother and girlfriend joined us too. Though we had five pairs of hands, cleaning a small flat proved to be a massive task, for we literally turned the whole flat inside out and scrubbed every corner. It was particularly challenging because R and K own a dog which sheds a lot of hair. While Jolie (their dog) had already been sent over to R's parents' place, its hair was all over the flat and we just never seemed to be able to rid it completely. From 10am in the morning when I lugged a litre of disinfectant and cleaning equipment to R's place, till 7pm in the evening when I stank with sweat and grime, I had spent an entire day scrubbing, wiping, sweeping and emptying a three-room flat. I've never had such an intensive cleaning operation before, and the effects were duly felt on Sunday when I woke up with a stiff neck and aching shoulders. It had been a mentally exhausting week, but I was glad that the worst did not materialise and we were able to help in some way.
Now and after
As I am writing and updating this, K has updated us on his good progress thus far with the treatment. We couldn't visit him and might arrange to use a webcam to see him soon. He and R are both drawing strength from their Christian faith. We will continue to keep them in our prayers, and I hope he would get through this challenging period safe and sound.
Hope will prevail, and you will be okay. Stay strong my friend.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
sunday rainbow I see you
I saw Sa's FB update a while ago: "It's amazing how two of my frens posted the same rainbow seen today! God is awesome."
I believe this is the rainbow. We all live and breathe under the same sky after all. The rainbow was a huge arch though, and I could only glimpse part of it. I felt comforted nevertheless.
Friday, March 25, 2011
quiznos yums yums
Occasionally at work, when I'm in a good mood or when I feel like giving myself a treat, I would allow myself a little splurge - I go to Quiznos to eat their mightily juicy and delicious roasted sandwich. For $9.60 - a hefty sum on a meal for a poor working class folk like me - I get a nice sandwich, soup and soft drink. I like the portion and I like that it comes with soup. Anything that comes with soup is good stuff. Yums.
Calling for the weekend to begin
Another moment of relish that I spoke about in the previous post: this morning.
forgotten smile
I realised I have forgotten how to smile, and what it takes to smile. That is, until one and a half hour ago, past midnight on the bus heading home, when I was reading Val's SMS reply and became conscious of the natural smile that followed.
There was a moment of relish, a silent spark, those kind that strike when you least expect it. I am reminded thus, that it is friends and people who really matter that bring sunshine and smiles into your life.
Me: Haha. If this were a FB status update, I would be liking it!! :)
Val: Lol. Thanks for the 'like' over SMS! Hehe
There was a moment of relish, a silent spark, those kind that strike when you least expect it. I am reminded thus, that it is friends and people who really matter that bring sunshine and smiles into your life.
Me: Haha. If this were a FB status update, I would be liking it!! :)
Val: Lol. Thanks for the 'like' over SMS! Hehe
Sunday, March 13, 2011
smelling the roses
Last week, I enjoyed my cycling and running so much that I endeavoured to do the same this weekend in a bid to relive the moment of happiness. If the formula has been tried and tested, I thought, why not apply it again? I couldn't wait for Saturday to arrive the whole week. Nevermind the horrid office hours; I would be contented so long as my weekend is untouched and I can hit the road again. I wanted badly to be under the sun and blue sky and to be surrounded by greenery.
Unfortunately, my high hopes gave way to disappointment eventually. Instead of abundant sunshine, I had cloudy weather for the weekend morning. I was also incredibly tired and therefore unable to enjoy the physical exercise. I ended up cycling only; running had to wait. To mitigate the exhaustion I was feeling, I stopped at a few places to enjoy pockets of peace. Increasingly, cycling has become less of a passion in and of itself; it is also the means for me to escape and enjoy the natural surroundings in Singapore.
It's cliched to say this, but it is an enduring truth that we need to make a consientious effort to apply brakes and enjoy the little things in life. I hope to always be applying this in my life.
Monday, March 07, 2011
cosy yellow lights
"When we left the restaurant, the sky was a brilliant splash of colours. The kind of air that felt like if you breathed it in, your lungs would be dyed the same shade of blue. Tiny stars begain to twinkle. Barely able to wait for the long summer day to be over, the locals were out for an after-dinner stroll around the harbour. Families, couples, groups of friends. The gentle scent of the tide at the end of the day enveloped the streets. Miu and I walked through the town. The right side of the street was lined with shops, small hotels, and restaurants with tables set up on the pavement. Cosy yellow lights shone at small, wooden-shuttered windows, and Greek music filtered down from a radio. On the left side the sea spread out, dark waves placidly breaking on the wharves."
"As we made our way up, the lights of the harbour became smaller and further away. All the activities of the people who'd been right beside me were absorbed into that anonymous line of lights. It was an impressive sight, something I wanted to cut out with scissors and pin to the wall of my memory."
- Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami
This is as I imagined what the atmosphere would be like if I am travelling during dusk in a small foreign town. The lights and music, the unhurried people and quaint, little shops: charming details of an unknown foreign town.
Fifth & Sixth: Ode to a good Weekend
I cycled, I ran, I napped, I had coffee and carrot cake (both local and English), and I just had french fries and coke for supper.
The weekend was wonderful.
And I can't wait for the next good weekend to arrive.
I love big and open green spaces, which are such a rarity here
Abandoned logs alongside the railway. I like to think it speaks of an adventure.
