Monday, February 27, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
After Dark
What I miss about travelling in the past two years is the often limited time I have to wander the streets at night. I guess part of the reason is the pleasure of travelling per se: the joy of exploration, of experiencing foreign customs and culture, of being totally removed from the everyday and the familiar. In short, it's happiness in unreality.
My night walks and roaming in the streets hold a special place though, because it is usually at night that I get to enjoy a bit of uninterrupted free time exploring places and walking about with no particular destination in mind. In the eyes and mind of a foreigner, the night is either shrouded in darkness (which thus urges caution) or punctuated by bright lights that illuminate exuberantly and seduce quietly both at the same time. In this way it maintains a certain ambivalent aura, exhibiting its allure like a shrewd and worldly courtesan who tries to draw you with charm yet is able to keep a coy distance and within the limits dictated by her.
Your night sojourn begins after the sun has gone down. Before you realise it, you have already been swallowed by the after-dark brew of heady concoctions ranging from ceaselessly moving pedestrians to eager restaurants and bars that have thrown open their doors to welcome a city that has been shaken out of its day time sobriety. There's no way to escape the path before you, for everywhere you turn you find the sprawling tentacles of the night drawing you into its entangling embrace.
Walking the streets, you never know what awaits you at the turn down the road or the corner of the building. But the lights or the presence of souls ahead pull you forward, and you allow yourself to be led like a curious child who follows what lies ahead in his path. Sometimes it's the excitement of discovering something unexpected that eggs you on; other times it's just sheer instinct or a sense of loss that is aggravated by fatigue. The prospect of chance discoveries and unexpected encounters are powerful magnets. These are precisely the fruits that you yearn to reap when you throw yourself into the mysterious labyrinth of streets and sidewalks and alleyways. 'Fruits' like a hot, tasty bowl of ramen or barbequed meat. Yes, they count too.
My night walks and roaming in the streets hold a special place though, because it is usually at night that I get to enjoy a bit of uninterrupted free time exploring places and walking about with no particular destination in mind. In the eyes and mind of a foreigner, the night is either shrouded in darkness (which thus urges caution) or punctuated by bright lights that illuminate exuberantly and seduce quietly both at the same time. In this way it maintains a certain ambivalent aura, exhibiting its allure like a shrewd and worldly courtesan who tries to draw you with charm yet is able to keep a coy distance and within the limits dictated by her.
Your night sojourn begins after the sun has gone down. Before you realise it, you have already been swallowed by the after-dark brew of heady concoctions ranging from ceaselessly moving pedestrians to eager restaurants and bars that have thrown open their doors to welcome a city that has been shaken out of its day time sobriety. There's no way to escape the path before you, for everywhere you turn you find the sprawling tentacles of the night drawing you into its entangling embrace.
Walking the streets, you never know what awaits you at the turn down the road or the corner of the building. But the lights or the presence of souls ahead pull you forward, and you allow yourself to be led like a curious child who follows what lies ahead in his path. Sometimes it's the excitement of discovering something unexpected that eggs you on; other times it's just sheer instinct or a sense of loss that is aggravated by fatigue. The prospect of chance discoveries and unexpected encounters are powerful magnets. These are precisely the fruits that you yearn to reap when you throw yourself into the mysterious labyrinth of streets and sidewalks and alleyways. 'Fruits' like a hot, tasty bowl of ramen or barbequed meat. Yes, they count too.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Sake Fridae
Perhaps it's the Sake. I realised I signed the hefty bill without even verifying the items that were ordered. But it was a good meal still, even if we weren't enjoying this in Japan like how it was a year ago.
A Korean couple first sat next to us. I was eyeing their food and trying to match a fantastically yummy-looking plate of pancake to the menu but I couldn't pin down what exactly it is.
After the Korean couple left, two Japanese men took over their seats. I realised the Koreans before them proved they were unJapanese-like through their choice of food: a bowl of soupy stuff, tempura, something resembling pancake, and beer. They had only a few sticks of Yakitori - at a Yakitori specialty restaurant.
The Japanese were different. They spoke Japanese (obviously), had beer, and ordered plenty of yakitori, including those you and I might abstain from, like horse heart or liver, whatever. Our tables were barely an arm's length away from each other, so we could easily see what the other was eating. At one point, the Japanese beside me turned to us and asked what was the bowl of rather appetising-looking food on our table. 'Garlic Rice,' J responded with her most kawaii smile. Then they talked briefly about the food. As usual, I was the silent one, smiling at appropriate moments while J went on talking like a natural pro, as she always did when we happened to make small talk with the locals during our time in Japan.
