This morning we were supposed to meet 730am at Longhouse for a 100km+ ride. At six-something in the morning i started to get sms-es asking me if the ride was proceeding, for it was then (still) raining at some areas. I looked out the window and was greeted by an ominously red sky. Unable to decide if i should postpone or cancel the ride, i called Jon to seek his opinion. But that lucky ass, as I expected, did not turn on his mobile phone. (His home in Serangoon is a stone's throw away from Longhouse, so he could well afford to wake up at 7am and still cycle there in time.)
After a check with a few others - it was raining at their area - I decided to call off our meeting. Whether we would ride at all later in the day depends how the weather turns out. I got out of bed, took the particulars list, went to the sofa and started thumbing away on my cellphone. Each msg was actually the length of two msgs, and i sent out the msg to some 16 people, which adds up to nearly the equivalent of 30 sms. A few of them msged back (Kiat says, 'okie! i'll enjoy my morning tv first den'; Eug says, 'Ok thanks for informing. let's wait and see how the weather goes. It's unfortunate that it rains today.'). Though sometimes a reply may seem rather redundant, it's always nice to have people acknowledge your msg. At least you would know that your msg has been received, and you can proceed to make other plans.
It was nearly 7 then and i was already quite awake. The sun was nowhere to be seen and though it wasn't raining at my place, the sky remained dark and gloomy. Yes, i was disappointed that our cycling plans were disrupted; but, when Nature decides to make its harsh presence felt, it is best to steer clear of its path. My teeth brushed, i went back to bed and fell asleep right away.
In the end, the ride was cancelled coz everyone seemed to have made other plans. Just as well - it's now raining cats and dogs at my area.
Maybe it's time to crawl back to bed again.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Saturday, June 10, 2006
My short teaching stint
For a short while - two weeks, to be exact - after i graduated from jc, i did relief teaching at a secondary school. I took over the duties of a teacher who was on extended sick leave, and taught English and Literature. Yesterday, i needed to find out exactly when i taught at the school, but it was nearly 5 years ago and i really couldn't recall. So i dug out some of the things that were associated with my short teaching stint: photographs taken with the students and a farewell card given by my (sec 2) form class. I was hoping there would be mention of dates somewhere, but alas, there was none. Then i dug out a letter written to me by the class monitor, a cheeky and mischievious boy who is quite a good talker. Reading the letter, i recalled how silly and embarrassed i was then, a junior college graduate who barely had what it takes to teach a group of young students like myself. I was there only because there was a job and it paid well - hardly a good reason for the education of young minds to be entrusted into my inexperienced hands, no matter how short the teaching stint lasted. I read the contents of the letter and was half-amused by the writing, half-horrified by experiences which it reminded me of.
As i was reproducing these parts of his letter i almost burst out laughing. The monitor says in the letter he will 'take full responsibility of any damage of (my) ear or throat'. He needn't, but he correctly pointed out the dangers i was exposed to, for most of the time i was shouting and keeping the raucous class attentive rather than teaching. I had to thunder against the voices of more than thirty students - yes, thunder. I remember the class monitor very well. As evident from (the 'tone' of) his letter, he has an engaging personality, is playful and cheeky, but not in a disrespectful way. That he wrote what he did and gave the letter to me on my last day shows his sincerity and sense of responsibility he felt as the leader of the class. I was grateful and touched by his gesture.
Two weeks is a very short period of time and i genuinely felt sorry for the students who had to suffer constant disruption to their educational process. No matter how good relief teachers are, if there is frequent change in teachers owing to whatever circumstances, it is ultimately the students who suffer. This is because the students have to make adjustments and adapt to new teaching styles and learning environment each time there's a change in their educators. And this can affect substantially their learning mood and progress. Moreover, without a permanent teacher overseeing the learning process, the students' progress cannot be followed up and it would be difficult to draw up long term plans to assist them. The form class that i taught was, in Singapore's educational jargon, from the normal academic stream. And these are the students who greatly need more attention and a consistent teacher to engage them.
I recall with great embarrassment an exercise i did with the class. As i had assumed the responsibilities of their form teacher, in addition to teaching them English and Literature i had to also conduct a 'civics class' session (that takes place every week) whereby class meetings are held or where the students would be taught non-academic subjects such as social skills and the like. (i readily admit i can't remember the exact function of the lesson.) Thank goodness i only had to do it once, for i was in a poor position (owing to my lack of experience) to conduct the lesson properly. Neither was i given any proper instructions - for, it was assumed, i was there only temporarily. By and large it is true that the lesson is not indispensable or extremely important (to the students, it's a non-lesson, good); i was there first and foremost to stand in for their form teacher, someone who by seniority of age is far wiser to deliver the lesson and achieve its objectives, whatever they are.
And so i wondered what to do with the bunch of boisterious kids who, we all know, ain't the least bit interested in hearing a teacher preach. In the end, i spoke to them about my aspirations (i am guessing here, coz i can't otherwise explain how the monitor knew about what i had wanted to become, then). It seems way too cheesy even as i recall now, but i made them close their eyes after that, spoke to them and encouraged them to think about what they want to achieve in life. Thereafter i made them write down their thoughts, and assured them no one else would read them except I. It was an exercise to make them think about and articulate their aspirations, so that they might work towards realising them. It's meant to increase their confidence and imbue in them a sense of purpose in life.
I was - still am - embarrassed and felt silly because, really, how much older was i than they? It's not as if i had experience on my side and had achieved my dream - did i even believe in having aspirations and living one's dreams in the first place? Nevertheless, it was humbling reading what they wrote for that exercise. The papers were returned to them later; now i can't recall much of what was written. Of course, some of them didn't take the exercise seriously and wrote something only because it had to be submitted. But i do remember one of them, a Malay girl, wanted to become a hairdresser; she wanted to set up her own salon. Most of them also expressed their wish to do well enough for their N' level examinations so they could clear the 'O' levels eventually.
As a teacher, reading all this, one feels an immense sense of duty to help these students clear the academic hurdles. In part because i was a relief teacher and had the time, and in part because i was idealistic and perhaps not a little naive at my age then, i responded and wrote comments in all the papers. I could only wish that i have spurred one or two students, and that all of them went on to do well in their studies and pursue their dreams.
---------------------------------
As an ex-undergrad who was schooled in the humanities and social sciences, teaching is one career which many people have asked if i would consider: not because i look like someone who can teach, but because teaching is one of the most viable career options for arts students. Besides, the job pays well.
I am not being modest here, but i believe i lack the qualifications to teach. I am not looking at primary school level teaching, but at the secondary level. The question is whether i specialise in any particular subject taught at the secondary level to be able to teach. But more important, i know teaching is not my calling. It's a noble profession, and one who chooses the teaching path had better be in it for the right reasons. However good one is in a particular subject, i believe the primary role of a teacher does not lie in teaching a subject, but nurturing the potential and facilitating the wide-ranging education process that a student goes through in school. Teaching is a very arduous and challenging journey because to be able to teach, a teacher may have to invest a great amount of mental attention first to changing students' attitudes and disciplining them. For learning is not merely just passively imbibing technical knowledge; there are so many varied dimensions that affect whether a student would learn effectively and thereby develop his mental faculties.
During the two weeks of relief teaching i also taught a normal technical stream class. Some students, who are gangsters, would walk out of the classroom midway during lesson. Once, i entered the classroom only to witness a fight; as a result the lesson could not proceed and other students were thus affected; and i later had to submit an eye-witness report to the school because fighting was involved.
Yet that's the tough job facing a teacher: taking on non-teaching roles; genuinely desiring to help each and every student, no matter their background or how hopeless a situation may seem; and being convinced of the noble aims of the profession before being able to convince and educate students. It is also the reason why many of my friends want to go back to their alma-mater to teach, for they know that there they have bright students who are far easier to teach; they can focus on teaching a subject they truly love rather than having to devote more energy on non-teaching aspects.
Teaching is a rewarding job which requires - indeed it demands - immense patience and hard work. You have to like engaging people, be prepared and motivated to spend a great deal of time and effort not teaching a subject, but settling problems, moulding characters and helping those who need personal attention and help most. Whoever decides on teaching as a career has to ask himself or herself whether he or she is ready for the challenge and hard work. Not the attractive renumeration.
"... ... just want to tell you that frm so many relief teacher that come across my class your are the most Patient and Serious teacher whom really worth earning the money. Serious manz, why are you so serious huh? I guess your dream of becoming a xxx xxx will be fufil! (sorry manz, my english was not tht gd) Frm what you teach us i learned alot manz. (Tone)!! Now wht tone am i using??
"... ... As a monitor, i take full Responsibility of any damage of your ear or throat... Cher, which relief teacher is the most pretty one huh?"
As i was reproducing these parts of his letter i almost burst out laughing. The monitor says in the letter he will 'take full responsibility of any damage of (my) ear or throat'. He needn't, but he correctly pointed out the dangers i was exposed to, for most of the time i was shouting and keeping the raucous class attentive rather than teaching. I had to thunder against the voices of more than thirty students - yes, thunder. I remember the class monitor very well. As evident from (the 'tone' of) his letter, he has an engaging personality, is playful and cheeky, but not in a disrespectful way. That he wrote what he did and gave the letter to me on my last day shows his sincerity and sense of responsibility he felt as the leader of the class. I was grateful and touched by his gesture.
