Taxi rides + travel 9:17 am

It still feels the same.

Despite the different colour in the taxi, the different make if the taxi, the different accent of the taxi-driver, the different route, the different weather, it still feels the same.

The same routine of not sleeping through the night, the same dread of last-minute packing, the same mechanical packing instinct, the same juxtaposition of dread and excitement, the same fatigue. The night before travelling to a faraway place is still the same.

Travelling the way I did in university was something I only started doing in the UK. Travelling alone is surely a recent thing. So I am thankful that whilst I'm back in Singapore, this comforting familiarity remains.

I am off to India. Having gotten used to it, I am once more waiting for my flight at the airport alone. Somehow, after the bustle of routine and crowds, I treasure such times. There is something about airports that help make this solitude as enigmatic as I make it sound.

Oh well, fighting the all-nighter fatigue. I'll end here. I'm excited, yet tinged with trepidation. Such is life's uncertainties. And I love it.

nothing else matters... 11:44 pm

but the smile of a child.

things that make you smile so quietly it doesn't matter if the world noticed you did. 11:40 pm

Uncle Kopi 8:27 am

It suddenly dawned upon me despite it being so obvious. It is for such reasons and more its not worth committing suicide; each day has the possibility of a new revelation despite its obscure probability the day before.


On being Uncle
I call myself Uncle T. This blog is my kopi place. Friends get annoyed at me for talking about things too serious at TCC/Thai Express/Coffee Club dinners. I talk too much and I talk with too much convicted opinion.

Then today I realised why or where these come from. I find myself typing this blogpost over with 3 middle-aged Singaporean men having an extended conversation about how Hainan Island chicken rice is different from our local Hainanese Chicken rice. Now they are lamenting how the younger generation today are 'softies' who want to 'lie in their bed but not build it', wanting long-term benefits with short-term efforts. They lament with conviction saying its part of life to bear hardship before enjoying life. Not that I totally disagree with them, but I argue with them for the sake of us 'younger generation'.


Makan with uncle, become uncle
It is these kopi sessions that I have been having with these men for over a decade. I think my opinions and debates about the whole gamut of issues in life from the hawker centre tables. I wish my intellectual seeds were planted in more romantic places like debates with philosophers at Cafe de Flore in Paris. But my intellectual reality begins at Ang Mo Kio hawker tables. In this last decade, I've had breakfast with these men from them in their managerial days to now them being retired. Surely, breakfast sessions with my dad and his friends all these years have had a huge part to play in me being an Uncle today.


On being a young man
Uncle Tony puts his hands on my shoulder, gives it a firm goodbye squeeze and says, 'Young man, when you decide what to do (in life), let me know'. For a young man, that is a tall order.

Andrew said... 1:07 pm

Andrew said, 'I woke up and didn't realise it was Christmas Eve. You expect snow,and it isn't there. You expect a quiet breakfast with a loved one and its all in the mind. I rushed off to work.

Somehow, this Christmas eve seems lonely. You look around and see loved ones but do wonder where has all the Christmas love has gone hiding.

Let's hope it gets better.'

That got me thinking.

Epiphanies amidst the mad rush 7:19 pm

I have been rushing around so much these last few days, so much so that my trusty electronic calendar was not even utilised for its 'to-do' function. There has been so many things to do with such tight turn-arounds its more efficient remembering them rather than recording them.

Hardly any sleep, checking emails on the move, whispering quick prayers on the go, nonesense lunches. Gone is the luxury of overplanning which I enjoyed in some parts of the past 5 months. Now its no longer strategic planning, but more fire-fighting, operational deadlines.

Yet, ,when just when I'm about to bitch about nursing a 3.5 hour nap in 24 hours, I realise I'm loving this, or at least parts of it. I nearly always give thanks to be alive to experience all this adrenaline. I learn more about myself, meet new people, understans fresh insights. Change truly being in full gear.

A friend gently reminded me of staying stuck in comfort zones and familiar roles. I have to have the guts to continually re-assess and discern; life in constant change needs constant renewals and rethinks. One change so hard to swallow is perhaps accepting that some old friends have moved on and old friendships to be replaced by new ones. Now that is a scary thought just before Christmas. This reality threatens to create cracks on the romanticism of my ideal friendships.

Oh boy. O come Emmanuel...

Oh what a night... 8:08 am

I cannot even remember when was the last time I did it. I was too tired to decide if it were a good thing or bad. Whatever the case, it happened.

