"Have you heard how Nat (King Cole) sings 'Unforgettable'? The sweet trance of romance in jazz. Sincere and pure. I'll rather stay safely in this dream than wonder beyond into reality where you have to take chances. And risk losing."
Uncle T
16 Apr 2009
An excerpt from an email... 6:56 pm
I wrote an email to a dear friend about how I spent my Easter weekend. This is an excerpt from that email.
"Spent my Easter weekend at a seminary in Birmingham. I was hesitant to go on Maundy Thursday when the retreat actually started, mainly because of my 5,000 essay but also because it was a discernment weekend for the priesthood. It was kind of lovely that when I arrived Sat morning at the beautiful seminary (Oscott College, its online), I was the 'missing' 12th 'apostle' of the retreat. There were 12 of us.
Out of the 12, 10 have either signed up to be priests or are seriously considering. In that way, I felt like the odd one out. But similarly, I learnt so much. About the humility and power of God's call; met construction workers who felt the calling, and are far more educated in Church literature than I will ever be; boys who didn't do A Levels and read much more about God's word than I can only imagine; priests who dropped out for 8 years then came back in...it goes on.
It was a nice quiet weekend. I enjoyed it; time with Him is always good. Desperate to clear my life from filth that clouds my conscience. It is said that conscience is where God's voice resides. But once we allow the world's ways to clog it up, what we hear in our conscience is far from God's voice. So I'm working on that."
Uncle T
15 Apr 2009
I just can't help but smile...Travel differently perhaps? 10:14 pm
Bumped into a friend who visited Maroc (Morocco) alone as did I. And naturally, we spoke about Maroc fondly. I couldn't help but smile; thinking of the deserts, meeting people in oasis villages, fending off hasslers in the most amiable way possible in Marrakech and Fes...I can't help but smile.
Its not just Maroc. If you spoke to me about New York, I'll smile like a gleeful child talking about his 'special' role he got in the school play. Even Corsica. Perhaps its just the joy I derive from traveling to foreign cities/countries, and get to know them till some form of relationship is formed. No, not a relationship you build by visiting a place for 2 days, tick the checklist of attractions seen and move on. Its a relationship built by trying your earnest best in learning about the nation, about its peoples.
Are you satisfied with saying that you've visited 878,743 cities (this is a random number; don't crack your head thinking about it) rather than say you've got to know perhaps 3 cities very well? Well, if you are of the first kind, you might not want to read on. Because as the summer draws near, some of us may be traveling. I urge us all to get to know a place well before leaving it; and you won't know a place well enough to take away deep lasting memories if you spend 1-2 days.
I am not saying 1-2 days in a city is bad. I'm just urging you to move beyond a superficial tourist visit but stay a little longer to get at least a traveler's view; be welcomed into a local's home/shop/regular hang-out. If you have that urge to move from tourist to traveler, it takes guts. To get to know a city/place, you've got to open yourself up, be vulnerable, but in a sensible way. Only when you open up can the cultures and histories of the land you travel to touch you.
Think about it, even just for abit. As you plan your holidays/travels, think about:
- stay at a city longer
- staying where locals stay
- eating where locals eat
- travel alone
- get a local guide
- hitch-hike, even if its for a short distance
- anything else you can think of to get yourself out of your comfort zone, and closer to local-life.
That's just my view, but I believe a view worth considering. Do.
Uncle T
Its not just Maroc. If you spoke to me about New York, I'll smile like a gleeful child talking about his 'special' role he got in the school play. Even Corsica. Perhaps its just the joy I derive from traveling to foreign cities/countries, and get to know them till some form of relationship is formed. No, not a relationship you build by visiting a place for 2 days, tick the checklist of attractions seen and move on. Its a relationship built by trying your earnest best in learning about the nation, about its peoples.
Are you satisfied with saying that you've visited 878,743 cities (this is a random number; don't crack your head thinking about it) rather than say you've got to know perhaps 3 cities very well? Well, if you are of the first kind, you might not want to read on. Because as the summer draws near, some of us may be traveling. I urge us all to get to know a place well before leaving it; and you won't know a place well enough to take away deep lasting memories if you spend 1-2 days.