Two weeks is a very short period of time and i genuinely felt sorry for the students who had to suffer constant disruption to their educational process. No matter how good relief teachers are, if there is frequent change in teachers owing to whatever circumstances, it is ultimately the students who suffer. This is because the students have to make adjustments and adapt to new teaching styles and learning environment each time there's a change in their educators. And this can affect substantially their learning mood and progress. Moreover, without a permanent teacher overseeing the learning process, the students' progress cannot be followed up and it would be difficult to draw up long term plans to assist them. The form class that i taught was, in Singapore's educational jargon, from the normal academic stream. And these are the students who greatly need more attention and a consistent teacher to engage them.
I recall with great embarrassment an exercise i did with the class. As i had assumed the responsibilities of their form teacher, in addition to teaching them English and Literature i had to also conduct a 'civics class' session (that takes place every week) whereby class meetings are held or where the students would be taught non-academic subjects such as social skills and the like. (i readily admit i can't remember the exact function of the lesson.) Thank goodness i only had to do it once, for i was in a poor position (owing to my lack of experience) to conduct the lesson properly. Neither was i given any proper instructions - for, it was assumed, i was there only temporarily. By and large it is true that the lesson is not indispensable or extremely important (to the students, it's a non-lesson, good); i was there first and foremost to stand in for their form teacher, someone who by seniority of age is far wiser to deliver the lesson and achieve its objectives, whatever they are.
And so i wondered what to do with the bunch of boisterious kids who, we all know, ain't the least bit interested in hearing a teacher preach. In the end, i spoke to them about my aspirations (i am guessing here, coz i can't otherwise explain how the monitor knew about what i had wanted to become, then). It seems way too cheesy even as i recall now, but i made them close their eyes after that, spoke to them and encouraged them to think about what they want to achieve in life. Thereafter i made them write down their thoughts, and assured them no one else would read them except I. It was an exercise to make them think about and articulate their aspirations, so that they might work towards realising them. It's meant to increase their confidence and imbue in them a sense of purpose in life.
I was - still am - embarrassed and felt silly because, really, how much older was i than they? It's not as if i had experience on my side and had achieved my dream - did i even believe in having aspirations and living one's dreams in the first place? Nevertheless, it was humbling reading what they wrote for that exercise. The papers were returned to them later; now i can't recall much of what was written. Of course, some of them didn't take the exercise seriously and wrote something only because it had to be submitted. But i do remember one of them, a Malay girl, wanted to become a hairdresser; she wanted to set up her own salon. Most of them also expressed their wish to do well enough for their N' level examinations so they could clear the 'O' levels eventually.
As a teacher, reading all this, one feels an immense sense of duty to help these students clear the academic hurdles. In part because i was a relief teacher and had the time, and in part because i was idealistic and perhaps not a little naive at my age then, i responded and wrote comments in all the papers. I could only wish that i have spurred one or two students, and that all of them went on to do well in their studies and pursue their dreams.
---------------------------------
As an ex-undergrad who was schooled in the humanities and social sciences, teaching is one career which many people have asked if i would consider: not because i look like someone who can teach, but because teaching is one of the most viable career options for arts students. Besides, the job pays well.
I am not being modest here, but i believe i lack the qualifications to teach. I am not looking at primary school level teaching, but at the secondary level. The question is whether i specialise in any particular subject taught at the secondary level to be able to teach. But more important, i know teaching is not my calling. It's a noble profession, and one who chooses the teaching path had better be in it for the right reasons. However good one is in a particular subject, i believe the primary role of a teacher does not lie in teaching a subject, but nurturing the potential and facilitating the wide-ranging education process that a student goes through in school. Teaching is a very arduous and challenging journey because to be able to teach, a teacher may have to invest a great amount of mental attention first to changing students' attitudes and disciplining them. For learning is not merely just passively imbibing technical knowledge; there are so many varied dimensions that affect whether a student would learn effectively and thereby develop his mental faculties.
During the two weeks of relief teaching i also taught a normal technical stream class. Some students, who are gangsters, would walk out of the classroom midway during lesson. Once, i entered the classroom only to witness a fight; as a result the lesson could not proceed and other students were thus affected; and i later had to submit an eye-witness report to the school because fighting was involved.
Yet that's the tough job facing a teacher: taking on non-teaching roles; genuinely desiring to help each and every student, no matter their background or how hopeless a situation may seem; and being convinced of the noble aims of the profession before being able to convince and educate students. It is also the reason why many of my friends want to go back to their alma-mater to teach, for they know that there they have bright students who are far easier to teach; they can focus on teaching a subject they truly love rather than having to devote more energy on non-teaching aspects.
Teaching is a rewarding job which requires - indeed it demands - immense patience and hard work. You have to like engaging people, be prepared and motivated to spend a great deal of time and effort not teaching a subject, but settling problems, moulding characters and helping those who need personal attention and help most. Whoever decides on teaching as a career has to ask himself or herself whether he or she is ready for the challenge and hard work. Not the attractive renumeration.
letting go
Yesterday night i went cycling with Jon, K and Kiat. They were all on road bikes and i had to draft them all the way coz they were going very fast. We went the usual way starting from KAP towards Kranji > Neo Tiew > Lim Chu Kang > West Coast. We skipped Tuas and ended off at South Buona Vista Road for the orgasmic iced milo we had the other time. Unfortunately it was almost midnight and the shop had already closed. So we settled for an indian shop which was the only one still open. I ordered iced milo, which turned out to be just all right.
K gave me a pair of absolutely fabulous jersey. It couldn't fit him and he thought i would be a better fit. I was of course very excited, though the excitement was kind of short lived. When i tried it on at home, i found the armholes to be rather tight and uncomfortable. Everything else about it is ok except that. When i emailed K this morning and said i would return it to him, he said that cycling jerseys are supposed to fit snugly, suggesting perhaps that the jersey fits me well just that i may not know. I wished so. The last thing i want is to accept the jersey only to find that wearing it whilst on the go feels plain uncomfortable. I would have done an injustice to K's efforts.
At any rate K is an incredibly nice guy. A lawyer in his mid-thirties, he has the boyish good looks of a twenty-something. I've said before that when i first learnt about his age, i was struck with increduity. It must be good genes; else, he must surely be in grasp of the secret to eternal youthful looks.
At our rest-stop, we found out that his mum doesn't know he will be cycling to Kuantan next week. In fact, she doesn't know that he rides regularly. Then he says something that is true of all mothers: 'No matter how old you are, mothers being mothers, they will always be worried and think everything is dangerous. Diving, too dangerous; cycling on the road, cannot; etc, etc.' I know this too well myself. No matter how old we are, even when we've become parents ourselves, we will still be someone's son or daughter. Most mothers would rather their child be less adventurous, live a placid life where every possible sort of harm or risk is kept at bay: because at the bottom of their heart, their ultimate concern is to see her child safe and healthy.
My mum, of course, knows that i ride a bike. It was after years of resistance that i finally got approval to buy my own bike. I guess at some point of time, all mothers would have to reconcile with the fact that their beloved boy/girl has grown up and is now an adult who can make his/her own decisions. It doesn't mean that their worries stop upon that reconciliation, but it means letting go of the child, supporting him/her in what he/she does but never hesistating to caution, rebuke, help and protect him/her from all harm.
Being a cyclist, i only know all too well that cycling on the road can be - indeed it is - a very dangerous affair. Ask any cyclist and chances are he or she has had a brush with accident/death before. In Singapore especially, there's no road culture wherein cyclists are duly respected as rightful users of the road alongside other powerful and menacing vehicles. Bicycles, i dare say, are regarded more as peripheral vehicles which have somewhat less legitimate a right to travel on the road than say a car or bus. Thus it is that many drivers are either impatient or do not give much regard for cyclists - they don't give the latter the right of way at a junction or they simply drive dangerously close past cyclists. For the cyclist who is exposed and not shielded as a driver in the interior of his vehicle is, he/she is vulnerable and feels even more so when a vehicle whizzes or roars past.
Therefore i can understand my mum's fears. It is for the same reason that i never tell her how far i cycle each time, or where i cycle to, for that matter. She might just freak out. For most of us young people who are active in sports or whatever matters or activities that involve any risk, be it to our general well-being or in a financial or emotional aspect, we often do not inform our parents of the full picture. Sometimes that's because they won't understand even after you explained several times. But very often we don't want to because we don't want them to be uneccessarily worried for us. (Plus, their worrying would end up making us just as worried for them, their emotional well-being.) When one becomes a parent, every stage of one's child's life is a new phase that has never before been experienced. It is a journey of constant learning and coping, one that continues throughout life. The way i see it, as sons or daughters we do play a role in helping our (worried) parents help themselves adjust to changes (which can be abrupt and worrying or unpleasant), accept the changes that inevitably would take place as we grow older (though not necessarily more sensible), and cope with these changes. We play a role - because we are part of the change. Not telling your parents the whole truth of certain matters at the outset can also mean giving them time to learn about things and slowly coming to terms with the change.
