neil gaiman, on london 6:07 pm

"Three years in London had not changed Richard, although it had changed the way he perceived the city. Richard had originally imagined London as a grey city, even a black city, from the pictures he had seen, and was surprised to find it filled with colour. It was a city of red brick and white stone, red buses and large black taxis (which were often, to Richard's initial puzzlement gold, or green, or maroon), bright red postboxes and green grassy parks and cemeteries.

It was a city in which the very old and the awkwardly new jostled each other, not uncomfortably, but without respect; a city of shops and offices and restaurants and homes, of parks and churches, of ignored monuments and remarkably unpalatial palaces; a city of hundreds of districts with strange names - Crouch End, Chalk Farm, Earl's Court, Marble Arch - and oddly distinct identities; a noisy, dirty, cheerful, troubled city, which fed on tourists, needed them as it despised them, in which the average speed of transportation through the city had not increased in three hundred years, following 500 years of fitful road-widening and unskilful compromises between the needs of traffic, whether horse-drawn or more recently motorized, and the needs of pedestrians; a city inhabited by and teeming with people of every colour and manner and kind."

- Neil Gaiman

Uncle T

Gaza Crisis: getting lost in the numbers 8:47 am

910 dead; 292 children, 76 women. For the past 17 days, each time I awake to BBC Radio, or read the news, it will be a new number that is mentioned. 30 air strikes in a night, more women and children dead, hospitals overflowing...

When it first happened 17 days ago when Israel launched retaliatory missile fire on Gaza, I was still holidaying in Singapore. I sat up. Watched the videos, scanned the photos. My heart honestly ached. I prayed, especially hard since it was fast approaching the New Year; don't all peoples deserve a decent start to a new year, wherever you are?

But soon, the videos online would be the same; either more smoke and debris, whistling rockets or more blood and crying. I either was numb or couldn't be bothered; I just wasn't affected anymore. I got lost on the numbers, forgetting that these were individual lives lost, mostly innocently.

And then, it all came rushing back again. By setting an example, the Catholic chaplain here in the university asked us all to say prayers for the people of Gaza, who whilst the world ushered in the new year with fireworks, saw the new year come and go as missiles light the sky. The only resolution they get to make is to make sure they stay alive as best as possible; even then that is taken out of their hands.

Human lives are being lost. Individual lives. I don't know how to help. The righteous political bantering amongst the two sides, Hamas and Israel, trying to justify their view is sickening and pathetic. Yet, I am not sure how else I'll act should I be in their position.

All I am asking is for you, me, us, to be aware that there is a disaster going on in Gaza. And should the chance arise for us to help, let's do so.

Click here for more info on the crisis. Let's not turn our backs on the photos, and not get lost in the numbers.

Uncle T

From door to door. 4:16 am

With troubled bits floating in my head, I decided to go for a run. It was dark as I stepped out of the warmth into the windy evening. I winced, and my body protested with a familiar inertia. I insisted and put up my hood and earphones.

The warmth I took with me from the room still kept me sane as the wind challenged the thickness of my jacket. As I ran into campus grounds, the Gregorian chants of the Brasilian Benedictine monks eased through my earphones. On my left and on my right; fellow students either finishing classes or heading home to prepare for a night out. I jog right past them. Soon, there were getting lesser students. And it got colder too.

Running towards to the far end of campus, I heard the monks' chant more clearly as the surroundings got quiet. No one in sight but for the brake lights of a random parked car. It got colder. I was soon running on the familiar country road I always adored for my 3 years here. But at night, the country road seemed empty and intimidating.

I weaved in and out patches of light from street lamps and darkness. I raised my eyes to the glorious countryside of Coventry's outskirts, but it was now all swallowed by the darkness. Nothing. No stars either. The monks continue to chant. I see double shadows on the ground. I instinctively turn around and fine nothing but the snaking country road; I was casting multiple shadows. I try to smile away my own silliness. Soon, even the buildings were getting smaller in the distance behind me.

There were no longer alternate patches of light; there were no longer shadows as it got totally dark. The street lights were gone. I suddenly here the loudness of my breathing and pounding of the wet ground as my ipod changes tracks and goes silent momentarily. Thankfully, the monks continue to chant. I was pushing myself now to run faster, to finish off the run. I pushed on in the darkness.

Finally, I saw the down slope, and the re-appearance of street lamps. My mind went blank, the chants becoming background noise, and i pushed my lungs as hard as I could down the final slope. I could hear my breathing even through the headphones. I made the final turn and caught sight of the light coming from my kitchen.

