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.

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.

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.

Dear Brunei: Guess it's goodbye?

"Are you gonna be back next week? Or anytime soon?" 

"Last day? So you are not coming back anymore? Forever?"

"Come back soon! I hope to see you again!"

Friday marked my last day in Brunei - or the last official day, at least - and it was with some reluctance that I had to (hastily) bid farewell to everyone from the people I've been working with to the housekeeping staff at the hotel, some of whom always made it a point to chit chat with me. I've become fond of a lot of them, not least because of the infectious smiliness and friendliness of everyone there. 

There is certainty in the everyday pace there despite the little external entertainment, and each trip was curiously anticipated. I like that I can count on Kaizen's beef teppanyaki when I'm feeling angsty, that the lady selling satay in a makeshift store at the corner of the street knows me, that the people I work with are so cheery, that the security guards know me by sight, that the airport's less than 15 minutes away, that the parking lots are big, that I can drive all I want there, and that the physical distance from Singapore allows me to reshape my perspective. The only thing I didn't quite appreciate was that the (only) cafe near the office got my drink right just a quarter of the time. (But hey, at least the success rate improved, right?)

Pancakes and Cheese

I finally got around to editing the backlog of photos that has accumulated since 2013. The trip to Bergen happened in September 2014, which was a great time since the weather was cool enough to only warrant a layer of clothes and a jacket. We touched down on a Sunday and made our jolly way to the Radisson Blu Hotel Norge (which, on a side note, has a scrumptious breakfast spread that I thoroughly enjoyed).

Wanting to make the most of our limited time, the three of us headed out almost immediately and spent a good portion of the afternoon checking out food. First was the fisketorget, or the fish market, where I sampled (dried) whale meat for the first time. Do not try it, unless you like the fishy tasting over done roast beef with an oily aftertaste. Admittedly, I've heard the whale steak is pretty tasty. Until then, nope. 

If you didn't know that cavier comes in bright pink, now you do, even if you can't see it in the photo. Flying fish roe stained with beetroot, apparently.

Luckily for me, there was a farmers' market pop-up that weekend. We're talking cheese, pancakes, reindeer burgers, grains, organic juices and produce, and more. Always interesting to amble from store to store. The most notable was brunost, that caramelised dairy goodness that the Norwegians have successfully kept a secret from the rest of the world. They need to export it to every corner of the earth.

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They've got breakfast food right. Then again, anything with cheese is right by me. Even smoked salmon comes in second to it. 

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.