Sitting on my bed in the dark of past-midnight. I looked up, they were still there from 7 years ago; the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. I was on the mobile phone...

This morning I awake with just 3.5 hours of sleep. I now sit awaiting my turn to see the doctor. It is my final day at my 1st rotation. Its drizzling. One week to Christmas

Am I making sense? Oh what a night...

poem: this is an artist 9:15 am

"

As she digests the black scribblings

On the score, the faint sounds of

Melody echo in her head. Then, the years

Of training magically transforms the dead ink-blots into

Harmonies through her smurfish fingers, bringing 

Alive the music along with its dead composers.

To celebrate the splendour of the music-scapes that

Escaped her body, she turns to writing verses

To try record the intensity of capturing the 

Soul of the composition.

In so doing, she brings the art from ink back to 

Ink. 

This is an artist.

Uncle T

bright spots in a sea of grey 9:15 am

A city of grey
It would be unfair to call Singapore a jaded society. But I do not think it inaccurate to say Singapore is not the most hopeful and optimistic of societies; a society which embraces hope and all that jazz. Yet, whichever society it is, it is neither good nor bad. But I much prefer, and hope, for us to be  a hopeful and optimistic society. But I will leave the academic and logical justifications for such comments for another time.


A hopeful and optimistic society is a society that might dare to dream, in good times and in bad. The society as a whole dares to dream up big visions and dares to work towards it, and the individuals within that society each dare to dream big and work towards it. If so, then perhaps we are indeed not the most 'dreamy' of societies.


Even before I carry on, I am sure a statement like that would illicit disagreement. But I am just going to say this: I truly believe it is possible to dream till your heads are in the clouds but with your feet firmly on the ground at the same time.


Ever since embarking on an art project of two after coming home, I get that sense of a society that tends to shun away from dreaming; it probably is deemed too impractical, too lofty, too 'airy-fairy'. Probably a society that wants to keep it real and safe, especially given the gloom of current the financial situation. What I am afraid to admit is that this financial austerity during this financial meltdown is not just a temporary translation to this lack of willingness to dream, but this strong inclination towards "practicality" is a permanent trait of ours. In my view, a society permanently choosing practical concerns and not daring to dream is a city of grey. Not black, just grey; not any of the extremes of white or black, just in between, just grey.




Bright spots: Inspired persons
However at the same time, these art projects has allowed me to meet inspired people; people who not only dare to dream but people who act on their dreams. These are the bright spots in a sea of grey. Perhaps this lot might have had it going for them to be allowed to dream; they don't have to worry about their next meal or a roof over their head, hence they have the time to dream. But this is not an accusation of those who don't dream, this is about the celebration of those who choose to act on their dreams even if they didn't have to. Walking the path to your dreams is often the path less traveled by most societies. Thus, walking the path to your dreams tends to be the more difficult path; all the more then do I appreciate these bright spots around me.


It is on days when it gets trying to push on that these inspired persons serve as spots of inspiration too. Last evening, I just met one such bright spot for dinner. An accomplished musician who wants to keep learning, and admits there is so much more to learn out there; a sign of a great musician to be. The way I see it, the difference between the good and the great is that the good think they have already arrived and the great will always be humbled by what they do not know and want to keep learning.


I have gone on for more than I wanted to. Well, these days it is only through writing that I get that catharsis I require in my life right now, so let me ramble abit la. :)

this was the most recent concert that the "bright spot from last night" played at. it was more than just a show; it was a performance.

Uncle T

of voids and Gregorian chants 8:41 am

"...As the darkness edged past midnight, he sits there not wanting to close his eyes and rest for the night; there is too much to do yet there is too much emptiness. So he looks to tradition in his hour of need; he turns to the Gregorian chants of the Benedictine monks to fill the voids of loneliness. The ancient Latin just seems to ease the numbing pain. For now.

the ancient statues of the Cathedral in Milan watch on silently; either in indifference or in reverence.

Uncle T

my|4-walls: more than just a photo exhibition. join us jan 15 2010 3:21 pm

Uncle T

toffeenutnomics 11:25 pm

toffee nuts in london + barcelona

It was about a year back when I first drank my first Starbucks toffee nut latte alone. I was in London. Winter was creeping in and it was getting cold. I found my way to a Starbucks near Holborn as I waited for Ian to come by for dinner. Upon a friend’s recommendation, I had my first toffee nut. Its warmth was really comforting in the London cold.