Letting go is not easy; it can be painful even. But all parents have to learn to let go, and it's possible that as their child we can and should help ease that process for them while expanding our personal space, one which is so important for us to be able to live happy and learn independence and maturity. This is something that takes place throughout our lives - only one day, as someone's father or mother, we begin to straddle two roles and see things from our parents' perspective.
K gave me a pair of absolutely fabulous jersey. It couldn't fit him and he thought i would be a better fit. I was of course very excited, though the excitement was kind of short lived. When i tried it on at home, i found the armholes to be rather tight and uncomfortable. Everything else about it is ok except that. When i emailed K this morning and said i would return it to him, he said that cycling jerseys are supposed to fit snugly, suggesting perhaps that the jersey fits me well just that i may not know. I wished so. The last thing i want is to accept the jersey only to find that wearing it whilst on the go feels plain uncomfortable. I would have done an injustice to K's efforts.
At any rate K is an incredibly nice guy. A lawyer in his mid-thirties, he has the boyish good looks of a twenty-something. I've said before that when i first learnt about his age, i was struck with increduity. It must be good genes; else, he must surely be in grasp of the secret to eternal youthful looks.
At our rest-stop, we found out that his mum doesn't know he will be cycling to Kuantan next week. In fact, she doesn't know that he rides regularly. Then he says something that is true of all mothers: 'No matter how old you are, mothers being mothers, they will always be worried and think everything is dangerous. Diving, too dangerous; cycling on the road, cannot; etc, etc.' I know this too well myself. No matter how old we are, even when we've become parents ourselves, we will still be someone's son or daughter. Most mothers would rather their child be less adventurous, live a placid life where every possible sort of harm or risk is kept at bay: because at the bottom of their heart, their ultimate concern is to see her child safe and healthy.
My mum, of course, knows that i ride a bike. It was after years of resistance that i finally got approval to buy my own bike. I guess at some point of time, all mothers would have to reconcile with the fact that their beloved boy/girl has grown up and is now an adult who can make his/her own decisions. It doesn't mean that their worries stop upon that reconciliation, but it means letting go of the child, supporting him/her in what he/she does but never hesistating to caution, rebuke, help and protect him/her from all harm.
Being a cyclist, i only know all too well that cycling on the road can be - indeed it is - a very dangerous affair. Ask any cyclist and chances are he or she has had a brush with accident/death before. In Singapore especially, there's no road culture wherein cyclists are duly respected as rightful users of the road alongside other powerful and menacing vehicles. Bicycles, i dare say, are regarded more as peripheral vehicles which have somewhat less legitimate a right to travel on the road than say a car or bus. Thus it is that many drivers are either impatient or do not give much regard for cyclists - they don't give the latter the right of way at a junction or they simply drive dangerously close past cyclists. For the cyclist who is exposed and not shielded as a driver in the interior of his vehicle is, he/she is vulnerable and feels even more so when a vehicle whizzes or roars past.
Therefore i can understand my mum's fears. It is for the same reason that i never tell her how far i cycle each time, or where i cycle to, for that matter. She might just freak out. For most of us young people who are active in sports or whatever matters or activities that involve any risk, be it to our general well-being or in a financial or emotional aspect, we often do not inform our parents of the full picture. Sometimes that's because they won't understand even after you explained several times. But very often we don't want to because we don't want them to be uneccessarily worried for us. (Plus, their worrying would end up making us just as worried for them, their emotional well-being.) When one becomes a parent, every stage of one's child's life is a new phase that has never before been experienced. It is a journey of constant learning and coping, one that continues throughout life. The way i see it, as sons or daughters we do play a role in helping our (worried) parents help themselves adjust to changes (which can be abrupt and worrying or unpleasant), accept the changes that inevitably would take place as we grow older (though not necessarily more sensible), and cope with these changes. We play a role - because we are part of the change. Not telling your parents the whole truth of certain matters at the outset can also mean giving them time to learn about things and slowly coming to terms with the change.
Letting go is not easy; it can be painful even. But all parents have to learn to let go, and it's possible that as their child we can and should help ease that process for them while expanding our personal space, one which is so important for us to be able to live happy and learn independence and maturity. This is something that takes place throughout our lives - only one day, as someone's father or mother, we begin to straddle two roles and see things from our parents' perspective.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
on buffet and a reticent friend
A week ago i had dinner at Sakura in Toa Payoh. I never knew if the restaurant in the past offered Japanese food only, but it now offers buffet that serves a variety of food, ranging from cantonese dim sum to sushi to chinese cuisine, and the other usual stuff which you get at a buffet. The sheer variety of food does not quite square with the name of the restaurant, but this doesn't matter. In the fiercely competitive restaurant scene, anything goes so long as it brings in the business. If you are the kind who likes variety and don't nit-pick on quality, Sakura's buffet is quite value for money indeed.
Going by what i saw when i was there, it is quite obvious that the restaurant has set its sights on heartlander families; whole clans seem to be there, what with screaming kids, grandparents and parents busy getting food and feeding their restless kids at the same time. (Coincidentally, i found out the next day from Kenneth that he had brought his family and his parents and in-laws to the branch at Science Centre the same night. I was rather surprised.) Indeed, most Singaporeans seem more than willing to splurge on the occasional buffet, reflecting somewhat the kiasu trait of the (stereo)typical Singaporean - eager to snag the best deal and get the most.
And the restaurant is eager to bring in as many customers in a night as possible, judging by its sparse layout and nondescript but plentiful number of tables that are in close proximity. Not that customers would mind or even notice - the array of food would keep them distracted and pleased. This isn't a place to seek comfort and privacy; the main activity is eating - eating the spread of food which you paid to get as much of as you desire - and other considerations are merely secondary.
I am not particularly enamoured of buffets. In part because my appetite has seemingly shrunk over the years and i don't eat as much as before (sign of getting older?). So the variety and amount of food at buffets don't really appeal to me, and i see no need to spend so much to enjoy the freedom to choose from a variety. Quite the contrary, i prefer my meals simple. Just the other day my friend chose to eat the Marriott buffet for his birthday lunch. I did not join him but shared the cost of his meal with two other friends who went with him. As i told my friend, i just can't justify paying $45 for a lunch - not because i don't eat a lot, but because it is highly imprudent to do so (i ain't earning my own salary). Moreover, this group of friends have a penchant for eating buffets, because one or two of them think that instead of paying 20 over bucks at a normal restaurant for a meal, one might as well pay the same amount or slightly more to enjoy the variety that a buffet affords. I don't buy that logic. Yet, coincidentally, on the following Friday i went for (another) sushi buffet with three friends at suki sushi, at the cost of about $24 per person. I didn't mind because the main purpose was to meet a friend who's going back to Australia for good. But the restaurant staff would be glad to know that i didn't eat more than what i paid for - two plates of sushi (the cheapest priced plate), one chawanmushi and two glasses of orange juice are all that i had. Nowhere does that come close to even ten bucks.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
I didn't set out to write about the Sakura buffet, or buffets in general, but somehow i obviously ended up doing so. Actually i wanted to say i enjoyed myself that night and in particular i am inspired to make a few observations about my quiet friend, teoks. But more on him later. The meeting was fun and i was a happier person at the end of it not only because tam, jo, jules and teoks were great company, but also because i had just relieved myself of a week of painful anxiety. The outcome of that anxious anticipation for a week wasn't pretty, but it comforted me in that i was finally spared the agony of making fateful predictions and scenarios. I did not for a moment doubt that the outcome would have been otherwise, even if friends had been reassuring. Now that the dust has sort of settled, the fateful anticipating has turned into something equally bad. It's as if the fuller picture has now finally emerged - and that's the scary part.
Anyway, the usual stuff transpired over our meeting at Sakura and at Mac's later. jo fed us with a lot of gossipy news from which more conversation topics spinned off. tam's presence was guarantee that there would be plenty of laughter: her spontaneity and the gaiety she exudes are infectious and always liven the mood; so are her gestures and occasional outbursts of laughter, which never fail to amuse all of us. Then there's her teases and comments, delivered in a somewhat understated manner and sometimes in an almost furtive voice, hilarious and funny. I sometimes couldn't catch what she or jo was saying, and before i knew it, my impairment was made a joke.
teoks is always the quiet one, and because he's bashful and so silent, he's an easy target of our jokes. He's smart and knows what we are getting at, but sometimes all he does is grimace and smile knowingly, while his gaze, registering a mix of futile protest and resignation, falls on somewhere. Often, in the midst of our chatting i would peer at him just to have a feel of how he's taking our conversations. Sometimes his facial expression remains straight, at other times it relaxes into a knowing smile and quiet laughter. I don't think he feels uncomfortable with us, but he's incredibly reticent and speaks most of the time only when we exhort him or ask questions related to him. Even then, he makes very terse responses, no doubt because we are often more teasing than asking a proper question. He is of course by nature a shy person and man of few words, but one can't help but wonder sometimes - as jo later said to me also - whether he's like that when hanging out with his other friends. I believe when he's with his bunch of army pals he's certainly more prone to talking. Us - we are such a raucously noisy bunch that's just the opposite of his personality. Besides, i can understand that the girls sometimes talk about stuff that us boys aren't interested in. So we sit back and be an observer instead of a participator.
