I woke up at 9.30, from a bit of a nightmare involving murder and escape, but happy nonetheless. I always wake happy, so it must be my natural disposition.
I decided that I'd take a walk this morning. So I took off slowly, onto Gibraltar, past Malta and past Cyprus. The regal black and white mansions aching in their colonial memory, grave next to the tiny bright flowers, bursting. I used to walk in Vancouver with Jarrett, but Singapore is nothing like that. The air is not crisp but thick and warm, like a strong, soothing cup of tea. It is even a tad bit misty. Signs of neglect stand out from the general cavas of aged pride: the peeling paint off the houses, the white shamed with dirt, and trees extending their roots into the concrete, breaking them apart with the weight of time and nature.
A small concrete structure nestled in the green beckons to me. I notice a small flight of stairs behind it, leading to what must be a private clearing fresh with flowers. But there stood a door, by the side of the abandoned little building, framed with banyan roots and decaying plants. I turned away, a little ashamed of my cowardice, a little excited with the prospect of sharing this find with my brother or a friend, for later. After all, I was alone, and I know a bad idea when I see one - now. I walked away, my thoughts turning to that little wet mist-shrouded chapel in Cherra, Meghalaya. What was it he said? That western theology had too much of a two-dimenstional view of spirituality, that the spiritual world was real and that this is an area within Christian thought that needs to be developed. "All these 'gods', Pan and the lot, they're real." And the I thought about my brother, and his stories, and how I stopped him in mid-sentence. There are some battles I do not wish to fight.
Oh Shillong. I thought about how similar these old colonial houses were to the petite wooded abodes we found while trudging up the hill to see the sunset. Both European in flavour, wooden and floral. But the houses there were warm, cheerful and the flowers larger and brighter. There were smiles and churches and lively puppies, the noise of 30 ruppee taxis braving steep drops and sharp turns down the mountain, honking their horns. Here, I see grasscutters, and one lone gaudy ang-moh girl walking down to the main road. Then the military security rolls by, in their armoured vehicles. THIS is our neighbourhood watch. I brush off a stay spider's web that I had unwittingly collected and move on.
I guess I do like nature. I wonder why this hadn't dawned on me before. Perhaps for the first time, I have spare time and the mental space to wander. I stopped to watch three butterfiies chase each other around - why do they do that? They were the same shade of brown as the dried leaves that were scattered around me. I stood still to I watched another dead leaf fall gracefully onto the grass.
Death in beauty, beauty in death, and the shadow that my happiness casts is called pensive.
I decided that I'd take a walk this morning. So I took off slowly, onto Gibraltar, past Malta and past Cyprus. The regal black and white mansions aching in their colonial memory, grave next to the tiny bright flowers, bursting. I used to walk in Vancouver with Jarrett, but Singapore is nothing like that. The air is not crisp but thick and warm, like a strong, soothing cup of tea. It is even a tad bit misty. Signs of neglect stand out from the general cavas of aged pride: the peeling paint off the houses, the white shamed with dirt, and trees extending their roots into the concrete, breaking them apart with the weight of time and nature.
A small concrete structure nestled in the green beckons to me. I notice a small flight of stairs behind it, leading to what must be a private clearing fresh with flowers. But there stood a door, by the side of the abandoned little building, framed with banyan roots and decaying plants. I turned away, a little ashamed of my cowardice, a little excited with the prospect of sharing this find with my brother or a friend, for later. After all, I was alone, and I know a bad idea when I see one - now. I walked away, my thoughts turning to that little wet mist-shrouded chapel in Cherra, Meghalaya. What was it he said? That western theology had too much of a two-dimenstional view of spirituality, that the spiritual world was real and that this is an area within Christian thought that needs to be developed. "All these 'gods', Pan and the lot, they're real." And the I thought about my brother, and his stories, and how I stopped him in mid-sentence. There are some battles I do not wish to fight.
Oh Shillong. I thought about how similar these old colonial houses were to the petite wooded abodes we found while trudging up the hill to see the sunset. Both European in flavour, wooden and floral. But the houses there were warm, cheerful and the flowers larger and brighter. There were smiles and churches and lively puppies, the noise of 30 ruppee taxis braving steep drops and sharp turns down the mountain, honking their horns. Here, I see grasscutters, and one lone gaudy ang-moh girl walking down to the main road. Then the military security rolls by, in their armoured vehicles. THIS is our neighbourhood watch. I brush off a stay spider's web that I had unwittingly collected and move on.
I guess I do like nature. I wonder why this hadn't dawned on me before. Perhaps for the first time, I have spare time and the mental space to wander. I stopped to watch three butterfiies chase each other around - why do they do that? They were the same shade of brown as the dried leaves that were scattered around me. I stood still to I watched another dead leaf fall gracefully onto the grass.
Death in beauty, beauty in death, and the shadow that my happiness casts is called pensive.
No comments:
Post a Comment