I slowed down, feeling the sweat trickle down the side of my face, panting. I took of my hoodie and let the night breeze cleanse me. The monks were still chanting, continuous, ever faithful. The run was over. I had to walk back into my life again, with the bits of troubles here and there. They didn't go away after the run. But perhaps I'm stronger. I don't know what to expect, walking back into my room.

I made the sign of the Cross, and opened the door to my flat.

reminiscing night bus rides back home.

Uncle T

i know what i must do. 11:44 pm

Living life with no regrets is tough. Even the best of us, I'm certain, allows tinges of regret to seep into our lives; regret for doing, or not doing, something. Regret is so powerful that it instills a fear; the fear that what we do or don't do will haunt us tomorrow.

I know what I must do to avoid regret, or its cousin guilt. I know exactly what I must do. Yet, identifying this goal and working towards it is often much like a groceries trip at Tesco; you go in with the single-mindedness to buy the washing detergent, but leave the supermarket with bags of groceries. You get distracted from your single-mindedness by the products and promotions. Sure you end up with the detergent in the end, but coupled also possibly with regret/guilt and lesser money to spend on other things. But I guess we are only human.


Just grabbing the detergent?
In my last 6 months of my university education, I know what my single goal is, my "detergent". I must not get distracted by the other temptations as I move towards it. Temptations come in the forms of new experiences, re-visiting old experiences, self-indulgence in frivolous questions, and many other things you can think of. But I must learn to shrug them off. No one said it was going to be easy, but I am not going to give up without a fight.

But would it also not be silly if I came across an exceptional promotion item, a once in a lifetime chance (say, to buy Ben & Jerry's at half price), and just give it up just because of my ardent single-mindedness? Well, I guess it is about a balance and discernment; to know what rare experiences I may have a last shot experiencing before heading back home I should not give up just because of my single purpose. I have to be discerning. Its not easy though. But where else better to learn than in university, when else better to learn than now?

The history worth caring about is the one we are writing today. Got that from Grey's Anatomy last evening. How true, isn't it? Possibly a colloquial form of carpe diem.

I know what I must do. I know what I must do to write a history today I won't regret tomorrow.

Come. Join me.

Uncle T

a part from the other side of the wall 6:53 am

Uncle T

little pieces build the wall 1:16 am

little pieces, little bits
build the wall.
they spring from nowhere;
some just appear,
some sneak back from
the past, some from
the closet where we chuck stuff we just don't want to see for the time being.

little pieces, little bits
build the wall.
those that appear in the
mornings seem exceptionally
cruel.

they build the barrier
to the constant peace
i seek.

i guess, no one said it was easy to find.
got to blast those little bits. zappppp!!

Uncle T

scent, and everything nice 11:53 pm

I was sitting there. I looked up and
Smiled. That scent; so sweet so
Alluring but where was it
Coming from? Argh! I cannot seem
To find it.

I was sitting there. I looked up and
Smiled. The bittersweet of my
Latte was comforting. The relaxed
Beats of Buena Vista Social Club made me
Wish I was elsewhere, but that scent...
It was captivating, that sweet smell.

Alas! I found the source. I smiled.
It came from the
Soap I washed my hand with from the
Public toilet.

I was sitting there. I looked down and
Smiled

Uncle T

Over Iraq, in Seat 7K 2:34 am

I look out my window seat and see the streaks of white fluffy clouds frame a beautiful picture. The white and brown peaks of Iraq stand majestically, as the orange sunlight somehow finds arbitrary spots to illuminate this breathtaking view. This is an Iraq so different from the one I see on TV. We just flew past Baghdad; no turmoil like on TV, just unimposing majesty from up here, flying pass Kirkuk, towards Diyarbakir, at 538km/h, 12 192m above ground. Strange places, but there they are, just below me. 5 h 23 min before arriving at Birmingham International Airport.

I'm in seat 7K.

Uncle T

heading back 7:32 pm

i am heading back to warwick. is it to close a chapter or prepare for a new one? thank you all for making my 3-week Singapore holiday one to remember.

Uncle T

my cafe affair 11:35 pm

No, its not because I cannot sit in my own room and think or write. Its just somehow my room, either in Singapore or in Warwick. is often four-wallish, lacking moving objects, lacking multiple sources of ambient sounds and most of all lacking strangers.