In writing however, teoks is a different person. His wit is evident and he always makes clever ripostes to our remarks (in email). If only he's as comfortable conversing socially as he is in writing, i've no doubt he would be a funny and popular chap with girls. On the other hand, he's made big strides since those good 'ol jc days. Where once he was a reclusive hermit, he's now more actively involved in social and school activities than any of us. When we learnt that he's now learning a certain kind of dance, we were quite in awe and truly impressed. He must have felt embarrassed to tell us - for he must have known that the jokes would come fast, which they did - as he seemed reluctant to speak at first. I can only imagine that he must be much more comfortable talking with his friends who are learning dancing together (coz dancing with and in a group is a very social kind of activity that requires communication). Not that i am casting doubts on the strength of the friendship, but as a good friend one would have preferred that he's comfortable speaking with us and willing to open up more, just as one wouldn't feel inhibited around one's good friends. But, of course, there's much i am assuming here.
I just remembered: today is the 6th and the other lawyer (not yet) amongst us is coming back to S'pore. Another feast beckons. (:
Going by what i saw when i was there, it is quite obvious that the restaurant has set its sights on heartlander families; whole clans seem to be there, what with screaming kids, grandparents and parents busy getting food and feeding their restless kids at the same time. (Coincidentally, i found out the next day from Kenneth that he had brought his family and his parents and in-laws to the branch at Science Centre the same night. I was rather surprised.) Indeed, most Singaporeans seem more than willing to splurge on the occasional buffet, reflecting somewhat the kiasu trait of the (stereo)typical Singaporean - eager to snag the best deal and get the most.
And the restaurant is eager to bring in as many customers in a night as possible, judging by its sparse layout and nondescript but plentiful number of tables that are in close proximity. Not that customers would mind or even notice - the array of food would keep them distracted and pleased. This isn't a place to seek comfort and privacy; the main activity is eating - eating the spread of food which you paid to get as much of as you desire - and other considerations are merely secondary.
I am not particularly enamoured of buffets. In part because my appetite has seemingly shrunk over the years and i don't eat as much as before (sign of getting older?). So the variety and amount of food at buffets don't really appeal to me, and i see no need to spend so much to enjoy the freedom to choose from a variety. Quite the contrary, i prefer my meals simple. Just the other day my friend chose to eat the Marriott buffet for his birthday lunch. I did not join him but shared the cost of his meal with two other friends who went with him. As i told my friend, i just can't justify paying $45 for a lunch - not because i don't eat a lot, but because it is highly imprudent to do so (i ain't earning my own salary). Moreover, this group of friends have a penchant for eating buffets, because one or two of them think that instead of paying 20 over bucks at a normal restaurant for a meal, one might as well pay the same amount or slightly more to enjoy the variety that a buffet affords. I don't buy that logic. Yet, coincidentally, on the following Friday i went for (another) sushi buffet with three friends at suki sushi, at the cost of about $24 per person. I didn't mind because the main purpose was to meet a friend who's going back to Australia for good. But the restaurant staff would be glad to know that i didn't eat more than what i paid for - two plates of sushi (the cheapest priced plate), one chawanmushi and two glasses of orange juice are all that i had. Nowhere does that come close to even ten bucks.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
I didn't set out to write about the Sakura buffet, or buffets in general, but somehow i obviously ended up doing so. Actually i wanted to say i enjoyed myself that night and in particular i am inspired to make a few observations about my quiet friend, teoks. But more on him later. The meeting was fun and i was a happier person at the end of it not only because tam, jo, jules and teoks were great company, but also because i had just relieved myself of a week of painful anxiety. The outcome of that anxious anticipation for a week wasn't pretty, but it comforted me in that i was finally spared the agony of making fateful predictions and scenarios. I did not for a moment doubt that the outcome would have been otherwise, even if friends had been reassuring. Now that the dust has sort of settled, the fateful anticipating has turned into something equally bad. It's as if the fuller picture has now finally emerged - and that's the scary part.
Anyway, the usual stuff transpired over our meeting at Sakura and at Mac's later. jo fed us with a lot of gossipy news from which more conversation topics spinned off. tam's presence was guarantee that there would be plenty of laughter: her spontaneity and the gaiety she exudes are infectious and always liven the mood; so are her gestures and occasional outbursts of laughter, which never fail to amuse all of us. Then there's her teases and comments, delivered in a somewhat understated manner and sometimes in an almost furtive voice, hilarious and funny. I sometimes couldn't catch what she or jo was saying, and before i knew it, my impairment was made a joke.
teoks is always the quiet one, and because he's bashful and so silent, he's an easy target of our jokes. He's smart and knows what we are getting at, but sometimes all he does is grimace and smile knowingly, while his gaze, registering a mix of futile protest and resignation, falls on somewhere. Often, in the midst of our chatting i would peer at him just to have a feel of how he's taking our conversations. Sometimes his facial expression remains straight, at other times it relaxes into a knowing smile and quiet laughter. I don't think he feels uncomfortable with us, but he's incredibly reticent and speaks most of the time only when we exhort him or ask questions related to him. Even then, he makes very terse responses, no doubt because we are often more teasing than asking a proper question. He is of course by nature a shy person and man of few words, but one can't help but wonder sometimes - as jo later said to me also - whether he's like that when hanging out with his other friends. I believe when he's with his bunch of army pals he's certainly more prone to talking. Us - we are such a raucously noisy bunch that's just the opposite of his personality. Besides, i can understand that the girls sometimes talk about stuff that us boys aren't interested in. So we sit back and be an observer instead of a participator.
In writing however, teoks is a different person. His wit is evident and he always makes clever ripostes to our remarks (in email). If only he's as comfortable conversing socially as he is in writing, i've no doubt he would be a funny and popular chap with girls. On the other hand, he's made big strides since those good 'ol jc days. Where once he was a reclusive hermit, he's now more actively involved in social and school activities than any of us. When we learnt that he's now learning a certain kind of dance, we were quite in awe and truly impressed. He must have felt embarrassed to tell us - for he must have known that the jokes would come fast, which they did - as he seemed reluctant to speak at first. I can only imagine that he must be much more comfortable talking with his friends who are learning dancing together (coz dancing with and in a group is a very social kind of activity that requires communication). Not that i am casting doubts on the strength of the friendship, but as a good friend one would have preferred that he's comfortable speaking with us and willing to open up more, just as one wouldn't feel inhibited around one's good friends. But, of course, there's much i am assuming here.
I just remembered: today is the 6th and the other lawyer (not yet) amongst us is coming back to S'pore. Another feast beckons. (:
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Sat, June 3rd
Punctuality is not a virtue i readily manifest (it is just as well that neither is it possessed by most people, for it is one of those traits greatly undervalued in our culture). Today however, i found myself not only punctual, i was also the first to arrive. But this was not so much my striving to be on time as an incidental occurrence. I didn't know how long it would take me to cycle from home to our meeting place, but my estimation of time turned out to be quite accurate.
When i reached the derelict caltex kiosk I found nobody there, save for an old man who seemed preparing to open business for the day. That got me a little worried: i wondered if the meeting place had been changed or was the ride cancelled. I didn't inform anyone that i would be coming for today's ride. Thankfully Rashid arrived soon after - but not before a group of cyclists in complete cycling jerseys whizzed past me. The sky was slowly getting brighter - it was 630am - and i felt fresh and ready to go, nevermind that only 50 minutes ago i had great difficulty hauling myself out of bed. Keith was the last to arrive. We waited awhile more just in case there are others coming. Five minutes went by, Kenneth got on his bike, took the lead and we (6 of us) rode off.
Good thing the ride started early, for the weather today turned out to be blazingly hot, a far cry from the cold downpour that we cycled in last Sunday. There were no especially memorable moments today, in part because the usual jokers weren't around to liven the mood. However, the ride was certainly much tougher compared to last two weeks. After we turned towards Raffles Marina at Tuas checkpoint, we experienced headwind for most part of the distance to our restpoint at West Coast food centre. But as we had started the ride early it was only 915am when we got there, having clocked close to 70km including the distance that we each cycled to get to the meeting place. No one ordered any food. Instead, for just 6 people, we bought - for the time that we were there - 6 iced milo, 1 teh, 1 kopi-peng, 1 chin chow, 2 hundred plus and two 1.5l of H20 (for refilling bottles) to boot. Quite a gargantuan amount of fluid, but that's quite normal; cyclists need the hydration. My only gripe was that the milo peng wasn't fabulous.
(Which reminds me, the other night some of us went to this shop at the end of South Buona Vista Road to have drinks, as Chin had told us that it has the most orgasmic, powerful milo peng around. It turned out that it wasn't just the milo peng, but the lime juice and barley were also quite orgasmic - they were so ultra concentrated, you could get plain water - which Chin did - and refill your glass a few more times and it would still taste sweet. A pity i was just recovering from illness and couldn't drink any of that. Instead i had to do with the bland heaven and earth green tea while all the rest happily savour their ultra orgasmic drinks.)
When we resumed our ride after that the sun was so strong that it didn't take long before i felt very thirsty again. At Mandai it took me a good deal of effort to keep my cycling constant, especially when going up all those dreadful slopes. Kenneth was already ahead and i felt it was hopeless trying to catch up with him. But when i saw he was stopped by a red light i knew it was now or never. I pedaled hard, caught up with him and drafted him all the way to the end of Mandai road, our end point. I must say it is quite an embarrassment to be drafting Kenneth, who's nearly twice my age. He now rides very fast and his energy doesn't seem to dwindle. I, on the other hand, felt weak from the whole morning of riding. By the time i reached the end stop it was almost noon and i have covered more than 100km - the longest distance in a day i have done for a long time.
