"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."

Level up

You know you've achieved Regular status when the cheery teh tarik uncle at the hawker centre sees you and immediately rattles off your order. Either that or I'm really the sole depleter of their masala tea mix. 

Small thrills 😊

Toast set loyalties

New stall. Kaya toast set.
Give it a chance, my stomach implored.
So I did, against my better judgement of the crew obviously struggling with the ten orders before mine.

Cue, 10 minutes later: Hot tea all over hand, eggs rare, toast wrong.

Thank you for reaffirming that Yakun will always be my number one.

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.

A breather

Despite the many forms of entertainment that this day provides, nothing brings me more contentment than a book. On a rainy day. In a quiet house. With salted caramel ice cream and pretzel sticks. And the rest of the weekend with nothing on the agenda. Sunday, stay this way a little longer.

Sub-universes

From the journals

New York doesn't sleep. One cannot go to New York and expect to sleep. The first three days were overwhelming. I dived straight into its wild beating heart and it took a while for me to comprehend which way I was going. Too much, too noisy, too chaotic. It's so vastly different from Singapore, and for the first time I understood Singapore's smallness. We read about it all the time in textbooks and newspaper articles; the cosmopolitan, odds-defying little red dot. Always an emphasis on the littleness. I never fully comprehended it until New York happened.

The subway runs 24/7 like the veins and arteries keeping the city moving, pulsing, streaming even at the oddest hour. Broadway plays whisk you away to Utah, to prohibition-era Chicago, to Africa. Grand Central with the light and shadows and constant movement hypnotises. Elsewhere, behind nondescript doors and in dirty shop houses, endorphins and alcohol run deep. It's an ironic culture of speakeasies being trendy; everyone loves a good secret even if everyone else already knows about it. Tucked in the cosy basements of Greenwich Village, renowned jazz musicians let their hair down and jam to an appreciative audience limited only by the size of the room and the generosity of the laid-back bouncer.

Everywhere you turn, there is a hive of activity. People who keep on keeping on. Food trucks setting up their fare; the smell of hotdogs and shwarma wafting in the breeze. Dog-walkers resisting the pull of five dogs , florists setting up, people queuing for coffee, Wall Streeters power-walking to salads and yoghurt, tourists obstructing the way for their photos, office workers with their arms full of goods from the place of wonder that is Trader Joe's after work.

And the subways, the subways are a world of their own. On the subways, teens slouch in their seats and chatter with little care, massive well-behaved dogs eye curious children warily, girls with amazing hairdos giggle among themselves, and a clan of Orthodox Jews in their distinctive outfits crowd into a carriage as quickly as they alight like an almost blur of black fabric and beards and Hebrew. The sartorial touch is evident in most carriages - the stark red lips, the perfectly drawn cat eye, the sleek fall coat, the blacker than black bowler hat sitting atop picture perfect coiffure, the Instagram hipster with glasses he was born to wear. And people read. They tote their books around and whip it out once the doors close. It's so easy to get lost in a book while on the subway, and even easier to fall for place so perfectly chaotic.

275/366 Brunch by proxy and remote joy

After realising that F was on his merry way to Paris for a brunch with V this morning, I immediately extended the brunch invite to my sister and had them meet up. Turns out, E was in town for brunch too! And so we brunched in Paris by proxy and through the wonders of video-calls. How do I even begin to describe my elation when I connect people I love with other people I love?? Amazingly, it's already been three years since meeting E, V, and F. Catching up with them for a bit today fills me with so much joy (: With some good scheduling, and accommodation options, meeting V might happen soon too!

155/366 Practicing Farewells

I received an invitation for farewell drinks a couple of weeks back. What followed immediately after reading the invite was a hollowness that remained for the next hour. It's the feeling best described as free-falling with your heart lurching in your chest except that the adrenaline-fueled heart is not there but the lurching is amplified and your limbs feel curiously foreign. I later identified it as a (dramatic) physical manifestation of loss and momentary disorientation. That reaction caught this generally unsentimental person by surprise.

I remember having three emotional farewells in a span of five hours with three people I met under very different circumstances. Talk about not knowing one's limit. It was more than my heart could take. As the bus started up and pulled away from Marseille, I became that cliche staring out of the window with unfocused eyes welling up with unwilling tears while trying not to involve the unfortunate fella across the aisle in an awkward moment dance.

