"So what did you do?"

"I wait for it to pass. There's not much I can do about it. It's like rain. You get caught in it along a shelterless stretch of road and you can only wait for the clouds to stop pissing."

"Use an umbrella"

"Umbrella's aren't a whole lot of good when it's a fucking thunderstorm."

Snippets of mum

I told my mum that I met someone, he starts, told her that I like this person very much. She looks at me in that concerned way only mums do and asks, well does she like you too.

Leaning against the table, he takes a measured sip of wine, and stares at the liquid's surface for a second before chuckling to himself. I said I think so. Another chuckle. She smiles and she laughs a lot when she's with me, I like to think so, mum. 

He has a bashful grin when he turns. Without waiting for a response he continues, my mum smiles and all she says is "Be careful" before promptly going off to sleep. His body starts shaking as wheezing laughter punctuates his recounting of the tale. Be careful? Mum, what do you mean "Be careful"? He exaggeratedly mimics shaking a person awake. Mum?? Mum, don't sleep! Explain yourself!! Mummm!! He is promptly dismissed with a wave of her hand.

And she's there, chortling at the anecdote but more at him - facial expressions, gestures, comicality and all. He's right, she does smile and laugh a lot when she's with him.

Heterochromia

That was the word that eluded my grasp the day I properly stared you in the eye. Gold-flecked blue eyes with hints of green that darken when the sun sets. You, my charmer with a swagger and that damn accent.

You with the uncertain smile during the impromptu visit to Bar Stories. You're quiet, you murmur, I can't tell if you like this place or hate it. Quiet's good, I reply, I like it. The drinks are great and the music could do with some tweaking but who's caring. I tried to find a place I thought you'd like, you beam, looking very pleased with yourself.

You're quite my opposite.

You try to paint conversation onto the cool walls of silence. Lulls discomfort you; I see it in the way your eyes flit from drink to bartender to ceiling to me, how your leg bounces sporadically, and your fingers play an occasional staccato on the bar top. Quickly the void of quietness overwhelms you and you turn to me with an apologetic grin. I'm all out of things to say Chris, you confess. I shrug, your company speaks for itself.

You'd take the livelier bar downstairs in a heartbeat; the one with people, chatter, and music spilling into the narrow streets surrounding it.

I found a place I know you'd like, I declare two drinks later. Then we're downstairs meandering through a convoluted maze of bodies, booze, smoke, and music. You fucking loved it.

Til now it's the one street name you remember and your voice warms when you recall it.

Aaaand cut.

Nothing like overestimating one's abilities and the resulting scraped knees to bring much anticipated activities to a screeching halt.

As per the Mothership, "I don't think you've ever hurt yourself this badly..." (left unsaid being "Since the time you cracked your skull while tripping over air")

Can I please outsource the kneecap recovery.

197/366 #Adultgoals

Several weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending a housewarming. The host was a charming, eloquent, and cultured fellow. Adorning his walls were art pieces procured from all over the world. In front of the state-of-the-art speakers, there was a varied music collection. His study had a designated corner for his music stand and instruments. He even designed the living room lights himself. There was no dinner - just a selection of cheese, chocolate, fruits, and wine.

Very enjoyable, absolutely delightful affair. What impressed me most was how conversation was the focus of the evening instead of food being the highlight and the conversation on the periphery. Rather easily overlooked distinction - 'Let's have dinner' vs 'Let's catch up'. #Adultgoals indeed; I'd love to do something similar ten years from now.

More than a driver

"I think we're the same age..." his voice trailing off at the end, as if unsure of the implicit point he wanted to make.

I studied the profile of the soft-spoken driver and wondered how to proceed past the sudden awkward bump. He was only supposed to drive me to and from the hotel while I was on the project, but had kindly offered to drive me out for lunch due to the miserable dearth of dining options within a walkable distance.

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to an area full of eateries. As he killed the engines and I alighted, he merely settled back into the seat.

"Are you going elsewhere for lunch?" I enquired.

"Oh no, " he smiled with a tiny shake of his head, "I wait you here until you finish lunch."

"What. No way, you're joining me for lunch!" I insisted. No lunch? Unacceptable.

