Back here again. 4:12 pm

I was here just yesterday, but I'm back here again, in the same seat. The same smell, the same feel-good feeling. It is my space, a place where I feel in touch with my "inner-self". Its so hard to describe this feeling; quiet solitude perhaps.

long-black

latte

bone-dry cappuccino

a bit of brooklyn in singapore.
It is no surprise this is a coffee place. Despite being on the other side of the world, it reminds me of Gorilla Coffee in Brooklyn, New York. Other than the smell, its the passion with which they serve their coffee. In this way, whenever I miss the nice warm fuzzy feeling of being on 5th Ave Brooklyn, I'll want to come here in Newton. My space, my place.

I often have spoken of the beauty of randomness, and I was blessed once more yesterday to experience it.

After lunch with Jiawei, we came round to the kopi place. It roasts its own coffee beans and serve amazing Brasilian coffee in cupfuls of passion; cappuccinos with a floral finish on the foam. I had a chat with the owner. That casual chat turned out to be an engaging conversation and respect for my new-found acquaintance. We shared ideas, he about his coffee empire and I about my lofty social and artistic ideals.

sharing spaces | kopi place

floral warmth | kopi place

living (out) daydreams
I miss meeting people who dream. And take action; living out their daydreams.

Suddenly he asks if I'll like to curate the gallery space he owns. Out of the blue. I hesitate; I'm still hesitating. But one thing I didn't hesitate was to grab a cab immediately and headed down to see this gallery in Bukit Timah. Wow.

Formerly 2 separate simple accommodation, it has now been turned into a charming gallery space with about 30 walls, currently adorned with Leslie's captivating paintings. (Leslie is currently sitting across me in the kopi place and she walks over to offer me a home-made cinnamon cookie. Home.) One might look at the two different painting mediums and think they were by two different artists, but Leslie assures me they are all her work as she walks around the gallery with me; she does both oil on canvas as well as Chinese ink paintings. With some pieces, she mixes the mediums, carrying with it that very nature that characterises many Singaporeans; brought up on Asian values but grew up amidst Western culture.

Brought up on Asian values but grew up amidst Western culture; Singaporeans.


from strangers to inspiration
It poured hard prophetically on that Halloween night as we left the gallery. Leslie, whom I only met today, gave me a ride to join my parents for dinner. Strangers I met, now new-found inspirations.

Is it not beautiful how randomness can turn out? But we, I, must stay open to the endless possibilities and opportunities this world may offer, wherever we may be in the world.

Anywhere, anytime, we can find our space, our place. Home; home is where the heart lies, where the being finds rest. Cheem, but possibly true.

"its all been written" | kopi place

gallery space @ bkt timah

Uncle T

quickie: brewing in my oxtail 12:31 pm

Thoughts just before leaving office: womenomics + who is the average singaporean girl. I assure you this has something to do with work; or so I hope in an indirect way (perhaps think future woman traveller).

Awaiting for daddy to arrive; its Wednesday so lunches can only mean oxtail at Shashlik; go google it. It means grumpy old Hainanese waiters, darkly-lit restaurant, kitsch fake flowers on yellow table clothes; I dont reckon much has changed since the 70s. Only that some of its owners, the Hainanese waiters have died.

You see, this was where the workers were their own boss; Karl Marx would have been proud I think.


Uncle T

not the first time. 6:54 pm

The orange scar across the greying evening sky was so beautiful.

There she sits, the soft orange lights of he restaurant falling pleasantly on her fair Chinese skin, the almond-shaped Oriental face that white men lust for since the colonials set sail from the European shores.

courtesy of deviantart.com

Her fine jet black eye-lashes and the scarlet lips all the more beautiful against that gentle face. Her dark eyes all the more intense against that porcelain. She sips her tea. I cannot deny the soft jazz playing in the background adds to this romantic notion.

There is a flash of light in the near distance; a small digital metalbox just captured a 12-megapixel memory.

She stares intensely at her Macbook; her jasmine eyes all the more alluring; she is more than a pretty-face. She is a flower of intellect.

Another flash goes off.