A hefty meal it was, but it capped a mad week of late nights and intense concentration on excel sheets and numbers. I wasn't tipsy or anything, but I could feel the sake taking effect, even if it was mild. Till the next sake!
A Korean couple first sat next to us. I was eyeing their food and trying to match a fantastically yummy-looking plate of pancake to the menu but I couldn't pin down what exactly it is.
After the Korean couple left, two Japanese men took over their seats. I realised the Koreans before them proved they were unJapanese-like through their choice of food: a bowl of soupy stuff, tempura, something resembling pancake, and beer. They had only a few sticks of Yakitori - at a Yakitori specialty restaurant.
The Japanese were different. They spoke Japanese (obviously), had beer, and ordered plenty of yakitori, including those you and I might abstain from, like horse heart or liver, whatever. Our tables were barely an arm's length away from each other, so we could easily see what the other was eating. At one point, the Japanese beside me turned to us and asked what was the bowl of rather appetising-looking food on our table. 'Garlic Rice,' J responded with her most kawaii smile. Then they talked briefly about the food. As usual, I was the silent one, smiling at appropriate moments while J went on talking like a natural pro, as she always did when we happened to make small talk with the locals during our time in Japan.
A hefty meal it was, but it capped a mad week of late nights and intense concentration on excel sheets and numbers. I wasn't tipsy or anything, but I could feel the sake taking effect, even if it was mild. Till the next sake!
Monday, February 20, 2012
Of late
I did not have the most accomplished weekend, but it was a very decent one nevertheless, and I feel rested and ready for a new week of battles. Some of my friends have asked me how I have been doing in my current job. I tell them I am doing well: I am not unhappy in my current position, neither am I exhibiting much angst as before. I wonder if one can be truly happy in one's profession, for in any type of work there is bound to be both good and bad, both things that you enjoy and do not enjoy doing. Ideally, the enjoyable bits should greatly outweigh the dislikable parts.
Ironically, of late I have been just as busy, if not busier, at work. I am often wearied out during the week as I leave home when it's barely bright and return only when its deep into the night almost daily. Tired I may be, but I am not frustrated or upset to any degree that leaves me emotionally drained. This is a critical difference from what I was going through previously. In fact, I have started to enjoy what I am doing over the past two weeks. There is still a lot of annoying work that inevitably comes along with dealing with clients and managing multiple deadlines and requests. Yet there is also a sense of excitement in figuring out and managing tactical aspects of the work I am dealing with, while smart-talking colleagues and new learning areas have helped to keep my days interesting and fruitful.
Perhaps much has to do with the environment and nature of my work, which differs greatly from my previous job. Instead of writing endless minutes and polishing one draft after another, I now look at figures and try to decipher their meaning so as to tweak them further to achieve some magical results. I find that I actually don't abhor the idea of being a geek and quite like being one in fact. Working with a small team and having limited resources, I no longer have to contend with a stratified machinery; neither do I have to expand emotional energy to grapple with people issues and a thousand peripheral matters. Even more important, I realise, is that I have more weekends to myself than before. This has given me time to recuperate between one battle-weary week and the next, thereby helping to restore some degree of balance in a life that will never cease working. I can charge ahead and work my ass off during the week, but it is important that I have time to do other things in life, time which I can only afford during the weekend.
Perhaps much has to do with the environment and nature of my work, which differs greatly from my previous job. Instead of writing endless minutes and polishing one draft after another, I now look at figures and try to decipher their meaning so as to tweak them further to achieve some magical results. I find that I actually don't abhor the idea of being a geek and quite like being one in fact. Working with a small team and having limited resources, I no longer have to contend with a stratified machinery; neither do I have to expand emotional energy to grapple with people issues and a thousand peripheral matters. Even more important, I realise, is that I have more weekends to myself than before. This has given me time to recuperate between one battle-weary week and the next, thereby helping to restore some degree of balance in a life that will never cease working. I can charge ahead and work my ass off during the week, but it is important that I have time to do other things in life, time which I can only afford during the weekend.
