All he can do is kneel and pray... 2:05 am

With just a dismissive few words, Susan ended their lives. He just cannot believe it, how cold she was in the delivery; Susan did not flinch one bit. He didn't know to be angry or just plain shattered; Susan just didn't care anymore. Not to mention them, Susan didn't care about him anymore. All he was was an existence that hung on the wall; if it were straight or crooked, horizontal or vertical, Susan seemed oblivious to the state of his existence. She just knew he was there, nothing more. From being Susan's pride, he now just became an existence; he became merely a number to call only for help.

He wants to scream, but the 4-walls of morality and decency discourages him and the ignorance of the rest of the world drowns out his cries. All he can do is kneel and pray, hoping that someone way up there would hear his sobs.

He fights back the tears, fights back the loneliness, fights back the cynicism laced with anger. He wants to fight for the future; a future of love and hope.

Amen.

Uncle T

Just one day 5:53 pm

'If you had one day, just one, to know a stranger, what will you do?

Have a darn good conversation over darn-good coffee and jazz. And pray we'll meet again.'

A cold tropical night 12:40 am

The tiny little angel in her arms, the young mother strolls in the night singing to the little one. A comforting sight on this cool evening. Somehow, its abit too cold for a tropical night; too cold.


Uncle T

Saturdays & words 8:58 pm

For the second time this week, I am having a Haagen-Dazs affogato alone. Today, with a slightly heavier heart on a Saturday, but that's nothing too surprising with Uncle T.

I love Saturdays, especially the afternoons. Its that sweet spot of the week that I wish lasts forever. You know the excitement of the weekend that occurs around Thursday afternoons? Saturday mornings is the realisation of this excitement. It is the beginning of the endless possibilities the weekend can offer. All this on Saturdays.

Saturday's sunlight seems less harsh, seems gentler; present, but gentle. Saturday's jazz more about hopeful infatuations that resigned unrequitted love; Saturday's breeze more understanding than the cruel winds that wreck havoc in the region; Saturday's words more dreamy than pensively contemplative; Saturday's steeets filled with loosened collars than sullen faces. Saturday is that sweet spot of the week I wished lasted forever.

I sit here typing on a tiny screen all my big ponderings and what-ifs. The day I decided to entertain that English what-if has added to the philosophical bubbles in my head. I sit here listening to the piped in oldies I used to sing when I was young. Week in week out, I sang oldies on karaoke. I was so contented singing. Not caring about anything else but the cheesy music videos and lit words on the screen. The lyrics, till today, speak of the script of my daydreams. But today, I simply get teased about that kind of music, that kind of lyrics. Sometimes not just teased, judged. I wish I were in a Parisian cafe people-watching. That way, I don't get judged but rather be the judge.

I don't expect anyone to understand these ramblings; there is no need to understand a person like he/she was meant to be understood like a maths formulae. Or so I think.

The oldies keep playing as the rush of Apec volunteers whizz by. Soon, it will be once again my turn to be called into action. This whole week of Apec have been easier to bear only because of words. This week, words have been my panacea, my heterotopia.

I just wish to share Saturdays and words with someone that feels right with, you know? I guess I'll wait. Won't you wait with me?

Invest in love 11:16 pm

"They say the bigger your investment, the bigger your return. But you have to be willing to take a chance. You have to understand... you might lose it all. But if you take that chance, if you invest wisely, the payoff might just surprise you"

- Grey's Anatomy

Uncle T

You say it best, when you say nothing...really? 11:34 am

Ok I cannot take it. I need to share this to someone, even if it is to an anonymous-one.

I BOUGHT A NEW CAMERA LENS!!!!!!!

Okay, so much for my attempt to always be suave, collected, charming young man. These days I'm closer to sloppy, hair-pulling old ah pek.

Think I might go for a night shoot along Orchard with the new lens :) India here I come!

Waiting 7:47 pm

I sit here waiting.

My stomach grumbles; I drink the tap water to quell it. The walkie-talkie on table, earpiece stuck in my ear. That thing has been in my ear so much these last few days it might as well grow onto me. I still wait, as a couple next to me leaves the restaurant.

I wait for my soba with tempura. Somehow, it does not appeal to me the way it should, especially for the price I'm paying. Oh, it arrives with a nice aroma;my digestive juices start churning.

I look across my table to an empty chair. I'm waiting, as I have been waiting for some time. I turn my attention too my mobilephone. It tells me I have received a message; something its been telling me quite abit these last few days, and I'm the happier for it.

After the flurry of messages on the phone, it suddenly goes dead. Flat-lined. It is unnerving that it does that. I finish my soba; I am full but not satisfied. How long more must I wait? Am I waiting wrongly? I still look across the table to an empty chair.

The phone still stays silent. When should we stop expecting? Is it not that fine, fine line between being wisely prudent and foolishly undetermined? When do you quit waiting?