Over a simple lunch of mee mamak, noodles stir fried in ketchup with bits of egg, onion, and a chopped up drumstick, he was curious about my life trajectory.

"When did you start working? When did you leave school? What did you study? When did you take your O levels?"

And as I answered and asked in return, he seemed slightly embarrassed.

"I working for six years...I left school because I had to help support my family and my parents cannot cope." In halting English, he shared about his five other siblings, how he picked up English from a client he used to chauffeur, and his previous jobs.

What struck me most was his belief in education being critical for his progress. He plans to take the O Levels at the end of this year. "Because if I don't take, then very hard for me to find job next time." After some probing about his study plans, he revealed, with a hint of wistfulness, "I like geography. I like to know about the volcanoes and mountains...maybe visit them."

It's been a year since. I don't know how he's doing but I sure as hell hope things are working out for him.

Pocketful of sunshine

"Hey, thanks for meeting up with me on such short notice," comes the cheerful greeting. Behind him is a stuffed backpack with bits and pieces peeking out, slung in front is a well-used equally stuffed camera bag, and by his side he holds his walking cane.

"I've got a surprise for you," he grins as we settle into the wooden chairs at the chinese restaurant. He whips out the battered body of a Fujifilm camera and sticks it in my face. Rapid snaps. Then he's taking out wires and an instax printer while I grab the camera and fiddle with the many dials.  "Here, now you've got something tangible to remember." Two polaroids. He says it very matter-of-fact-ly, as if that's his way of making things count in the same way I do with postcards. It's nice being on the receiving end.

We talk about other people, about preferring to be behind the camera, about the cultural differences between the US and Singapore, about collecting fats for the winter, and enjoy bouts of comfortable silence over piping hot beef noodle soup. It's a quick lunch, and also the highlight of my day.

British ties and other tell-tale attire

aka how to tell if a dude works for the British Government.

"Hey, who's that over there, the guy with a plate of broccoli in his hand?" I ask a fellow whom I got acquainted with five minutes ago. My acquaintance is spiffily dressed - white button down with a tailored blazer, slightly tapered pants, and a streak of white across his fringe.

He glances over and shrugs, "I've no idea." Then he does a double take and his eyes look alarmed, "Would you just look at that shitty tie! He's British!" he proclaims in an half whisper. "That's a trademark huh?" I reply, amused.

He continues to assess the gentleman's attire with a sigh, "And he's wearing a blue shirt." Our gazes linger on the man in question as he continues to pick food from the buffet line. "Shitty blue tie with a blue shirt. Definitely works for the British Government. It's a dead giveaway," he concludes with a chuckle as he returns to his wine.

Better late than never

A couple of days ago, The Mothership and I had a brief exchange.

"Christine, I just realised you actually did quite well for your O Levels!"

-Stares- "Thanks. You only just realised that now?"

"Well, I didn't really look at your grades then; I just saw it in the rough paper stack."

"Would've been more meaningful if you had recognised this back then. Y'know, when the 16 year old me could've done with a pat on the shoulder."

-Smiles- "Good job!"

Bored in Brunei I: How it all began

It all started with a casual conversation with a colleague on the way to lunch:

“Would you be interested to do a project in Brunei? It’ll be similar to the project we’re doing now.” 

“Are there photos worth taking there?” 

(Which was a vague, rather pointless thing to ask because subjectivity.)

“Well, there are several mosques that are quite grand, and the beach is potentially nice too.”

 “YeaokayI’min.” Pause. “It’s unlikely I’ll go there for vacation anyway.”

“You know, you’re the first Singaporean I’ve spoken to who want to go to Brunei.” 

 Cue gleam of amusement from him and tinkling of alarm bells in my head as I mentally back-pedalled.

“You know, maybe I should do some research first on the client and place before I get back to you.”

“No no, you’ve already agreed.” 

And it was final.

After an intensive post-lunch Google of Brunei, the one conclusion I arrived at based on trip reviews? Brunei is pretty boring attractions-wise, which roughly translates to: wandering around isn’t the way to go.  Not that I was overly worried – after all, we are fast approaching the age of virtual lives.

Fast forward six weeks. It was a Monday evening when I left after a frenzied rush from a closing meeting back home and then to the airport, with dinner consumed blindly in the backseat of the car.