As much as practice makes perfect, I hope I don't get too many opportunities to do so.

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.

Observations

1. In Hua Hin, majority of the Caucasian males are balding, very pot-bellied, or both. It was slightly disturbing to see them with such frequency.

2. At the beach, you don't see Asians...until you look at where the shade is.

3. My family cannot do chill. We tried hanging at the beach (under some shade, naturally) and the what're-we-gonna-do-next-es promptly started. We tried leisurely having tea and sipping beer at a bar/restaurant establishment in the middle of the day and left soon after the drinks were finished.

4. The old school cinema in Bangkok provides a far better movie experience than the cinemas here. Huge theatre, seats that tilt back comfortably, ridiculously cheap popcorn (who doesn't love that), and theatre ushers with blazers and bow ties. Not to mention a very grand looking lobby.

5. The next family trip will have to be planned around food and meal times. 'Where shall we go later/today/tomorrow?' is always followed with a 'Depends on where lunch/tea/dinner is.' That said Bangkok has such amazing food. Particularly passion fruit.

Mementos

Berlin, Germany, June 2013

The sun had long set but the summer heat and the accompanying humidity lingered. We'd wandered along a dusty, half-abandoned street, grabbed a beer, made friends with an international group of gays, met the prettiest boy/aspiring chef I'd ever seen, and now, we were trying to squeeze three bodies into a photoautomat meant for two tiny people.

We were caught off guard for the first two shots. Prepared for the next two, we held our breath and our poses in the cramped space and gave the camera our widest smiles. We tumbled out less than twenty seconds later, laughing, uncurling, stretching.

From the side of the booth, the machine whirred and whirred and eventually spat out a black and white strip no longer than the length of my palm. The first two were of comical wide-eyed humans with silent shrieks. In the other two, we looked like we were drunk on a happy secret and our eyes held deep amusement. The booth looked spacious - comfortable - from the shoulders up. No one would've been able to guess the collection of tensed muscles that held our position together.

Back home, we split the strip. My fellow couchsurfer and I kept one each, and the host kept the remaining two.

I slipped mine into my purse. It remained there the whole time, until recently when it fell out as I pulled a card from the same compartment. I only belatedly realised it.

Funny how a tiny black and white instaprint can hold so much memories. And how the loss of it brings those memories rushing to the fore.

Do you see that?

The sun was a brilliant luminous pink circle suspended in the sky this evening. The bus rolled to a halt at the traffic lights and I marveled at how utterly aloof and solemn the sun was against a hazy sky. It was almost poetic. I took a quick glance around, wondering if it had caught the attention of anyone else and was dismayed to see that a good majority were more preoccupied with the illuminated screen. Others were staring into space with vacant eyes and stony faces. And for the first time in a long while, I felt a bubbling urge grab the person nearest to me by the sides of his head and ask how, how, are you not seeing that?! The observation of all that...unawareness...left me feeling rather bereft and also more cognisant of my recent disinterest in a good many things.

Alas, the things that corporate life robs you of when you're not careful. I'm taking back my wonder.

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 II: Is it really?

"What's it like there?" 

"How did you find Brunei?"

"It's boring, right?"

My friends and colleagues curiously enquired when I returned. For most of them, Brunei is about the last place they would consider visiting. For those who had the opportunity - or misfortune, as a few corrected - to be there under National Service, the reaction was an almost unanimous disbelief manifested in the form of an incredulously raised eyebrow. Why are you even there??

"Well," I would reply with a shrug of my shoulders, "there admittedly isn't a whole lot to do." They would nod, "Yeah, that's what I heard/ thought," almost glad that this particular view had been affirmed. I usually leave out the part where I also admit that I quite like it there, because there is not a whole lot to do. 

Afterall, Brunei is hardly known for its tourism. The number of Starbucks/ Coffee Bean outlets can be counted on one hand. The largest mall around hardly attracts crowds. There are mosques that are considered some of the most beautiful in Asia Pacific, but there is no Sagrada Familia, no Notre Dame that welcomes visitors and showcases the proud history of the religion or building. There is a water village said to be 'the Venice of the East' but its visual appeal pales in comparison to its well-known counterpart.