I am not saying 1-2 days in a city is bad. I'm just urging you to move beyond a superficial tourist visit but stay a little longer to get at least a traveler's view; be welcomed into a local's home/shop/regular hang-out. If you have that urge to move from tourist to traveler, it takes guts. To get to know a city/place, you've got to open yourself up, be vulnerable, but in a sensible way. Only when you open up can the cultures and histories of the land you travel to touch you.
Think about it, even just for abit. As you plan your holidays/travels, think about:
- stay at a city longer
- staying where locals stay
- eating where locals eat
- travel alone
- get a local guide
- hitch-hike, even if its for a short distance
- anything else you can think of to get yourself out of your comfort zone, and closer to local-life.
That's just my view, but I believe a view worth considering. Do.
Uncle T
10 Apr 2009
GOOD FRIDAY. Is it really 'good'? 4:08 pm
"It's as if the weather knew, knew that it is Good Friday. When they nailed him back then on Calvary it rained, when we planted the Easter cross today it rained. It's really as if the weather knew and did the crying for us."
A crowd watching the planting of the Easter cross on Good Friday | Abbey Hill, Kenilworth
Perhaps not all of us are like me, inspired and desiring to do things, but ultimately not achieve all of it because the flesh is weak. I pray the better lot of us out there are better at keeping Lenten promises and New Year resolutions. But perhaps it is a common human condition to always want to do something but never do; Harold Pinter captures this pitiful reality in his plays, in particular in "The Caretaker". The only 2 characters in the play sit in a room and talk about all their plans, mundane plans, and errands they want to do, but ultimately not leave the room right till the end of the play. Sounds vaguely familiar? For me, I can only hear the echoes of guilt and exasperation in my room.
Yaoen and Oliver at the planting of the Easter cross | Abbey Hill, Kenilworth
Good Friday often strikes a somber, guilty discordant chord in me. But somehow, this discordance has its own beauty; the realisation that I am only human awash with shortcomings and yet this pinnacle of imperfection still has a place in the presence of perfection. Palm Sunday, the Sunday before Easter celebrates the welcoming of Jesus into the community of Jews some 2,000 years ago; riding on a humble donkey, Jesus was welcomed at the city gates with people waving palm leaves. After my trip to Morocco, one better understands the reverance the Arabs and the people in Arabia give to the palm tree. So this was a welcome fit for a king.
Yet, it is the very same people who welcomed Him that condemned Him to His death just a week later on Good Friday. Perhaps you better understand the guilt now; like the Jews centuries ago who codemn Jesus to His death, I do the same today each time I sin. But it takes a fall for the rising to be beautiful isn't it? And so it is the same for this Easter triduum; the fall on Good Friday, the rising of hope on Easter Sunday.
The Easter cross planted on Good Friday | Abbey Hill, Kenilworth
Easter never fails to be a poignant event of every year. Each year, it fills me with new hope and inspiration once more to live life and live it well. Knowing only a fraction of this inspiration will be turned into deed, I look forward once more to Easter next year. After all, I am but a human that needs constant hope to embrace the reality that "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak".
Happy Easter everyone, with or without the bunnies and eggs. Even if Easter was not a religious occasion for you, its a compelling story to reflect upon, won't you think so?
"Hope of Easter" | Tulip about to bloom | Outside Social Science Building, University of Warwick
9 Apr 2009
photos of the day (yesterday) 4:46 pm
3 x Dog-earred political philosophy books borrowed from the University of Warwick, stacked on top of each other, placed on top a regular lacquered wooden desk with random stains on it, taken in the room of Flat 25 Hurst accomodation on university campus.
Where does knowledge come from? From within or from the outside? Which knowledge to retain, which to abandon; there is only so much we can take.
Where does knowledge come from? From within or from the outside? Which knowledge to retain, which to abandon; there is only so much we can take.
1 x Lamy Calligraphy Pen bought at an airport in London, 1 x Black Nike digital watch bought in Singapore, 1 x used Yellow Post-it with writing in black ink; all on top of notes compiled over 2.5 weeks for an essay on the legitimacy of exemption from the law based on cultural and religious claims. This was taken during the time of day where there was still sunlight streaming into the room.