Grasses
There's just so much beauty and so much to admire in nature
My partner in adventure and space seeking
Lunch/Dinner on Sat: Jamaican Pork Sandwich
I. Love. Cakes. Display. Yums.
Had latte for a change
Evening scene that made me stop in my track. I have taken to carrying my camera when I go running
The weekend was wonderful.
And I can't wait for the next good weekend to arrive.
I love big and open green spaces, which are such a rarity here
Abandoned logs alongside the railway. I like to think it speaks of an adventure.
Grasses
There's just so much beauty and so much to admire in nature
My partner in adventure and space seeking
Lunch/Dinner on Sat: Jamaican Pork Sandwich
I. Love. Cakes. Display. Yums.
Had latte for a change
Evening scene that made me stop in my track. I have taken to carrying my camera when I go running
Thursday, March 03, 2011
lazy daze
First cuppa after two weeks of jungle and physical exhaustion.
I miss all the frivolous things that I love: the cuppaucino, the slow pace, the air-conditioning, my berms and flip flops. So glad to embrace all of them again.
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Happily Ever After
The best part about January 2011 was not the new beginning. While people were making resolutions and celebrating the new year, many of them did not realise that January was already behind them: the month had slipped away quietly as quickly as it had arrived.
To me, the best thing about January was the three weddings I witnessed and participated. I had some friends lamenting for my behalf that I have so many wedding invitations; it's a big loss of income and time, they mean to say.
I could have been a little grudging indeed, but this time I was truly happy and excited. For these were the weddings of some of my most cherished friends in life, people with whom I have made a positive connection. I am happy that they're celebrating a milestone in their life with their most-loved. Weddings are such trite invented processions, but they are timeless and special when the wedded couple are someone you know well and care for.
Somewhere in the web of pulsating dots that are inextricably linked to constitute our transient existence lies the connections that you have made with a few groups of people and individuals. These have spawned other connections and pathways that run through the web, but they stand out prominently for their tenacious bonds and luminosity. These are the chance encounters in life, whether pre-determined or blessed by God, that have survived wistful fate.
I wish my dear friends, all couples both of whom I know, a blessed marriage and eternal loving years ahead. Like the fairy tales we enjoy, may they live happily ever after.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Lovers' bridge
It was Sunday evening. The weather was gentle and the sky was gradually turning dark. I was lying in bed, awakened from a half-conscious nap when it suddenly came to my mind that perhaps it was a good time now to go to the jetty and snap a picture. It was something I had long wanted to do, after having seen a lovely shot of some sort of a jetty at a blog. The place was a European country, and the camera that captured the moving scenery is no doubt a DSLR. Still, when I saw that photo, I thought of the mini jetty at the lake near my home and made a mental note to take a picture of it someday.
That day found itself on this dreamy Sunday afternoon, the first restful weekend that I managed to enjoy in many weeks. The jetty was some 2km plus away from home. A walk there would have been too much an effort just to take a picture, though the more important consideration was the disappearing day: it would be useless if I reached the place in darkness.
I considered cycling, which was my plan anyway when I conceived this silly plan. But I felt lazy to bring my bike down, and I was not keen to cycle such a short distance only to have a photograph taken. In the end, almost counter-intuitively, I surprised myself by deciding to jog there, camera in hand no less. I was motivated by the prospect of a work-out, convinced that this would help keep up the resurrected mini-exercise tempo that was mustered over the last two weeks during reservist.
Then I finally got out of the house, ran a pretty fast pace (or so I thought) and arrived at the far end of the lake where the small jetty stood. A clear blue twilight sky would have served as an excellent backdrop, but the weather had been cloudy and rainy, so I had to live with whatever Heaven bestowed.
Then came the second stumbling block: a young couple was resolutely implanted on the jetty, whispering sweet-nothings to each other. Even when I made a pretence to shoot the jetty with them in the view of the camera lens, they were oblivious and remained snugly rooted to the same spot. So I had to live with that too, comforted though by the thought that there could have been more people on the jetty. This was a public park after all. It was a good thing, however, that the jetty is located at the furthest end of the lake: only runners and those taking a long stroll are likely to reach this stretch.
I assumed my photographer role, frustrated by my own awareness that there was no way I could replicate the lovely shot that I saw using my point and shoot camera. The short jetty also seemed decidedly less inspiring, especially with the ugly grill barrier fencing it. I would have been greatly discouraged if I had been foolish enough to expect anything more than what was before my eyes and what my modest equipment could produce. In a way thus, I had already moderated my hopes. For the same reason too, it was important for me to come at an opportune time when the weather and lighting is not so harsh.
Perhaps it's just as well that the couple remained grounded to their spot throughout the nearly half hour that I was there probing innocuously with my camera. They became a peripheral subject, a point of focus on which the anticipated shot has come to rely to anchor the photo.
After a few more shots, I finally removed myself from the scene when a few men (chinese nationals foreign workers) began to surround me. They were probably intrigued by my focused shooting of the lake, curious to know what discovery I had made. (Note: I must have been squatting by the lake for quite some time, focusing and pointing my camera into the lake at awkward angles.) I turned around, coolly keeping my camera away before resuming my jog. By then, light has already given way to darkness. Sunday was entering its final hours.
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