We parted ways at the petrol kiosk and i found out that it was customary to shake everyone's hands before leaving.
I looked into the sky and saw no clouds. Then my morale dropped even lower when i realised i had some 13km to cycle to get home. There was no Kenneth in front of me this time, and i was cycling like a defeated soldier worn out from battle. I did want to go faster - the heat was scorching - so that i could get home quickly. But obviously my legs wouldn't cooperate (all right i admit i was half hearted). When i got home i yanked away my clothes and let the fan blow full blast at my body which needed cooling desperately. The cold bath after that was great, though no sooner had i finished bathing than i began to sweat again. ;(
But well, i am glad that i exercised self discipline today, woke up early and joined the ride - I fufilled my training commitment this week.
When i reached the derelict caltex kiosk I found nobody there, save for an old man who seemed preparing to open business for the day. That got me a little worried: i wondered if the meeting place had been changed or was the ride cancelled. I didn't inform anyone that i would be coming for today's ride. Thankfully Rashid arrived soon after - but not before a group of cyclists in complete cycling jerseys whizzed past me. The sky was slowly getting brighter - it was 630am - and i felt fresh and ready to go, nevermind that only 50 minutes ago i had great difficulty hauling myself out of bed. Keith was the last to arrive. We waited awhile more just in case there are others coming. Five minutes went by, Kenneth got on his bike, took the lead and we (6 of us) rode off.
Good thing the ride started early, for the weather today turned out to be blazingly hot, a far cry from the cold downpour that we cycled in last Sunday. There were no especially memorable moments today, in part because the usual jokers weren't around to liven the mood. However, the ride was certainly much tougher compared to last two weeks. After we turned towards Raffles Marina at Tuas checkpoint, we experienced headwind for most part of the distance to our restpoint at West Coast food centre. But as we had started the ride early it was only 915am when we got there, having clocked close to 70km including the distance that we each cycled to get to the meeting place. No one ordered any food. Instead, for just 6 people, we bought - for the time that we were there - 6 iced milo, 1 teh, 1 kopi-peng, 1 chin chow, 2 hundred plus and two 1.5l of H20 (for refilling bottles) to boot. Quite a gargantuan amount of fluid, but that's quite normal; cyclists need the hydration. My only gripe was that the milo peng wasn't fabulous.
(Which reminds me, the other night some of us went to this shop at the end of South Buona Vista Road to have drinks, as Chin had told us that it has the most orgasmic, powerful milo peng around. It turned out that it wasn't just the milo peng, but the lime juice and barley were also quite orgasmic - they were so ultra concentrated, you could get plain water - which Chin did - and refill your glass a few more times and it would still taste sweet. A pity i was just recovering from illness and couldn't drink any of that. Instead i had to do with the bland heaven and earth green tea while all the rest happily savour their ultra orgasmic drinks.)
When we resumed our ride after that the sun was so strong that it didn't take long before i felt very thirsty again. At Mandai it took me a good deal of effort to keep my cycling constant, especially when going up all those dreadful slopes. Kenneth was already ahead and i felt it was hopeless trying to catch up with him. But when i saw he was stopped by a red light i knew it was now or never. I pedaled hard, caught up with him and drafted him all the way to the end of Mandai road, our end point. I must say it is quite an embarrassment to be drafting Kenneth, who's nearly twice my age. He now rides very fast and his energy doesn't seem to dwindle. I, on the other hand, felt weak from the whole morning of riding. By the time i reached the end stop it was almost noon and i have covered more than 100km - the longest distance in a day i have done for a long time.
We parted ways at the petrol kiosk and i found out that it was customary to shake everyone's hands before leaving.
I looked into the sky and saw no clouds. Then my morale dropped even lower when i realised i had some 13km to cycle to get home. There was no Kenneth in front of me this time, and i was cycling like a defeated soldier worn out from battle. I did want to go faster - the heat was scorching - so that i could get home quickly. But obviously my legs wouldn't cooperate (all right i admit i was half hearted). When i got home i yanked away my clothes and let the fan blow full blast at my body which needed cooling desperately. The cold bath after that was great, though no sooner had i finished bathing than i began to sweat again. ;(
But well, i am glad that i exercised self discipline today, woke up early and joined the ride - I fufilled my training commitment this week.
Friday, June 02, 2006
A wet ride
It rained torrentially on Sunday. This wouldn't have bothered me had i been at home sleeping under my warm blanket. Instead i was out on the road, with my body fully exposed to the relentless rain. Alas, the good weather earlier - which we had too soon spoken about - didn't last. Although the headwind seemed stronger than last week when we started out, at least that was made tolerable by the cool weather; the clouds were quite abundant but didn't look threatening - that is, until we were riding into Tuas.
The rain hadn't come but looking into the sky and up ahead, there was no doubt that it's just a matter of time before it pours buckets. Still, i harboured the thought that we might just be lucky. For all we know it could be a false alarm - wishful thinking!
Eugene isn't a man of many words; he's friendly and amicable but doesn't strike one as the sort who talks a great deal. Yet whenever he speaks he seems always wise and thoughtful. 'We are heading right into the eye of the storm,' he said with a knowing smile as we rode downslope and felt the icy coolness of the air. I couldn't but feel a sense of admiration. He was spot-on, and his choice of words perfectly described the situation.
Much to my immense disappointment, it finally rained. The droplets fell from above, randomly but forcefully. Picking up haste, they soon pelted heavily and in increasing amount. There was a palpable sense of urgency as i realised i was making greater efforts at pedalling: the rest of them were cycling faster; and when one starts cycling faster in a group, everyone joins in. It's as though we were running away from destiny, trying to beat nature with naked human velocity - but on our two-wheelers, of course.
For quite some time it seemed as though our endeavours had paid off: the sky was completely enveloped by dark grey clouds but the almost-certain downpour did not materialise. The rain hadn't stopped, to be sure, but it was manageable. I love the rain and wouldn't mind a good drench - but not when i am cycling: for one thing i (and most people) hate getting my socks wet (it reminds me of army); for another i don't relish the prospect of cleaning the bike (lubricating and all) at the end of the ride.
The impending storm and falling raindrops certainly was no dampener on everyone's spirits. There was much talk and merriment, i could hear; I didn't know what the guys were talking about, however, as i was fumbling in my pouch for my snicker bars: my glycogen level was depleting and i needed desperately to eat to recover strength. And so - already the rest of the pack were very fast - i began to drop behind them, trailing further as i slowed down whilst trying to grip the handlebar with one hand and rummaging my waistpouch with the other. When i finally got my snicker bar, it turned out to be another problem trying to tear away the wrapper: the snicker bar has turned soft and was sticking stubbornly to the wrapper. It's not my day.
Perhaps Heaven decided to let me have my snicker bar before he unleashed its fury. As i felt better and was able to cycle harder (by this time i couldn't see the guys anymore), the heavy rain came on. My shoes felt heavier as they became two temporary resevoirs; the tyres were picking up water and splashing towards me, not to mention the rain that was coming from all directions; and, finally, it was getting a little discouraging riding solo on a large empty road where my friends were so well ahead that i couldn't spot them. I knew our destination - West Coast Food Centre - was not far away so i did the best that i could - which is to summon all my strength and cycle faster to catch up with the others. Strangely, i didn't feel i was exerting tremendous strength even though i looked at my speedo and it registered nearly 35kph quite consistently. I found out later that there was tailwind - no wonder all of them cheong and surged forth. EY said that at one point they were cycling at 50 or 55kph - my, i can't even reach that speed when i go down a steep slope!
At the food centre we laid our bikes aside and sat around a small makeshift table at the side-walkway. Keith got the lady from the drinks store over to take our orders and the poor lady expressed mock displeasure at our completely different choices of drinks: 1 teh-o, 2 teh, 1 soya bean, 1 chin chow, 1 kopi-o, 1 hundred plus (not sure about this). Nevertheless, she was near her store and all she did was to shout the orders across. We ordered our food, talked about the ride and, as usual, all kinds of jokes were made. Jon and Kenneth did not order anything. I asked Kenneth why and he said his wife was preparing a sumptuous lunch that day. His stomach was completely reserved for his wife's ai xin wu can.
All this while the rain showed no signs of abating. Eugene and Kenneth were leaving and i decided i might as well, since I would be going the same way as Kenneth. I'm not sure if that proved a wise move, for the rain was incredibly heavy as we cycled back. I was mercilessly assaulted by the pelting droplets; shivering with cold, there was nothing to be done except to keep on cycling. Home beckons.
The rain hadn't come but looking into the sky and up ahead, there was no doubt that it's just a matter of time before it pours buckets. Still, i harboured the thought that we might just be lucky. For all we know it could be a false alarm - wishful thinking!
Eugene isn't a man of many words; he's friendly and amicable but doesn't strike one as the sort who talks a great deal. Yet whenever he speaks he seems always wise and thoughtful. 'We are heading right into the eye of the storm,' he said with a knowing smile as we rode downslope and felt the icy coolness of the air. I couldn't but feel a sense of admiration. He was spot-on, and his choice of words perfectly described the situation.