There is just so much information to consider; discernment is key. That is the same for life, the same for the essay. Discernment, that is the key.
There is just so much information to consider; discernment is key. That is the same for life, the same for the essay. Discernment, that is the key.
Light painting in an artificially darkened room by drawing its curtains. The source of light is from a 19" computer screen on top of a regular lacquered wooden desk. The movement of the camera was random. This was inspired after seeing Picasso's own light drawing.
If you look around, you will find. Possibly that's what's the difference between the great and good; the great spend more time looking around than finding.
Uncle T
7 Apr 2009
photo of the day (yesterday) 4:01 pm
This is an Assisi cross on a wooden rosary on a white Mac keyboard, at 02:15 in the wee small hours of a Tuesday morning.Faith and intellect. Hoping that that is enough to get through the essays and the anxieties of the examinations.
6 Apr 2009
"Oh stop being so naive, please. Stop wasting your time. This always happens to you; it happened before and its happening now. Don't you ever learn? What must it take for you to learn?! Grow up. Fairy tales are for fairy tales; you ain't no fairy. So please, get real buddy. Stop it."
Uncle T
Uncle T
5 Apr 2009
colours of london. 8:15 am
The bus drove by the greyish brown walls and tree-claws of Grosvenor Place. Somehow, the greyness of London brings out the colour of the people that throng this city. The colour of the foreign faces against those walls made me smile. I miss London.
We snaked through the busy streets of London, fighting to get into the centre whilst others fought to get out at the end of the working day. Primark came into view on the left. I smiled again. We soon pulled into Victoria Coach station, the place of many adventures. No, misadventures I do recall; of missing coaches and sad farewells.
There it was all over again. The faint stench of London’s sidewalks, immigrant cab drivers urging you to take the most expensive cab-ride of your life. That is no different from when you first arrive at JFK in New York; just that its yellow there and black here. I turn the corner and there was the familiar Starbucks at the t-junction before heading into the train station.
The moment you enter the train station, its like you hit the ground running. Faces, tailcoats, chattering mouths rush past you, into you. The high ceilings of Victoria do not make up for the scores of people scurrying below in all directions. I caught glimpses of the familiar yellow luminous jackets of London policemen. Tall, fine young men with no guns; somewhat castrated, don’t you think?
And with many others, we struggle down the steps from the train station to the Underground; so many memories here of helping struggling old ladies, black women, young children carry their luggage down that flight. There was no one to help me today. Or yesterday. Chatters rush by you as arms and legs fight to get into the rush-hour Tube trains. Funny how they mind the gap but not the people around them.
a strip of london | london
Uncle T
Swan Street, London 7:50 am
I'm right back in the room I stayed in for 2 months last summer. Same desk, same sink, same kitchen, same hamster; this reminds me of getting up early in the morning, wearing a nicely pressed shirt, putting on my tie, making my shirt and pants had no creases, grabbing available breakfast, rushing out to join the throngs heading across London Bridge, picking up the City AM newspapers talking about the optimism of the financial market, heading into my life as a banker...
Now, the same desk, same sink, same kitchen, same hamster, only remind me that the bank that hired me has gotten into terrible financial trouble, the markets are only on the frontpages for the wrong reasons, and that sense of optimism heading to a day of adventure at asset management and debt structuring is replaced by dread of looming essay deadlines. Same, but different.
I will miss this place, I will miss London. I was looking forward to New York last summer. Now, its time to look ahead towards heading home, Singapore. Let's hope its as good, or better, than New York.
'godzilla's playground' | manhattan, new york
'come on...' | brooklyn, new york
Now, the same desk, same sink, same kitchen, same hamster, only remind me that the bank that hired me has gotten into terrible financial trouble, the markets are only on the frontpages for the wrong reasons, and that sense of optimism heading to a day of adventure at asset management and debt structuring is replaced by dread of looming essay deadlines. Same, but different.
I will miss this place, I will miss London. I was looking forward to New York last summer. Now, its time to look ahead towards heading home, Singapore. Let's hope its as good, or better, than New York.