Her dark hair is carefully parted down the centre. She makes grace look so easy; the way she leans to one side, the way she gets up ever so gently. She calls the waiter over and speaks to him; I can only stare at her lips move up and down like a aphrodisiac as they part to reveal white porcelain teeth and a world of possibilities.

A world of possibilities with limited probabilities.

I wish I could sit and sketch a portrait of her, knowing full well that whatever the canvas produces will not in one bit do her justice. But at the very least it serves as a reminder of the possibility of human beauty. Her pearl earrings capture my attention. Simple pearls. Beauty in simplicity. My heart tightens a little as my eyes sketch her perfect nose. At least from here, she looks perfect; you never know in the age of prevalent cosmetics. Its a plastics world.

"if a face could launch a thousand ships..."

But I must go; I have to drive off back to reality, and only allow her to reside in my what-ifs. For now. The shift from possibility to probability sometimes is one that is beyond our control.

courtesy of deviantart.com

Uncle T

i have an infatuation its so bad! 10:45 am

The WikiReader

When I saw it, my breathing literally stopped. I barely blinked. And as much as my church friends would be upset with me for it, the only words that escaped my mouth were "holy shit..."

I am infatuated. Crap! And its so bad I had to blog about it immediately. Gosh. I really want one of these. Someone, anyone, get it for me for Christmas! I rarely ask for gifts but...Gosh! I need one of these.

See my new darling's homepage: http://www.thewikireader.com/index.html

Uncle T

one of those funny emails 8:54 pm

I usually trash all emails starting with "Fwd"; they often tend to come from a bored father or mother. But there was this one Daddy sent I thought was funny on a bad day. Hope you enjoy:

European English:

The European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility.

As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5- year phase-in plan that would become known as "Euro-English" .

In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c". Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard "c" will be dropped in favour of "k". This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter. There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with "f". This will make words like fotograf 20% shorter.

In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible.

Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling.

Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent "e" in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away.

By the 4th yer people wil be reseptiv to steps such as
replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v".

During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou" and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensi bl riten styl.

Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech oza. Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru.

Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.

If zis mad you smil, pleas pas on to oza pepl.



Uncle T

i never thought i could be so proud 8:43 pm

I started working 3 days after I flew in from a foreign land. After 3 years, I literally parachuted into a new life, a new job. Now, 3 months on, I never thought I could feel so proud of the work I've been doing.

Small as my contribution may be, this has been on my mind, along with the other racing thoughts.

But here's one to the great team I work with, and continue to do the good work we do, regardless what people say.

Cheers: http://www.straitstimes.com/Breaking%2BNews/Singapore/Story/STIStory_441206.html


Uncle T

a past i never knew, a future i've yet to know. 11:47 pm

It was going to a past I never knew.

that dry, bland feeling

Away from the weekend leisure crowd, I found myself in a stuffy van on a bumpy village road in Batam. Irene and I were on our way to teaching the children English.

Household refuse was burnt next to the narrow village road; children ran amock along with the free-ranging ayam (chicken in Malay); local community pockets coalescing around street stores. It felt like going back to a past I never knew; daddy would have found this familiar.

the kids helping themselves to fruits from a roadside tree; simple pleasures | batam, indonesia

boys helping themselves to sweets at the village roadside store | batam, indonesia

So this is how I spent my Sunday; I was thrown into a classroom of eager eyes staring at me; 20 pairs to be exact. Armed with no lesson plan, a marker, a dictionary and 5 sheets of paper, I made my confession to the kids. In halting Bahasa Indonesia, I admitted that I needed to learn the language as much as they wanted to learn English from me.

Sadly, I have no romantic notions of charity to share from teaching little children etc. Perhaps because I am sticky and stuck standing on the train home. All I can take back for now is not a warm glow of charity but rather literally sapped from the scorching heat and with Batam sand on the soles of my shoes. And feeling abit guilty for the Nikes on my feet amidst the humble settings of the village community.