Happily, I am starting to find myself living healthier weekends these days. That has also made me greedy and hungry for even more weekend time even as I try to have a productive weekend every week. For there is just so much that I want to do over Saturday and Sunday. It sounds like I have a lot to do, but the ingredients for a happy weekend for me are pretty simple: time for sleeping, time for coffee and food, time for exercise, and time for reading. I went for a jog on Saturday evening and felt so good after that, having tried, unsuccessfully, to catch up with a much older man whom I swear was running at a IPPT 2.4km Platinum pace (aka above Gold Standard pace!). Then on Sunday. I wanted to cycle and run and swim all at the same time, but needless to say I couldn't do it even if I were a triathlete. I swam in the end and made up my mind that I would not linger longer than the time needed to complete my laps, just so I can scoot off for a cuppa after that (it was already late evening then). I managed to do both, and you know how setting goals for yourself and achieving them gives a great deal of satisfaction.
So now I am ready to plunge back into the depths of the work and I think I can handle all the crises that will be surfacing during the week. Just leave my weekend untouched and I will work hard over the next 5 days. Promise.
I hope you enjoy your work and weekends too. Gambate!
Late evening jog by the lake on Saturday
A heart gift from yesteryear
Aspiring to be owner of a chic van
Girl & Her Doggie
Coffee Grounder
Sunday Cuppacino
Sunday Cuppacino with Murakami's 1Q84
1Q84: Tengo visits his Dad & the Cat Story
Looking for its script writer
My trusty un-DSLR cammie
Potions in a wooden chemical holder
View in front of me
Hello Kitty.
I hope you enjoy your work and weekends too. Gambate!
Late evening jog by the lake on Saturday
A heart gift from yesteryear
Aspiring to be owner of a chic van
Girl & Her Doggie
Coffee Grounder
Sunday Cuppacino
Sunday Cuppacino with Murakami's 1Q84
1Q84: Tengo visits his Dad & the Cat Story
Looking for its script writer
My trusty un-DSLR cammie
Potions in a wooden chemical holder
View in front of me
Hello Kitty.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
微风漂流，此时此刻
夜晚的光灯照亮着，熟悉的歌曲重复寻味，我手里握着村上春树的作品，随着故事的情节将情绪给牵动。
黄昏的微风细细飘过，带来一阵畅怀凌静的感觉，让人心理感到非长舒适。总是在这种普普通通站在或走着路上的当儿，突然间会感触良多，想起一些人海生涯里琐碎的东西，通常都跟情感有关的念头。
过了不久巴士到了，我也收拾了心情上了巴士。周末傍晚的巴士乘客并不多，看到空无人的座位，我非常开心的往座位坐了下来，享受超舒服的冷气，继续阅读村上春树的神妙故事。
真希望巴士的路途遥远，路程不会那么快结束。这，是我常常在悠闲傍晚乘搭巴士时所抱着的秘密希望。
可它最总还是会辜负我，又能怎么办呢？只好专注目前的时刻，享受此时此刻的过程吧！
A little more, a longer time
"Still his father said nothing, his eyes fixed on the outdoor scene like a soldier on guard duty, determined not to miss the next signal flare sent up by the savage tribe on the distant hill. Tengo tried looking out along his father's line of vision but found nothing resembling a flare. The only things out there were the pine trees tinted with the coming sunset."
1Q84, Haruki Murakami, p. 424
A few pages of Murakami a day makes me rather contented as a reader. I am quite liking the fact that this is a thick book with a long, if bizzare (as always), story that will take me a while to finish, such that I am able to always look forward to new developments in the plot, a few pages each time. It's a bit like how sometimes I wish a bus journey will not end so quickly; that the route is longer so that the pleasure of enjoying the cozy journey will be prolonged and not terminate so soon.
停下来
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Chasing the Sunset - 12 Feb 2012
The train rumbled out from the tunnel. Pressed to the train door on the other side of the MRT, I made do with the little standing space I had staked out. Car showrooms went by, followed by the familiar HDB flats and small towns. Two stations later, the evening sky finally loomed in the horizon, but it continued to disappear and re-appear again from behind the urban jungle that slid past like a continuous motion picture as the train journeyed on.
My attention was completely transfixed on the sky and the falling sun. This was the best part of the day to capture the soft hues of a city and the golden rust of dusk. If morning light gives off rays of hope and impresses with its raw and nascent energy, evening light is its western cousin that charms with its expansive and gentle warmth, soothing the city and its denizens as it gradually fades into twilight before the moon emerges and seduces with its coy mystique.
My attention was completely transfixed on the sky and the falling sun. This was the best part of the day to capture the soft hues of a city and the golden rust of dusk. If morning light gives off rays of hope and impresses with its raw and nascent energy, evening light is its western cousin that charms with its expansive and gentle warmth, soothing the city and its denizens as it gradually fades into twilight before the moon emerges and seduces with its coy mystique.
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