'godzilla's playground' | manhattan, new york
'come on...' | brooklyn, new york
'this is nyc.' | brooklyn, new york
'stop.' | manhattan, new york
'finishing as champions' | bronx, new york
Uncle T
'stop.' | manhattan, new york
'finishing as champions' | bronx, new york
2 Apr 2009
i really don't know where to start. 11:29 am
I really don't know how to start telling my tale; my solo trip to Maroc (Morocco).
From the unforgiving city of Tangier,
to the cultural capital of Fes,
then to the gem amongst all the Imperial Cities Marrakech, down south past the Atlas Mountains,
into the desert beyond and 90km through
piste (gravel and rocks) road in the Dry Mountains,
to the oases of the Draa Valley,
to the kasbahs of the Dades Valley...
A trip to the heart of Maroc
Not forgetting the short but precious trip to the heart of the Maroc culture, where resides religion, family, shuma (the concept of 'shame', similar to 'face' in other Asian cultures) and I would say one of the most sincere hospitality I have seen in my travels thus far.
Once upon a setting sun...
Perhaps I'll begin this tale with a memorable photo, needing no editing because of the humbling magnificance of the country's natural beauty. I will hopefully finish this tale, insha'allah.
From the unforgiving city of Tangier,
to the cultural capital of Fes,
then to the gem amongst all the Imperial Cities Marrakech, down south past the Atlas Mountains,
into the desert beyond and 90km through
piste (gravel and rocks) road in the Dry Mountains,
to the oases of the Draa Valley,
to the kasbahs of the Dades Valley...
A trip to the heart of Maroc
Not forgetting the short but precious trip to the heart of the Maroc culture, where resides religion, family, shuma (the concept of 'shame', similar to 'face' in other Asian cultures) and I would say one of the most sincere hospitality I have seen in my travels thus far.
Once upon a setting sun...
Perhaps I'll begin this tale with a memorable photo, needing no editing because of the humbling magnificance of the country's natural beauty. I will hopefully finish this tale, insha'allah.
setting sun | an oasis in tamungalte | draa valley | south maroc
Uncle T
28 Mar 2009
back from a different world. 5:03 am
I'm now back in Warwick, carrying with me so much; photos, souveniors, stories, memories and most of all dreams.
So much to tell. I don't even know where to start.
But who is willing to listen? Who should I share it with? A polite smile here, an absent-minded nod there. I don't know.
Uncle T
So much to tell. I don't even know where to start.
But who is willing to listen? Who should I share it with? A polite smile here, an absent-minded nod there. I don't know.
Uncle T
20 Mar 2009
Be a traveller, not just a tourist. 3:02 am
Wont type long. Neither will i have proper sentences with an arabic keyboard here in Fes, Morooco. In an internet cafe sipping sweet Moroccan mint tea (shaay); too sweet in my view. In a local neighbourhood in the Ville Nouvea quarter in Fes.
tough, but learning the ways of maroc
It was initially tough to get my head around being in Morocco; in Tanger, I got cornered to give a man all my coins, a hussler that followed me for a good 15 minutes, loads of people trying to invite you to go somewhere, kids not being the most innocent (I reckon more bold & persistent as husslers); just to get my tip, 2 boys kicked each other just to ensure they got the lion share of my tip.
But I learnt and am slowly learning; to fend off husslers with drawn out stories, to say firmly no to kid-husslers; to jay-walk where there are no road dividers, that nothing is free, to accept the hussling is a way of life for tourists and learn to live with it, to take in the sights and yet be alert of my surroundings, to learn that every single Moroccan stares at me for my skin colour and being alone (i swear even the moroccan cats stare too!), my few words of Arabic with the right guttorals to be asked many ti,e if i were Muslim...
Yet I still have much to learn; about the history, culture and people of this captivating country. For the few Moroccan people I conversed with, and understood, I still cannot fully understand their strong sense of national pride. And I still havent fully learnt to say no to eloquent shopkeepers who are amazing salesmen; simply amazing enough to blow a whole in my pocket.If I had the chance, I will want to better appreciate and understand how this deeply re'ligious and family-centred people put both God, family and survival at the centre of their lives.