Much to my immense disappointment, it finally rained. The droplets fell from above, randomly but forcefully. Picking up haste, they soon pelted heavily and in increasing amount. There was a palpable sense of urgency as i realised i was making greater efforts at pedalling: the rest of them were cycling faster; and when one starts cycling faster in a group, everyone joins in. It's as though we were running away from destiny, trying to beat nature with naked human velocity - but on our two-wheelers, of course.
For quite some time it seemed as though our endeavours had paid off: the sky was completely enveloped by dark grey clouds but the almost-certain downpour did not materialise. The rain hadn't stopped, to be sure, but it was manageable. I love the rain and wouldn't mind a good drench - but not when i am cycling: for one thing i (and most people) hate getting my socks wet (it reminds me of army); for another i don't relish the prospect of cleaning the bike (lubricating and all) at the end of the ride.
The impending storm and falling raindrops certainly was no dampener on everyone's spirits. There was much talk and merriment, i could hear; I didn't know what the guys were talking about, however, as i was fumbling in my pouch for my snicker bars: my glycogen level was depleting and i needed desperately to eat to recover strength. And so - already the rest of the pack were very fast - i began to drop behind them, trailing further as i slowed down whilst trying to grip the handlebar with one hand and rummaging my waistpouch with the other. When i finally got my snicker bar, it turned out to be another problem trying to tear away the wrapper: the snicker bar has turned soft and was sticking stubbornly to the wrapper. It's not my day.
Perhaps Heaven decided to let me have my snicker bar before he unleashed its fury. As i felt better and was able to cycle harder (by this time i couldn't see the guys anymore), the heavy rain came on. My shoes felt heavier as they became two temporary resevoirs; the tyres were picking up water and splashing towards me, not to mention the rain that was coming from all directions; and, finally, it was getting a little discouraging riding solo on a large empty road where my friends were so well ahead that i couldn't spot them. I knew our destination - West Coast Food Centre - was not far away so i did the best that i could - which is to summon all my strength and cycle faster to catch up with the others. Strangely, i didn't feel i was exerting tremendous strength even though i looked at my speedo and it registered nearly 35kph quite consistently. I found out later that there was tailwind - no wonder all of them cheong and surged forth. EY said that at one point they were cycling at 50 or 55kph - my, i can't even reach that speed when i go down a steep slope!
At the food centre we laid our bikes aside and sat around a small makeshift table at the side-walkway. Keith got the lady from the drinks store over to take our orders and the poor lady expressed mock displeasure at our completely different choices of drinks: 1 teh-o, 2 teh, 1 soya bean, 1 chin chow, 1 kopi-o, 1 hundred plus (not sure about this). Nevertheless, she was near her store and all she did was to shout the orders across. We ordered our food, talked about the ride and, as usual, all kinds of jokes were made. Jon and Kenneth did not order anything. I asked Kenneth why and he said his wife was preparing a sumptuous lunch that day. His stomach was completely reserved for his wife's ai xin wu can.
All this while the rain showed no signs of abating. Eugene and Kenneth were leaving and i decided i might as well, since I would be going the same way as Kenneth. I'm not sure if that proved a wise move, for the rain was incredibly heavy as we cycled back. I was mercilessly assaulted by the pelting droplets; shivering with cold, there was nothing to be done except to keep on cycling. Home beckons.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
sunday ride
The best thing about riding on Sunday mornings is that it's possibly the only day when so many cyclists are on the road. Seeing fellow cycling enthusiasts makes you feel that there's a cycling community, a community to which you are part of. Non-cyclists wouldn't understand, but you know why that certain cyclist on the road had the discipline to rise so early on a Sunday morning; you know why he's driving himself so hard, riding against the elements; and you know while his riding appears so effortless (for the image of a cyclist is often one of composed assurance, especially when he cycles past and disappears in a matter of mere seconds), he may at times be suffering within, gritting his teeth and exerting tremendous effort cycling against the inexorable wind or upslope. You know this because you've experienced it. But above all, you share with these strangers on the road a passion for the sport. It's an affair between the rider and his/her two-wheeler.
Each time i take to the road i never fail to feel a sense of freedom that is totally liberating. Yesterday's ride was good; i enjoyed it very much and was a happier man during and after the ride. For it's been a long time since i last cycled in a group. Having company makes a difference because you feel more motivated and there are people you can talk with.
I got out of bed at 0645 even though my body clearly preferred that i not leave the bed. By 0800 i was halfway across the island at Upp Thomson Road. The meeting place was at Longhouse, a coffeehouse which most cyclists are acquainted with (it's a common meeting place for them). It was my first time there though. When the last amongst us reached, we left the place, one after another. I was sufficiently warmed up by then and that made the riding easier, less strenuous compared to my journey to Longhouse.
Later whilst cycling through Kranji, a group of roadies riding in a line, literally whizzed past us. Eugene moved forward next to me and said: 'These people make me feel like i'm a snail!' I gave him a knowing smile and replied: 'Yea, they must be cycling at least 45km/h. Thing is, when you look at your speedo(meter) it reads 30plus km/h!' (That's not exactly a slow pace, especially for us riding mountain bikes.)
Then came the best part of the route, which was to cycle through Neo Tiew. I always enjoy cycling through this road because on either side of the road throughout, it is either farms or verdant grasslands inhabiting the landscape. I am not sure if there is anywhere else in Singapore where you can find such idyllic, pasture-like environment for a considerable stretch. The air is fresh and the surroundings tranquil; the traffic, both human and vehicle, is inconsequential. Surely this is not an uncommon sight in other countries; but in urbanised Singapore, it is a rare and cherished departure from the stifling congestion almost everywhere else. Its salubrious environment is the antidote to our daily stress in life, one that is invariably bounded by abundant concrete. And i would add that it is on a bicycle that one can most enjoy the rustic beauty and serenity here.
There were 8 of us, equal number on road and mountain bikes. The 4 roadies were ahead of us for the most part, while i maintained pace with Kenneth, Rashid and Eugene, all of whom, like I, are on mountain bikes. Kenneth, nearly twice my age, is a father of two. Amicably approachable and highly safety-conscious, he puts on an impossibly unfashionable green vest whenever he takes to the road. I told Eugene we will all be very safe riding in front of him; Eugene replied that Kenneth reminds him of a mobile CWO (corrective work order).
This ride, Kenneth rode a heavy bike, the kind that looks ill-suited for riding long distance. And while the rest of us on mountain bikes are on slick tyres, he was using knobbies. That's tougher on the rider because of the higher rolling resistance, but it is also the reason why it makes for good training. (Tougher training builds up strength.) In spite of this, Kenneth was on par with all of us; his regular riding sessions obviously have paid off dividends.
At the junction between Neo Tiew and Lim Chu Kang, Kiat was spotted at the side of the road vommitting. He had only a light breakfast and earlier had 'chiong' (ride as fast as one can) Mandai where the road consists of numerous slopes. Not good. I offered him tissue paper. Chin told the rest of us to turn right and cycle to the end of Lim Chu Kang Road. But we were less than enthusiastic: the road to the Coast Guard at the end is continually sloping up and down.
We took a break at the Coast Guard at the end of Lim Chu Kang Road. Kiat, who looked a shade paler, was ready to continue with the ride, being able to joke with us now at his own expense. A police officer saw us outside the gates and walked out to greet us. Appearing quite happy to find a group of visitors at this faraway, isolated corner of the island, he asked us where we are from ("Singapore?") and where we had cycled from. I must say my friends weren't quite receptive to his attempt to chat with us. Or so it seemed from their terse responses. But the friendly officer was all smiles. When he advised that we watch out for stray dogs when cycling down Lim Chu Kang Road later, the ever witty EY, with a grin on his face, said tongue-in-cheek: 'We will just have to cycle faster then.' We laughed. But more laughter followed when the officer, showing that he is on par with EY, responded rather humourously, 'I think the dogs can run quite fast you know.'
We bade the officer farewell and continued with our ride. Where we struggled upslope and glided downslope earlier, it was the reverse case now. This time around, Chin - the unspoken leader of today's ride - made an effort to keep the group together. We made a turn and cycled through NTU - there was a horribly steep slope that killed some of us - before coming to an end at a coffee shop in Jurong West.
Each time i take to the road i never fail to feel a sense of freedom that is totally liberating. Yesterday's ride was good; i enjoyed it very much and was a happier man during and after the ride. For it's been a long time since i last cycled in a group. Having company makes a difference because you feel more motivated and there are people you can talk with.
I got out of bed at 0645 even though my body clearly preferred that i not leave the bed. By 0800 i was halfway across the island at Upp Thomson Road. The meeting place was at Longhouse, a coffeehouse which most cyclists are acquainted with (it's a common meeting place for them). It was my first time there though. When the last amongst us reached, we left the place, one after another. I was sufficiently warmed up by then and that made the riding easier, less strenuous compared to my journey to Longhouse.
Later whilst cycling through Kranji, a group of roadies riding in a line, literally whizzed past us. Eugene moved forward next to me and said: 'These people make me feel like i'm a snail!' I gave him a knowing smile and replied: 'Yea, they must be cycling at least 45km/h. Thing is, when you look at your speedo(meter) it reads 30plus km/h!' (That's not exactly a slow pace, especially for us riding mountain bikes.)