The boy says wait, the man says screw it and quit. The boy gets hurt more, the man probably doesn't at all. Which am I more? Who may help me make that call?

'Screw it', says the man, 'I'll wait a little more.'

About being Uncle. 9:39 pm

Many have asked why I sign off as Uncle T. I'm always tempted to take the pretentious path and crap up a cheem answer; nearly philosophical. But I usually give the honest answer, I forgot.

I do recall there was a reason for Uncle T when I decided it. I honestly can't remember why 'T' but I know why uncle. A bunch of friends often call me uncle because I liked walking about town in shorts, polo-t and loaffers, newspaper tucked under arm and my trusty umbrella in hand. And I like to sit and watch the world go by drinking kopi. So apparently all this makes me uncle. But spruce up the dressing, change the country and I would have been Parisian. But nonetheless, I've been deemed uncle.

Yet, then, I was often mistaken for at least 3 years younger than I was; I tried keeping a moustache and beard that never grows. All my efforts were futile then; I was once thought to be 16 when I was 21.

Im not sure if its the specs, the voice, the hair, the intellect (I wish) or just the tired perspectives (do I?), but now, it seems I'm mistaken for being older than I am. Someone over the weekend thought I was 28. Gasp. I honestly am unsure how to react; to be happy, sad or amused. Or perhaps nonchalance is best.

But anyhow, just something random about age. This is filling up all the gaps. These days, that's what writing does for me. Perhaps I need more than just words; I don't know. Would you know?

In a far eastern memory. 4:29 pm

The smell was immediately familiar, yet its so far etched in memory that it seemed foreign.

Yes, it was the smell of tailors, of saloons and of oily kitchens in an air-conditioned environment. Perhaps on their own these scents are far from pleasant. But together, this amalgamation formed memories. And there, right there, were the unfamilliar schoolgirls in familiar pinnafores. Yes, this was the scene I was used to in my schooldays some 6 years ago. Without knowing, I have become the young adults I used to laugh at for being 'old'; I am the young adult I used to desire to be as a teen. Somehow now, I miss the novelty of having a 'teen' on my age.

The shops that time seemed to have forgotten, that seem to have perpetual christmas lights the whole year round in the hope to attract customers. These remind me of the teenage desires. Back then, many of these shops represented a desire I couldn't attain; the over-priced Nikes, over-sized baggy jeans, over-hyped printed T-shirts...And it was no different for the schoolgirls in pinnafores, a desire I couldn't attain. Such was the fate of teenhood: what you had you didn't cherish, what you didn't you desired. And very often the former was more important to life than the latter.

'Over-rated pleasures and under-rated treasures...,' Jaime Cullum laments.

And finally when I can buy a few of those jeans and Nikes, I dont want them. Now, these desires have been replaced with other wants; house, car, DSLR lenses...It seems we, I, will forever have unfulfilled wants. Its seems like a persistent human condition. And you realise that your desires lose their gloss when you mature; the colour of a schoolgirl's pinnafore does not definitively make their character. Wow, amazing discovery dude!' I can almost hear myself say, dripping with sarcasm.

This was the place when I was once someone's boyfriend we spent good laughs (and sighs) shopping for lady shoes, where I first rode the bubble-tea wave, where I encountered my first dusty bookstore that inspired me to read non-fiction more, where I had my first taste of Turkish ice-cream, where my mum's fav departmental store used to be, where we schoolboys went to stare our first skirts down (or up). And now, I smile as I catch other teens do the same; but not quite the same.

I turn back my leather-soles and grey tie and office body lumbered back into the working class.

I catch that yellowish squarish icon and the final glimpse of Far East Square before my walkie-talkie crackles to life once more and dark clouds start to gather...

A City all Dressed Up 11:03 pm

She breezes past Prada Paragon along Orchard; he sits in his taxi waiting for the lights to turn green; she sits patiently in the bus waiting for her stop...

I wonder what does it mean to them, to my fellow Singaporeans, to be having the world's powerful leaders arrive in Singapore next week for the APEC meetings. I look down at the list in my folder; Hu Jintao, Bill Clinton, Barack. And I do wonder.

From where I am in public service, peoples are mobilised for APEC, sleep lost, efficiencies tested, personal lives sacrificed. Such is the scale that it makes you wonder if its such a big deal to the rest of the island. Cynics would likely have a quick answer to that.

From a very heavy topline point of view, these meetings means building Singapore's reputation as a global city worthy of the most valuable investments round the world. The man on the street must have heard this over and over again, yet the cabbies, bastion of society's cynics, would scoff at this topline view. Whilst I really believe the truth behind this topline, I do empathise at the cynicism at the street level. The oft-quoted mechanism in which how such topline benefits the masses is 'trickle-down'. Whilst I may be conservative on such an explanation, I am quite clear, in my view, that if Singapore doesn't put itself through such fuss for such meetings, she will lose her place in this cruel world economy.