As for me, this time travelling alone has not been easy, but I know it is an experience I will draw on and not forget. One of the most important things is learning to live beyond your comfort zone. Not that Ive never done it before, but this time its coupled with the reality of doing it alone and not being able to turn to anyone and bitch to get it off the chest. One has to internalise and convince yourself that you can survive this and yet not emerge bitter or resentful, and enjoy the ride even if its bumpy. I think the hard part is not surviving it, but rather still enjoying the experience and not emerge caked in cynicism.
guidebook fantasies or the magic of travel
Perhaps its still early days for this optimism. But I sense it all moving upward (including my credit card debt!). Perhaps the guidebooks overdo the magic and fantasy of Morocco; that is easy to do on hindsight and when you are a wide-eyed westerner. I dont think I would use magical to describe it so far, but I will tell you its eye-opening, captivating, foreign and humbling; it is always hu,bling, for me, to stand before a different civilisation and culture and seek to merely have a little peek into its essence.
That is the magic, not of Morocco alone, but of traveling; opening not just the senses but the heart to the possibilities of the many other cultures that share this earth. Travel is that instrument to this enlightenment, well beyond the other limited means of the TV, books and googlemaps that we are starting to get too comfortable with. If finances and sensibilties permit, go be a traveller. Experience the magic.
Be a traveller, not just a tourist.
Uncle T
tough, but learning the ways of maroc
It was initially tough to get my head around being in Morocco; in Tanger, I got cornered to give a man all my coins, a hussler that followed me for a good 15 minutes, loads of people trying to invite you to go somewhere, kids not being the most innocent (I reckon more bold & persistent as husslers); just to get my tip, 2 boys kicked each other just to ensure they got the lion share of my tip.
But I learnt and am slowly learning; to fend off husslers with drawn out stories, to say firmly no to kid-husslers; to jay-walk where there are no road dividers, that nothing is free, to accept the hussling is a way of life for tourists and learn to live with it, to take in the sights and yet be alert of my surroundings, to learn that every single Moroccan stares at me for my skin colour and being alone (i swear even the moroccan cats stare too!), my few words of Arabic with the right guttorals to be asked many ti,e if i were Muslim...
Yet I still have much to learn; about the history, culture and people of this captivating country. For the few Moroccan people I conversed with, and understood, I still cannot fully understand their strong sense of national pride. And I still havent fully learnt to say no to eloquent shopkeepers who are amazing salesmen; simply amazing enough to blow a whole in my pocket.If I had the chance, I will want to better appreciate and understand how this deeply re'ligious and family-centred people put both God, family and survival at the centre of their lives.
As for me, this time travelling alone has not been easy, but I know it is an experience I will draw on and not forget. One of the most important things is learning to live beyond your comfort zone. Not that Ive never done it before, but this time its coupled with the reality of doing it alone and not being able to turn to anyone and bitch to get it off the chest. One has to internalise and convince yourself that you can survive this and yet not emerge bitter or resentful, and enjoy the ride even if its bumpy. I think the hard part is not surviving it, but rather still enjoying the experience and not emerge caked in cynicism.
guidebook fantasies or the magic of travel
Perhaps its still early days for this optimism. But I sense it all moving upward (including my credit card debt!). Perhaps the guidebooks overdo the magic and fantasy of Morocco; that is easy to do on hindsight and when you are a wide-eyed westerner. I dont think I would use magical to describe it so far, but I will tell you its eye-opening, captivating, foreign and humbling; it is always hu,bling, for me, to stand before a different civilisation and culture and seek to merely have a little peek into its essence.
That is the magic, not of Morocco alone, but of traveling; opening not just the senses but the heart to the possibilities of the many other cultures that share this earth. Travel is that instrument to this enlightenment, well beyond the other limited means of the TV, books and googlemaps that we are starting to get too comfortable with. If finances and sensibilties permit, go be a traveller. Experience the magic.
Be a traveller, not just a tourist.