Yet despite that fuzzy feel-good, I'm wanting to go back. To face the heat, the flies, the climbing and screaming kids. I don't know why, but I want to. Nope, no burning desire, just a dry, bland 'think I want to go back'-ish feeling.

irene leading the kids on an outdoor lesson under the scorching sun | batam, indonesia

the children i taught refusing to go home and instead tailing me | batam, indonesia

being back in the sloshing humdrum

The sun is setting as the MRT chugs along past Ang Mo Kio. The quiet streets beneath are however antithetical to the racing thoughts in my heads.

Poems from Kabul, snippets from Beijing, comments from social circles, ponderings about Warwick, artistic strain...there has been so much input in the past weeks, perhaps an overload. My mind is being packed with so much yet not finding the time and space to process it all. The thoughts are like harpoons latching onto my mental walls. It is close to hurting, yet also close to numbing. It doesn't help with John Mayer playing in my earphones.

slowing down to catch glimpses of faces | dhoby ghaut, singapore

“Walao, super emo la!” I say it nearly as if I were embarrassed to be “emo”. Should I really be? Of late, it seems I am embarrassed about things; being a certain way and being sheepish about it. I wonder why.

I wonder when can I say I’m truly comfortable in my own skin. I wander if anyone can say that at all and mean it sincerely all of the time. I do wonder.

That is probably a future I have yet to know.

racing by | orchard rd, singapore

Uncle T

tiny little hands into mine 1:36 am

Somehow, I manage to float
Into a place so familiar this weekend;
Float into a familiar place with
Familiar faces, family.

So many years ago it still stands
Today. Today, the garden is now space
Which my lovely princesses dance under
The watchful gaze of the Saturday stars.

As my parents watch on, I step into that
Space I once ran, I once played.
Tonight, that is done by the two girls.
They smile at me, I smile back.

It is an amazing feeling when they
Want to follow everywhere you go,
Wanting to impress you with their
Graceful dance moves.

They focus so hard just to recite the
Alphabet. And they run from behind
And slip their tiny little hands into mine.
I melt.

Their tiny little hands into mine.

Uncle T

food for thought... 2:37 pm

"what you say and what you save".

Its a line from a song, so Priscilla says. But I'm typically lazy to find out what it means in the context of the song. But in light of what we spoke about at lunch, it makes sense.

I eat meat, despite knowing the cruelty inflicted on the battery chicken, the tortured pig etc. I eat shark's fin, despite knowing the sheer cruelty of castrating live sharks of their fin.

I know these things, and I feel for these things. But what do I do about it? Do I go out there and save these creatures? Worse, I seem to be contributing to this cruelty. Yet how come this guilt is not enough to overcome me, and inspire me into action? Am I heartless?

I don't know. Maybe some might agree to the heartless bit. But it just doesn't sit comfortably with me that I live with this contradiction, amongst others.

"what you say and what you save".

Uncle T

Fashion going slim 8:52 am

"Milan's premier fashion makers took a straight and narrow path to spring 2010...skirt lengths plunged to well below the knee and silhouettes moved in a newly lean direction, shedding hints of excess along the way" -Ruth la Ferla

See for photos: http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2009/09/30/fashion/20091001-TRENSPOTTING-feature_FW.html


Uncle T

the beauty of randomness 1:55 pm

'I have a no-plan plan'. I can only recall Jaime's words and smile as I sit at Tanglin sipping my espresso. The sky looks threatening and the air drafts smell of botanic dew, and its queerly beautiful.

A no-plan plan. It is funny how that sits well with me considering I love my job now at strategic planning. But last evening gave testimony to this oxymoronic idea.

After late nights and a busy week at work, I was dying to leave office on Friday evening. But having no plans, I wandered along, soon to find myself at the Substation theatre. A play was about to start. Having absolutely no clue what it was about, I bought a ticket and sat down. The drama unfolded.

And as beauty of randomness goess, the director/actor turned out to be Richard Philip, an old acquaintence whom I had discussions about music some 3 years back. Truly, he is an artist with an artistic soul. Whilst having certain reservations for some elements of the acting, it was a good play in my view.

Some might say this is pure coincidence. Yet even if it were, it would not have manifested if I did not stay open to the possibility of a no-plan plan. Everyday we struggle with making plans and fulfilling them, or feeling lousy about failing in them.