It is simple mercantilistic economics; if you don't take it, your neighbour will. In a world economy so interconnected, the entire globe is your neighbourhood with both capable and blood-thristy neighbours. So in my view its not so much an issue of 'how much' trickle down APEC creates, but rather if we don't do this there won't be any trickle-down to even talk about.

Even with this explanation, cynics may still shake their heads; the amount of money the government spent on APEC could have been better spent through handouts to the masses. In the end, 'better' can be subjective and we can go on in circles. Yet I stick with my view, until convinced otherwise, simply because of the kind of competition I see Singapore faces in the global economy; if we don't keep up, we will be eating the dirt of our competitors that are today behind us.

I heard a bunch of friends chat about Obama's private Airforce One jet at the kopitiam the other day. To them, that was what APEC was largely about. But I'm hoping that there are also others who know how crucial these meetings are for Asia, for Obama's administration and US-Asean ties.

Whilst all those lofty ideas are interesting to me, right now, APEC means still sitting here at 10pm on a Sunday and still working. So for all the grand ideas, APEC means sweating in a business shirt and cufflinks on a Sunday night. Great.

Wandering through the wilderness of modernity 12:24 am

"Cordially, they exchanged pleasantries; they exchanged name-cards, glances, formal pursed smiles. The work proceeds.

By coincidence, or Chance or perhaps calculated Fate, words begin to be exchanged, then ideas were shared. The necessary cordiality of the working class gave way to bourgeois exchanges, literary conversations started to form.

Then an intriguing relationship starts to build, small as it may be. And all this on the basis of the letters they soon started to share. Yes, a human relationship finding initial life through just the written word. This, a rarity in the modern world of Facebook, MSN, Twitter, Skype. It is nearly a flashback to Victorian times of gentlemen and ladies, a time modernity forgot. A time where we could respond to fellow human beings through careful crafting of letters, rather than react through instant messaging.

Yet right here were two floating souls wandering through the wilderness of modernity wielding ancient weaponry of the written word, ideals and values seemingly fighting battles the urban world is only too quick to laugh at. Right here were two souls that embodied the innate human desire of free expression in a time which tolerates no such non-scientific frivolity.

One wonders where this unfolding story may take the world to."

"floating souls" | performers at Singapore F1 2009

Uncle T

Authors of our own lives 5:53 pm

Prof Breslin is in town! One of my most loved uni profs is in town visiting. Excited, I want to get him a gift despite the very short notice. I wanted to give him an authentic Singaporean momento. I thought of bazhang (glutinous rice dumplings) for his family in Kenilworth, Merlion keychain persons. No. Since he is an academic, I am sure he is tired of tiny words on tiny pages; so I thought I'll het him a nice picturebook of Singapore.

Amidst the search at Borders after work, something disturbed me. I wanted to find a photography book of Singapore but I found it so difficult to find one taken by a Singaporean photographer. And I felt it is important because I believe a Singaporean would capture a different Singapore than a non-Singaporean. One may argue that you don't necessary need to be Singaporean to take good Singapore photos. I agree its not a necessary condition but I think very crucial assuming all else being equal. A mother will know her child best regardless how experienced a nanny is, all else being equal.

Perhaps if I went to a different bookstore I might have found more local photographers. But right in the centre of town at Borders, for whatever reason, published Singaporean photographers were few and far between. And as an aspiring shutterbug, I find that disheartening.

I really hope that more Singaporean photographers are chosen to showcase what is truly Singaporean. Singapore through the lenses of non-Singaporeans may just miss that crucial element of growing up here. A Singaporean taking photo of an SBS bus might just capture not just an icon of an efficient public transport system, but also the memories of the old school days before ezylink, the days of folding paper hearts with bus tickets; if you never grew up here, you would not know the days of paper hearts.

Especially in a highly globalised world where American culture tends to permeate through mass media, I find it all the more important to hang onto local flavours lest we all diffuse into a single unauthentic identity; where would the difference lie between individuals especially when the majority of us are slaves to global brands and cultures?

My conviction may be misplaced, or mistimed, but for now I think local artists should get the chance to stand up and get the chance to share with other cultures our very own. Perhaps this eventuality has already begun, but I'm sure it can move along with greater force.

The next time I look for a souvenior, I sure hope I can find photography that tells at least an authentic paragraph of the Singapore story.

Test 1:11 am

This is a test. I am blogging from my handphone. Wonders of technology!

crash back to reality 8:14 pm

Just for those few minutes, I found the space where I could find rest and peace. And then come reeling back into reality and landing with a thud. Thud. You land back into reality where you have to share spaces and places with loved ones and non-loved ones alike; having to shuffle back abit to make room for other people lest you step on their toes. One can't even enjoy an ice-cream in peace.

Thud. So the song lyrics go "back to life, back to reality".


Uncle T

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