Uncle T
17 Mar 2009
latest interview 12:31 am
courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/peacecorrespondent/2387720139/
mr interviewed: i'm off to morocco this evening.
interviewer: with whom may i ask?
mr interviewed: alone...no with my pen and camera actually (laughs lightly).
interviewer: i see. won't you be bored, traveling alone? What are you looking forward to then?
mr interviewed: no i don't think i will be bored. there is so much to explore; a whole history and peoples to take in. i am looking forward to finding myself in the sights, smell and sounds of the medinas, and to capture as much of the culture on camera and on paper.
interviewer: ah...quite a romantic traveler i reckon (smiles pessimistically).
mr interviewed: perhaps. but more like a regular dude trying rediscover himself and find a little something to hang on to and savour for a lifetime.
interviewer: well then. since you're all romantic about travel, let me pose a challenge to you. (pauses to swallow). bring me back a story; get someone in morocco to tell you a story and come back to tell it to me.
mr interviewed: (pauses and contemplates) ok. i will do my best, and you have my word...i will do my best.
courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/neiljs/806087919/
Uncle T
15 Mar 2009
along the ridgelines of daffodils-hill 5:46 pm
Harmony on the ridgelines
I was walking along the ridge-line, with daffodils finally pushing their way beyond the once snow-covered slope just beyond my window. I stood there, overlooking an Easter-deserted campus, and a little farther to the hills of Kenilworth. The harmony of the gently-warming sun and the graciously-temperate breeze made me smile and nostalgic; I am already missing all this before I even leave this country in months.
As I tread the supple grass on the ridge, I thought about yesterday. It was a nice day, a lovely day.
A nice yesterday
From waiting for the early morning bus, then the bus ride into school and the long-forgotten bus-ride conversations with random acquaintances we bump into; playing a splendid day of floorball tournament (one of my best), scoring a goal that I will remember for a long time; to Liverpool showing so much character against United (the good result is a bonus); then lazing in my room after the fatigue of physical exertion, finally finishing off with lovely company for the Benjamin-Button movie.
As I said, a nice day; there are many things we can a
nd ought to be thankful for. So its my solo trip across Morocco up next. Nice.
a show of character@old trafford | epl match
Uncle T
I was walking along the ridge-line, with daffodils finally pushing their way beyond the once snow-covered slope just beyond my window. I stood there, overlooking an Easter-deserted campus, and a little farther to the hills of Kenilworth. The harmony of the gently-warming sun and the graciously-temperate breeze made me smile and nostalgic; I am already missing all this before I even leave this country in months.
As I tread the supple grass on the ridge, I thought about yesterday. It was a nice day, a lovely day.
| daffodils-hill |
@Hurst | Uni of Warwick
@Hurst | Uni of Warwick
A nice yesterday
From waiting for the early morning bus, then the bus ride into school and the long-forgotten bus-ride conversations with random acquaintances we bump into; playing a splendid day of floorball tournament (one of my best), scoring a goal that I will remember for a long time; to Liverpool showing so much character against United (the good result is a bonus); then lazing in my room after the fatigue of physical exertion, finally finishing off with lovely company for the Benjamin-Button movie.
As I said, a nice day; there are many things we can a
nd ought to be thankful for. So its my solo trip across Morocco up next. Nice.
a show of character@old trafford | epl match
| traveling alone |
@Tottenham Court Rd | London
@Tottenham Court Rd | London
Uncle T
9 Mar 2009
Alone again, naturally. 9:02 am
Gilbert O'Sullivan's voice is repeatedly coming through my earphones, with the squeals of kids playing nearby squeezing through the supposedly sound-tight technology of my earphones. But O'Sullivan's words are not lost.
The two young sisters at the table in front focus on tackling their chocolate muffins; the intent in their gaze show the entirety they are putting in to that one task before them, undistracted. They maneuver their mouths to ensure the most effective bite. There! Done! And they smile. So does their father, so do I. Now all that remains are crumbs on empty plates, half-empty cups of liquid and abandoned plastic food packaging; the man in black comes over and in one motion, removes all of it. All the joy of taking the first sip of coffee, the glee of tearing open the muffin packaging, all gone in a single moment.