Half a year after that, I drank another Starbucks toffee nut, this time a frappucino; it was summertime in Barcelona. This time, I had the company of the very friend who first recommended me the drink. I do recall that it was a nice frap with a nice conversation to go along with it.

a toffee nut that makes you smile in the summer of barcelona

525, 600-ish minutes later: toffee nut in singapore

Half a year after that, and about a year after my first toffee nut, I am drinking yet another toffee nut frap. This time, I am strawing it in alone in Singapore. Aside from the amazement at the reality of the globalisation-reach, it’s a rather poignant juncture to take a breather and take stock a year after my first toffee nut.

What better way to mark our lifetimes by way of a globalised coffee drink; the toffee-nut measure.

So let’s see how far I’ve walked (or flown in a highly mobile world):

Then, was struggling in school. Now, graduated with a good degree.

Then, was a student. Now, working man.

Then, had cool red specs. Now, cooler blue and yellow specs.

Then, fat. Now, less fat.

Then, was about to endure the most challenging year of my life. Now, lived through it battle-scared.

Then, uncertain about the future. Now, still uncertain.

You see, the list will go on. And it always will, whenever we do suck retrospections. Some things change, some things don’t. Change is the only constant, the old cliché goes, and its true. But what would be cool, and wisely so, is when it comes to times of reflection about the past, it should be also about the future.

then, now, later

Standing at now and looking to the past, things will surely to have changed. But the more challenging bit is standing at now and looking to the future, and seeing what changes you hope to see and become. Some changes are be beyond us; the world ending in 2012 is sadly beyond us, so says the divination lot of the movie ticket. However, there is possibly that 20% of our future that lies within the control of the choices we make today. It is those choices I make today that will make me tomorrow that is crucial to look at as I sip the remnants of my toffee nut at Thomson Road.

Sadly, that friend who introduced me to the joy of toffee nut is far away. Perhaps I may even venture to say we’re not far apart just physically but on other levels too. I wonder how she is. But however she is, I know that even if the shit hits the fan, I know she will find comfort in her toffee nut.

After all, some things just never change.

Uncle T

photo: "simple joys" 9:58 pm

"simple joys" | barcelona

Can we ever return to that with which
We started with?
That innocence, that guts to
Act in faith, to let fly,
Not not care about consequences and thus
Live life a little more full?

Are has cynicism encrusted into our skin,
The only one we now know?
Is there no more room for whimsicals, for
Puppy loves?
What has this world done to us?

I want to fiercely defend the child in me,
The child the Father made in His image,
And not be so obsessed being the
Adult that the world has forced me to be.

You may join me.
But if you intend to wear your trenchcoat of
Purposeless cynicism, then my house
May not be for you.
Yet, the doors are always open, the welcome mat out.

Uncle T

Reminiscing over a cuppa 10:20 am

Another post I wrote after starting work. It is incomplete, yet still worthy for what it is. Perhaps I will complete it someday, perhaps in a way totally different from the way it was intended. But that is the way sometimes things are; ever-changing, never still. Always, therefore, I've got to always prepare for change, even in the things that I thought were meant to last forever.

Funny how a mere morning cuppa can trigger so many memories.

This morning, it is Starbucks at Fusionopolis, Singapore. Yet, just standing here adding raw brown sugar to my espresso sends shots of memories flying back to me. Waking in Brooklyn, morning lectures in Warwick, makan in Corsica, breakfast at Ang Moh Kio...Morning kopi is a trigger, a portal, my hope.

Perhaps it is the caffeine. No. It is just the kopi experience. The clarity of mind that comes with this experience is so sharp it is amazing each time. As clear as the Corscian moon in Easter.

Bus 10:19 am

This was a post written nearly 4 months back, when I first came home from the UK. Then, I was adjusting back to life in Singapore. Now, I am still adjusting. Now I am even wondering if its naive to think people I left behing 3 years back are still the same.

I am on the bus home. Same number, but new bus. The seats are now some untearable synthetic red thing. The bus passes through a familiar route, one literally that captures much of my teenhood. The bus pulls into the stop where the ex-girlfiriend lives.

One observation, other than the one that you now have to wear seatbelts at the back of the bus. I do wonder how young couples make out at the back of buses these days. The observation: nearly everyone on the bus is engaged with an electronic device, including me, in trying to type this. The boy next to me is figuring out some love triangle over the phone.

The lights on the bus are so bright I feel naked. Just a few years back, dim buslights were conducive for falling asleep, creating alluring orange hues that guarantee you miss your stop.

I wonder where this ride will take me. Hopefully to a place where there is good company, love, jazz, coffee, a pen and a paper...