But is it boring? Not so. The idea that a place should have loud, well-marketed landmarks with the seal of tourist approval in order not to be boring is irresponsible, for lack of better word. Should not the vanquishing of said boredom be the responsibility of the bored individual? 

Having been deprived of photography outings, I very happily spent two hours wandering around the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddien Mosque, and by wandering around I mean walking the entire perimeter of the place and beyond, looking for photo-worthy shots.

The Royal Barge rests on an enclosed body of water. Walking around provides an almost unobscured 270 degree view of the barge.

It was pure good timing that the lights came on after my dinner and since it was nearby, I headed back to get picture of the mosque at night.

Beyond the Barge lies Kampong Ayer - the water village - a cluster of 42 villages linked by a mishmash of bridges and is mostly accessible by speed boats. It's a cheap thrill to hop aboard one of them and bounce your way across the water, but more on that the next time. The sunset colours are great here. I often leave the office around the time colours streak across the sky and for the nth time, I would be wishing I could catch that. 

There is an almost unreal sense of contentment that lingers. It could be due to the general lack of people-masses anywhere, but the place hardly feels abandoned - there are pockets of human activity if you look closely enough. The kind where intruding with your presence might break a spell. Time saunters and I am glad it does for it lets me catch my breath and provides me with space to introspect - something I have neglected too much since I started work. Actually looking forward to going back there; it's almost like a short getaway.

WiFi-less in Brunei: Brunei Time

The idea of being involuntarily disconnected might induce a momentary fear that paralyses you. While I was happily ensconced in the hotel room last week, a thunderstorm raged upon the city. At one point it poured so hard that the TV reception got knocked out. At least it wasn't the WiFi, I thought.

Alas, I thought too soon.

This week, the weather had nothing to loss of connectivity; it was the hotel's decision to reboot  the router that did. And along with it came a belated introduction of a Bruneian time warp served on a platter.

"Hi Ma'am, we are just rebooting the router. It will be up again in a few minutes."

Fair enough. So I waited. 90 minutes and another call later, "Hi Ma'am, yes, we are just waiting for the router to refresh. It will be up in a few minutes." Why hello Christine, welcome to the dimension where time has been imbued with stretchy properties.

It was another 40 minutes before the ping of my phone signaled the resurrection of a dependency.

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.

What I Remember You By

I remember you by your wristbands from Thailand. A couple of years old and all that was left from your once extensive collection that spanned your forearm. A crisscrossed mixture of blue, orange and possibly green. All these I know because you asked about mine - green hearts on blue that encircled my wrist; a nine year old friendship going on to forever. At that point I wished I had an extra one for you as a souvenir; it felt like an apt thing to do.

I remember you by your gorgeous slightly sad, sometimes uncertain smile, almost like you couldn't decide if you should savour the present or sigh at the inevitable parting of ways. This is great, is gonna end way too soon, don't wanna mess up the remaining time. It might have been a projection of mine but I find that hard to believe when it was written all over you, from the light in your eyes to the complementary magnetism to the inconvenience we worked around.

I remember you by the outstretched palm you offered me on that boozy lazy afternoon. Open, unassuming, hopeful, demanding. Beer in your other hand, on the floor, on the table, in my hand. How your fingers were longer than mine by an entire section and your palm still visible after mine covered yours.

I remember you by the tremulous voice cracked with slight disbelief and realization when you said, word for word, the exact sentence I was thinking at that moment. Then it was my turn to be in complete disbelief at that freaky telepathy.

But most of all I remember you by the collective memory of the little things that enhanced the idea of you, not you. Crinkled eye corners, giggly laughs, nerdy preferences, laugh lines, chivalry, incredible perceptiveness, and passion so deep it left a crater-sized impression.

Mind if I sit here?

Wednesday night, I saw you sitting on a bench. Dark jeans, elbows on knees, nursing a beer and harbouring a sigh. No words were exchanged, just a silent and half anticipating steady gaze broken by a faint curl of the lips. I should have spoken to you. You looked interesting. I just wasn't sure if you spoke English.