Contemplative wet English spring
Looking out beyond the glass panels, I see the sun pushing its way from behind the first clouds of spring. Despite the sun, the ground is soaked from earlier showers and wind chills are enough to negate the feel-goodness of the sunlight. Similarly, recent rare streaks of feel-goodness in my life are slightly tainted by the woes of others around. I cannot help but feel their pains, their troubles. Just like the start of this wet English spring, I have been contemplative. But my contemplations have somehow steered clear (barely) from the iffy state of brooding; rather, I have been artistically inspired of late. However, once in awhile I do step into a pothole of melancholy. But that's life isn't it? Its a sunny day of good luck and feel-good experiences. And without warning, you accidentally step into a pothole of melancholy, insecurities and contemplation, and sometimes you twist your ankle. You take time to regain your footing, and with a grimace you carry on.
The most important bit about this silly careless story is: you grimace, but carry on.
| the hope and anticipation of spring |
uni of warwick
| evading the clutches of winter |
above whitefields@ uni of warwick
| an artistic endeavour |
Again, O'Sullivan's voice comes through amidst my random thoughts, and I hear the words once more, as I spot the man who sits at the same spot everyday, pouring over his papers and coffee.
...can only say what you already know.
When you twist your ankle, it is nice to have someone there to help you up and help you walk on, a crutch. But often in life, we have to pick ourselves up and carry on walking alone. Persons around me of late have been facing quandaries, trepidations, and have shared their stories with me. But can I do much? Perhaps the reality is harsh; that w
e have to move ahead, alone. Friends can only say what you already know, not do what only you can. Friends around us can only inspire, but we have to take action.
So O'Sullivan's lyrics do make sense when he croons from 1972: "alone again, naturally".
The two young sisters at the table in front focus on tackling their chocolate muffins; the intent in their gaze show the entirety they are putting in to that one task before them, undistracted. They maneuver their mouths to ensure the most effective bite. There! Done! And they smile. So does their father, so do I. Now all that remains are crumbs on empty plates, half-empty cups of liquid and abandoned plastic food packaging; the man in black comes over and in one motion, removes all of it. All the joy of taking the first sip of coffee, the glee of tearing open the muffin packaging, all gone in a single moment.
| construction@uni |
do we always think building new things is progress? how about simply working to improve the existing?
do we always think building new things is progress? how about simply working to improve the existing?
Contemplative wet English spring
Looking out beyond the glass panels, I see the sun pushing its way from behind the first clouds of spring. Despite the sun, the ground is soaked from earlier showers and wind chills are enough to negate the feel-goodness of the sunlight. Similarly, recent rare streaks of feel-goodness in my life are slightly tainted by the woes of others around. I cannot help but feel their pains, their troubles. Just like the start of this wet English spring, I have been contemplative. But my contemplations have somehow steered clear (barely) from the iffy state of brooding; rather, I have been artistically inspired of late. However, once in awhile I do step into a pothole of melancholy. But that's life isn't it? Its a sunny day of good luck and feel-good experiences. And without warning, you accidentally step into a pothole of melancholy, insecurities and contemplation, and sometimes you twist your ankle. You take time to regain your footing, and with a grimace you carry on.
The most important bit about this silly careless story is: you grimace, but carry on.
| the hope and anticipation of spring |
uni of warwick
| evading the clutches of winter |
above whitefields@ uni of warwick
| an artistic endeavour |
Again, O'Sullivan's voice comes through amidst my random thoughts, and I hear the words once more, as I spot the man who sits at the same spot everyday, pouring over his papers and coffee.
...can only say what you already know.
When you twist your ankle, it is nice to have someone there to help you up and help you walk on, a crutch. But often in life, we have to pick ourselves up and carry on walking alone. Persons around me of late have been facing quandaries, trepidations, and have shared their stories with me. But can I do much? Perhaps the reality is harsh; that w
e have to move ahead, alone. Friends can only say what you already know, not do what only you can. Friends around us can only inspire, but we have to take action.So O'Sullivan's lyrics do make sense when he croons from 1972: "alone again, naturally".
| tocil woods @ uni of warwick |
Uncle T