This is the reason I like to sit at cafes to do my writethink. Even if not all cafes are less four-wallish, it tends to have the other things my room might not have that I like for writethink.

Moving objects. People, both inside and outside, move. Some cafes have ceiling fans, they move too. Cars outside street cafes move too (though this is an ability of cars not exclusive to ones just outside cafes); perhaps that's why I enjoy Paris so much.

Ambient sounds. Conversations at other tables. Yes, i eavesdrop. And the best thing at cafes is that you can choose which topics of conversation that interest you, and you only tune in to the one that interests. The hiss of coffee machines are somehow comforting. Shuffling of waiters and waitresses, clinking of glasses.

Strangers. Somehow, people watching is an excellent muse for me to do my writethink; wondering where they came from and where they are rushing to. whether they slept well last night, guessing what was the last phonecall they made, were they happy with life at the moment...Somehow the energies from other lives lends inspiration for me to think about my own.

There. Trying to make sense of my love for cafes. This year, two cafes have taken a piece of my heart: (1) Gorilla Coffee cafe, 5th Avenue, Brooklyn, New York (2) Casa Verde cafe, Botanical Gardens, Singapore.

Do you like cafes too?

Uncle T

earlier photos@botanics 11:21 am

Uncle T

round midnight 9:45 am

the crazy
I looked at my watch and it was shortly after midnight. One of us suggested leaving the car behind. We looked at each other, exchanging nervous smiles before moving on in the humid Singapore night. We naturally bunched together as we approached the entrance.

It was just a small parting in the thick tropical foliage, the entrance to the forest beyond. Someone suggested turning back, but before we knew it, we stepped in and could not even see the person in front. It was total darkness.

Our eyes started to get used to seeing in the dark.But all we made out were odd shapes that stared at us. We carefully dodged hanging branches and uneven ground. All we heard was the nightsong of the forest and our nervous attempts to make conversation as we pressed on. We were determined to get there because there was no turning back.

Then we saw it. As we made the turn, we saw it shimmer amidst the dense darkness around. The water edge. The reflection of the surrounding forest on the water seemed to create another world, undiscovered. But it was beautiful as Lower Pierce Reservoir seemed to light the end of the dark forest tunnel that seemed to go on for ages.

Funny. But we then started talking about the use of Latin in the Catholic Church.


since old days
The 5 of us met up for supper. Josephians that go way back. In fact, it has been 2.5 years since I last saw Daniel. It was nice. After the prata shop closed at midnight, we decided to head off somewhere else. Somehow, it led us to deciding to talk a maniac walk through the broadwalk trail at Lower Pierce past midnight.

Somehow the talk on Latin and the Catholic church lasted us the walk back to the car. We then headed to Kenn's poolside to talk over drinks, laughing enough to make lights turn on in the apartment block at 2am.

It was nice. Simple, raw fun. Fun that you don't have to hold back on. Fun that you find with old friends.

Thank you dear friends. I'm off, once again. A bientot, Singapore.


Uncle T

someday we'll do this. 10:27 pm

if someone is inspired to perform the following video some time in their life, tell me. and we can make it happen, somehow, someday. amazing.



Uncle T

a bit of christmas 10:48 am

One bit of Christmas was spent entertaining my 3 adorable and endearing cousins climbing all over me and my gadgets. They were part of the reason I often miss home. Watching them grow up has been a greatest privilege.

Here are some shots of them using my mac, and more to come of Christmas day. :)

Uncle T

it just crept up from nowhere 10:20 am

it crept up from nowhere.
hugging me from behind
as the snow that is not there
fall, as the carols sing.

with the luggage before me,
framed by the window and curtains,
backdropped by pre-Christmas showers,
spirited by Corrine May's carols,

i sit here awaiting for it to happen.
i sit at home, finally, for it to happen.
and yet, it crept up from nowhere.
christmas crept up on me.

we always have our own
ideal of a perfect christmas.
some wait years for it to
happen. but perhaps that
perfect christmas is for us to build. we have certain expectations, and when they are not
met, we give ourselves the
worst christmas gift
of cynicism, robbing our future
of any possible joy.

i wish you joy and thanksgiving and
hope
this christmas, every christmas.
joy doesn't always come as euphoric explosions.
joy sometimes comes in the quiet peace
that hugs you from inside, like a
big bubble bath.

after all, there were no fireworks on that
silent night, holy night,
when all was calm and
all was bright.

God bless dear friends. Merry Christmas.



Uncle T