Then came the best part of the route, which was to cycle through Neo Tiew. I always enjoy cycling through this road because on either side of the road throughout, it is either farms or verdant grasslands inhabiting the landscape. I am not sure if there is anywhere else in Singapore where you can find such idyllic, pasture-like environment for a considerable stretch. The air is fresh and the surroundings tranquil; the traffic, both human and vehicle, is inconsequential. Surely this is not an uncommon sight in other countries; but in urbanised Singapore, it is a rare and cherished departure from the stifling congestion almost everywhere else. Its salubrious environment is the antidote to our daily stress in life, one that is invariably bounded by abundant concrete. And i would add that it is on a bicycle that one can most enjoy the rustic beauty and serenity here.
There were 8 of us, equal number on road and mountain bikes. The 4 roadies were ahead of us for the most part, while i maintained pace with Kenneth, Rashid and Eugene, all of whom, like I, are on mountain bikes. Kenneth, nearly twice my age, is a father of two. Amicably approachable and highly safety-conscious, he puts on an impossibly unfashionable green vest whenever he takes to the road. I told Eugene we will all be very safe riding in front of him; Eugene replied that Kenneth reminds him of a mobile CWO (corrective work order).
This ride, Kenneth rode a heavy bike, the kind that looks ill-suited for riding long distance. And while the rest of us on mountain bikes are on slick tyres, he was using knobbies. That's tougher on the rider because of the higher rolling resistance, but it is also the reason why it makes for good training. (Tougher training builds up strength.) In spite of this, Kenneth was on par with all of us; his regular riding sessions obviously have paid off dividends.
At the junction between Neo Tiew and Lim Chu Kang, Kiat was spotted at the side of the road vommitting. He had only a light breakfast and earlier had 'chiong' (ride as fast as one can) Mandai where the road consists of numerous slopes. Not good. I offered him tissue paper. Chin told the rest of us to turn right and cycle to the end of Lim Chu Kang Road. But we were less than enthusiastic: the road to the Coast Guard at the end is continually sloping up and down.
We took a break at the Coast Guard at the end of Lim Chu Kang Road. Kiat, who looked a shade paler, was ready to continue with the ride, being able to joke with us now at his own expense. A police officer saw us outside the gates and walked out to greet us. Appearing quite happy to find a group of visitors at this faraway, isolated corner of the island, he asked us where we are from ("Singapore?") and where we had cycled from. I must say my friends weren't quite receptive to his attempt to chat with us. Or so it seemed from their terse responses. But the friendly officer was all smiles. When he advised that we watch out for stray dogs when cycling down Lim Chu Kang Road later, the ever witty EY, with a grin on his face, said tongue-in-cheek: 'We will just have to cycle faster then.' We laughed. But more laughter followed when the officer, showing that he is on par with EY, responded rather humourously, 'I think the dogs can run quite fast you know.'
We bade the officer farewell and continued with our ride. Where we struggled upslope and glided downslope earlier, it was the reverse case now. This time around, Chin - the unspoken leader of today's ride - made an effort to keep the group together. We made a turn and cycled through NTU - there was a horribly steep slope that killed some of us - before coming to an end at a coffee shop in Jurong West.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Time no more
Long ago I used to subscribe to Newsweek. Then i changed to Time. I am still receiving the latter, though i have been less than diligent in keeping up with the weekly magazine. In part because i would get caught up in school work; with the ever-increasing amount of readings accumulating every week during school term, i could scarcely devote precious time to read the magazine. It sure feels like a waste of money when you can't do a thorough reading. But i reckon that reading (almost) every article isn't necessary a good measure of getting your money's worth. What's important is that the magazine matches your expectations in terms of the subject of its articles, and how you regard as sufficient amount of reading you do in order that your subscription is justified.
What i usually do is to scan through the magazine, and if there are articles that catches my attention, i would give it a quick read. Almost without fail, however, i always faithfully peruse the travel section (Time Global Adviser) which comes at the last pages. This section, of course, makes for light reading, a far cry from the current affairs and political issues that dominate the rest of the magazine. But i like reading this section because it is always intriguing to read about unheard of or less-commonly known places in other parts of the world. For someone who doesn't have the chance to be a globe trotter, i love reading the pieces and learning about places, especially the ocassional ones which cover some quirky or fascinating corners of the earth. I probably will never get to visiting those places that i read about, but no matter, at least in reading them my imagination gets stirred and my curiousity piqued.
Save for that, i am finding Time a rather unsatisfying read. Not because its editorial standards or articles are deteriorating, but as my intellectual and academic interests broaden, the magazine becomes less able to meet that level of needs. (I never bother to read the almost guaranteed weekly articles on George Bush, the Iraq war and the likes of American politics.) Its articles serve more the purpose of informing rather than providing in-depth analysis, and furthermore, its coverage of issues is usually more American-centric - which is perfectly understandable, given where the magazine comes from. But above all, Time, as with Newsweek, is really more for people who want to get something more than their local news, who want to read stories about salient international issues with that personal touch that come from the way they are reported.
I, however, crave for a greater coverage of current affairs and global issues; articles writtern intelligently and with a particular focus on fiercely but objective critical analysis. I don't just want to be informed of issues; I want educated opinions and incisive analysis of issues. Which is why i am not going to renew my Time subscription this year. Not because Time has become worse, but because I am no longer its target consumer. The last time I renewed my subscription, it was because they made me an offer I thought quite good: six months of free subsription. That was almost 3 years ago when i hardly knew or cared about what's happening in the world, much less about critical analysis of social/world/regional issues. This time round, in fact, Time is offering me an even better deal. After ignoring their first letter sent to urge me to renew my subscription, i received yesterday another telling me that I would get one year of issues free if i renew my current subscription.
For a second, i was seriously considering it. But I made up my mind long ago that i would switch to The Economist after my subscription with Time ends this year - if i so decide to. Besides, I am reading less and less of my Time these days, save for those double and special issues like The Asian Journey, which i happily devour and save alongside other noteworthy magazines in my bookshelf.
What i usually do is to scan through the magazine, and if there are articles that catches my attention, i would give it a quick read. Almost without fail, however, i always faithfully peruse the travel section (Time Global Adviser) which comes at the last pages. This section, of course, makes for light reading, a far cry from the current affairs and political issues that dominate the rest of the magazine. But i like reading this section because it is always intriguing to read about unheard of or less-commonly known places in other parts of the world. For someone who doesn't have the chance to be a globe trotter, i love reading the pieces and learning about places, especially the ocassional ones which cover some quirky or fascinating corners of the earth. I probably will never get to visiting those places that i read about, but no matter, at least in reading them my imagination gets stirred and my curiousity piqued.
Save for that, i am finding Time a rather unsatisfying read. Not because its editorial standards or articles are deteriorating, but as my intellectual and academic interests broaden, the magazine becomes less able to meet that level of needs. (I never bother to read the almost guaranteed weekly articles on George Bush, the Iraq war and the likes of American politics.) Its articles serve more the purpose of informing rather than providing in-depth analysis, and furthermore, its coverage of issues is usually more American-centric - which is perfectly understandable, given where the magazine comes from. But above all, Time, as with Newsweek, is really more for people who want to get something more than their local news, who want to read stories about salient international issues with that personal touch that come from the way they are reported.
I, however, crave for a greater coverage of current affairs and global issues; articles writtern intelligently and with a particular focus on fiercely but objective critical analysis. I don't just want to be informed of issues; I want educated opinions and incisive analysis of issues. Which is why i am not going to renew my Time subscription this year. Not because Time has become worse, but because I am no longer its target consumer. The last time I renewed my subscription, it was because they made me an offer I thought quite good: six months of free subsription. That was almost 3 years ago when i hardly knew or cared about what's happening in the world, much less about critical analysis of social/world/regional issues. This time round, in fact, Time is offering me an even better deal. After ignoring their first letter sent to urge me to renew my subscription, i received yesterday another telling me that I would get one year of issues free if i renew my current subscription.
For a second, i was seriously considering it. But I made up my mind long ago that i would switch to The Economist after my subscription with Time ends this year - if i so decide to. Besides, I am reading less and less of my Time these days, save for those double and special issues like The Asian Journey, which i happily devour and save alongside other noteworthy magazines in my bookshelf.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Food Republic
Methinks the Food Republic (the rather staid, serious name ironically enhances the physical appeal of the place after one visits it) at Wisma has good ambience and is an inexpensive place to meet friends over a meal. It has a good selection of food stores selling affordable and really tasty local food. The toast bread there is also very good. Just the other day, Josh remarked that he's waiting to see how long the wooden tables and chairs would remain in their pristine condition. No matter, i vote Food Republic as one of the best food courts in town. I think its concept and decor fit in with the snazzy, chic appeal of Wisma Atria - very pleasing to the eye, simple yet stylish.
Wooden tables and chairs lending a dash of traditional vibes amidst a positively modern layout
View of Orchard Rd from Food Republic
Friday, May 19, 2006
Taking a breather
It was the day after polling day. I got home past midnight and was watching the results of the elections on CNA. I switched off the TV only after the PAP had finished its press conference which was broadcast live. (Though the PM announced that his party got a 'strong mandate', the mood was not one of ecstatic triumph; rather, the mood was a tad sombre, more introspective than what one would expect from a party which claims it received a strong mandate. But of course, the PAP is not given to outward display of emotions.)