Perhaps I should now spend more time being open to infinite possibilities that surround us. Plans seem to give me some sense of comfort in having something tangible to hold on to, as compared to the airy possibility of random surprises.

But I think I,m willing to take the chance. Take the chance and have more no-plan plans, and smile at the veauty of randomness in a life where everyone seems blindly obsessed with objective atructure.

It has started to rain.And I still continue to smile.



Uncle Ta

i wish there was music playing. 12:46 am

"in focus, on the line" | brawn F1 car @ Singapore GP 2009

I sit on my room floor, exhausted. Like in the movies, how I wished there was music playing. But there was none. At least with music, the loneliness seems easier to bear.

As we walked one, one by one people departed from the group; some headed to loved ones others to places of comfort. I just tag along, hoping in the end there would be something to smile about. The group gets dangerously smaller, and yet I still trudged along, the flicker of hope dimming. Soon, the group would just be left with me. In the end, there was nothing to smile about.

If this goes on I'll really learn to stop hoping.

Then there's you, to whom I've actually become a passing memory. Right from the start, the insecurity of being insignificant was always there. Naturally, my youthful optimism would constantly tell me otherwise; that I am special and significant. But nope, I'm not. Not even significant enough for goodbyes. So now you're off, and I've served my cause. All I'm left with are memories I can no longer trust.

If this goes on, I'll really learn to stop hoping. After all, everyone has warned me of the cynical adult. I'm starting to wonder if its true.

At the very least, in the meanwhile, I wish there was at least some music playing.

"all a blur" | bmw racing car @ Singapore GP 2009

Uncle T

interesting people 1:07 am

I need to meet interesting people, people that get you thinking. No, more than think; ponder and make you reach right in for answers.

I cannot help but recall Ms Latiff's wise words via email earlier this year:

"But what I think is important to always keep living an inspiring life is to always surround yourself with inspiring people."

I wish she were around to tell me this in person, but instead, she is right in the heart of Kabul, struggling each day to make a difference to lives less fortunate than hers. Here I am, here. Yet somehow her work in Afghanistan is not lost on me; her words and the memory of her spirit continue to inspire me.

And meeting other interesting and inspiring people since coming back 2 months ago continually keeps Natasha's words alive.

And if I had words to share today, this night, it would be Ms Latiff's wise words above.

something i created for fun.

Uncle T

4 things of today. 10:47 pm

1. Humility is one of the hardest lessons of life.
"Pride isolates you from the rest of the world," came the voice from the other side of the confessional curtain. In our daily interactions with people, it is so easy to be proud; silently thinking that our opinions are superior, thinking the other person doesn't really know what they are talking about. I'm sure I am right; how can I be wrong? "Humility often comes with first being humiliated," the bearded voice continued. Learning to re-join the rest of the human race in good humour was the priestly advice. Told you it was bloody tough.

2. I miss the quiet peace of devoting a little time each day to prayer and reflection.
Going back to the same place of A Levels reminded me of how strong I was then spiritually; even when reality seems to work against you, somehow I had no fear. I knew I couldn't finish revision thoroughly for the big A Levels exams, yet the kanchiong me had no fear. Its that quiet peace of devoting little time each day to prayer and reflection.

3. My father is a hero;
a man brave enough to stick to principles he believes in and not boast about it for 7 years. I thought such characters only existed in feel-good Hollywood movies.

4. I miss sitting in my Hurst room in Warwick just watching my TV series Heroes.
In a different country, a different time, a different room, I do the same. But this time I need to get up the next morning and be an employee. Crap.

Uncle T

how fast does time crawl 8:43 am

How fast does time crawl. So quickly, so stealthily.

Today marks 2 months since graduating from University; two months since leaving the shelters of school to the world of responsibilities and limitless possibilities. Two months since I had to start pretending I was an adult.

So far, the ride has been very decent. Sure, when we take-stock, hindsight tends to blight out the imperfect spots; zooming out of the picture helps ignore the pixelated blemishes. So, on the whole, its been looking decent. Yet, its those imperfect details that have come to be the crucial learning points in painting the next picture.

But really, how fast does time crawl. Two months since leaving the UK, two months since learning to find home in Singapore once more.

Uncle T