And so i went to bed at two plus, slept for less than four hours and was up again. I had to catch the first train at 0610hrs to get to Admiralty station by 0630. It was Sunday, the day when Keith, Jon and I had to drive up to Kuantan to recce for our June ride. Actually, Keith was the one who drove all the way (some 12+ hours) coz it's his car that was used. Jon was the navigator and note-taker, while my task was to take photographs of prominent landmarks and sign-posts as well as designated stop-points. I took the back seat. Finally my 12x zoom canon powershot S2 came into good use. For though i was seated at the back, i could nevertheless take clear photos without the front of the car coming into view.
I was very glad to be out of town. Malaysia, though less-developed than Spore, has one thing that Singapore does not have - abundant land. Sitting in the car and journeying through the quaint towns, past plantations and verdant landscapes, i feel so much lighter, more relaxed and merrier. For many miles on the road along the East Coast, not a single concrete building would come within sight. The sun shone brightly above, the clouds drifted lazily across the sky and every now and then you can see monkeys or cows by the side of the road. It's all very idyllic and pleasing to the eye and mind. Besides discussing matters relating to our mission, i basically had a very relaxed time as a car passenger, taking in the sprawling spaciousness of the surroundings that went past the car as we joruneyed north. I don't know how often, on the whole, do Singaporeans travel abroad. But it is almost compulsive that we travel beyond our shores whenever we can afford the time and money. Just to get a breather, recharge and simply enjoy the absence from the claustrophic lifestyle and physical living in Singapore.
And so i went to bed at two plus, slept for less than four hours and was up again. I had to catch the first train at 0610hrs to get to Admiralty station by 0630. It was Sunday, the day when Keith, Jon and I had to drive up to Kuantan to recce for our June ride. Actually, Keith was the one who drove all the way (some 12+ hours) coz it's his car that was used. Jon was the navigator and note-taker, while my task was to take photographs of prominent landmarks and sign-posts as well as designated stop-points. I took the back seat. Finally my 12x zoom canon powershot S2 came into good use. For though i was seated at the back, i could nevertheless take clear photos without the front of the car coming into view.
I was very glad to be out of town. Malaysia, though less-developed than Spore, has one thing that Singapore does not have - abundant land. Sitting in the car and journeying through the quaint towns, past plantations and verdant landscapes, i feel so much lighter, more relaxed and merrier. For many miles on the road along the East Coast, not a single concrete building would come within sight. The sun shone brightly above, the clouds drifted lazily across the sky and every now and then you can see monkeys or cows by the side of the road. It's all very idyllic and pleasing to the eye and mind. Besides discussing matters relating to our mission, i basically had a very relaxed time as a car passenger, taking in the sprawling spaciousness of the surroundings that went past the car as we joruneyed north. I don't know how often, on the whole, do Singaporeans travel abroad. But it is almost compulsive that we travel beyond our shores whenever we can afford the time and money. Just to get a breather, recharge and simply enjoy the absence from the claustrophic lifestyle and physical living in Singapore.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Claustrophobia
i looked out the bus window and there, a prominent signboard announces that a condominium will be built over the now vacant site. Yet another empty plot of grassland is going to be superseded by hard concrete building, i lamented. In my neighbourhood, every imaginable plot of unused land has over the years given way to something concrete - a school, a few blocks of flats, or another condominium. You can't see the view beyond a few miles because everywhere there is a building that stands in permanent obstruction. These buildings that are testament to improvement in amenities and progress have become oppressive structures which materialised at the expense of precious open space; in some instances, they literally developed on improbably small sites that are but a few yards between existing buildings.
And all that makes me feel claustrophobic. I know land is scarce in tiny Singapore. But i value open space, i value the emptiness of undeveloped grassland and the presence of vast greenery. In fact, i think human beings need a healthy amount of uninhibited space to thrive. But this is becoming so difficult in Singapore, where its geographical development mirrors the political climate: the absence and erosion of space parallels the political control and political orderliness under the dominant one-party state. It is suffocating.
Of course there are places to go where there's plenty of green and open spaces - Lim Chu Kang, Bukit Timah nature reserve, MacRitchie reservoir etc. But i don't want to have to go to places in order to enjoy that essential aspect of my physical well-being. It makes sense that open space as a feature should be incorporated into my everyday living. And so it is that i am upset with the destruction of evey conceivable plot of small land in my neighbourhood. I'm not against infrastructural development or building more apartments to meet the needs of society. But i think this has been carried out, in some instances, to such an unhealthy extent that there's insufficient breathing space. There is simply a sense of overwhelming oppression rendered by spatial constriction.
Unfortunately, this is a fate that i can't escape, as long as this remains my home where i sink my roots in.
And all that makes me feel claustrophobic. I know land is scarce in tiny Singapore. But i value open space, i value the emptiness of undeveloped grassland and the presence of vast greenery. In fact, i think human beings need a healthy amount of uninhibited space to thrive. But this is becoming so difficult in Singapore, where its geographical development mirrors the political climate: the absence and erosion of space parallels the political control and political orderliness under the dominant one-party state. It is suffocating.
Of course there are places to go where there's plenty of green and open spaces - Lim Chu Kang, Bukit Timah nature reserve, MacRitchie reservoir etc. But i don't want to have to go to places in order to enjoy that essential aspect of my physical well-being. It makes sense that open space as a feature should be incorporated into my everyday living. And so it is that i am upset with the destruction of evey conceivable plot of small land in my neighbourhood. I'm not against infrastructural development or building more apartments to meet the needs of society. But i think this has been carried out, in some instances, to such an unhealthy extent that there's insufficient breathing space. There is simply a sense of overwhelming oppression rendered by spatial constriction.
Unfortunately, this is a fate that i can't escape, as long as this remains my home where i sink my roots in.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
wedding bells
I am barely alive now, having not had a proper sleep for quite a while. School has never been this bad.
This month i attended a friend's wedding, and learnt that another friend is making preparations for his wedding next year (i didn't know a wedding requires such a long period of planning and preparing, seriously). At the wedding dinner that i attended, i learnt from another friend what his ideal wedding would be like: it'd be a private, cozy affair; a reception in the open-air, where the solemnisation will be held; i will have flowers all around; it will in Thailand or Australia and i will invite my friends over; and it will be next year.
At the same table were two married couples (i know everyone seated at the table), one recently tied the knot, the other are expecting their first child.
As i told my friend who's preparing for his wedding next year: i am entering that stage of life where friends around are getting married.
This month i attended a friend's wedding, and learnt that another friend is making preparations for his wedding next year (i didn't know a wedding requires such a long period of planning and preparing, seriously). At the wedding dinner that i attended, i learnt from another friend what his ideal wedding would be like: it'd be a private, cozy affair; a reception in the open-air, where the solemnisation will be held; i will have flowers all around; it will in Thailand or Australia and i will invite my friends over; and it will be next year.
At the same table were two married couples (i know everyone seated at the table), one recently tied the knot, the other are expecting their first child.
As i told my friend who's preparing for his wedding next year: i am entering that stage of life where friends around are getting married.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
false optimism?
I haven't made much progress in my work since yesterday. Right after i reached the library, i went to the shelves to look for a particular book. It wasn't there, but i ended up taking 6 other books, two of which are pretty thick. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I had randomly picked a few books whose titles suggest that their contents might be somewhat remotely relevant to the subject on Imperialism. I browsed through the content pages and felt a (mistaken) sense of comfort when i see the words 'empire' and 'imperialism'.
I returned to my seat and put the books on the table. Turned out it's quite a considerable stack. For a moment i foolishly wondered if other people might have noticed it. 'Here comes another chao-mugger in our midst, damn!' Then i proceeded to check my email and was reassured by my professor's prompt reply to my email that was sent out this morning. No, it wasn't any approval for an extension of dateline; it was just a clarification of my doubts. Nonetheless, i felt a sense of relief. In such precarious times, uncertainty only serves to breed a sense of panic, so clarification is important - it helps you to plan the right strategy (like doing only the absolutely necessary stuff).
Sometimes, in a bad or urgent situation you know things aren't making the slightest improvement, but occasionally when there are some unexpected adjustments or new inputs, it is possible to feel a sense of optimism.
And optimism, i assure you, matters a great deal.
I returned to my seat and put the books on the table. Turned out it's quite a considerable stack. For a moment i foolishly wondered if other people might have noticed it. 'Here comes another chao-mugger in our midst, damn!' Then i proceeded to check my email and was reassured by my professor's prompt reply to my email that was sent out this morning. No, it wasn't any approval for an extension of dateline; it was just a clarification of my doubts. Nonetheless, i felt a sense of relief. In such precarious times, uncertainty only serves to breed a sense of panic, so clarification is important - it helps you to plan the right strategy (like doing only the absolutely necessary stuff).
Sometimes, in a bad or urgent situation you know things aren't making the slightest improvement, but occasionally when there are some unexpected adjustments or new inputs, it is possible to feel a sense of optimism.
And optimism, i assure you, matters a great deal.
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