Pictures from an old friend

Once in a while, I received notes from friends I befriended when I backpacked a few years back.

I received with great delight, an email from a friend whom I have not thought of for some time. He was a great host when I was visiting Inner Mongolia. I can still remember how his presentation of traditional Mongolian music filled the living room of the hostel. Strangers became friends in an instant. How magical music can be.

This time round, he sent me images which ignited my yearning for the vast grassland, the boundary-free horse riding….

Sweet elves of Santa

A big thank you to all who had spent time working on wrapping the presents and muffins with me.

U guys are truly like the lovely elves at Santa’s workshop. Diligent and happy…. I am sure most of u felt achy after standing for so long and working straight for 3 hours. But I am also confident that although we all went home tired and sweaty, we know that it’s all worth it.

To the group who came on the 13th, it’s a shame I didn’t bring a camera to take pictures of u guys in action. I was also in a hurry to go to work. But we did an incredible job wrapping soft toys and making paper bags. It really saved the organizers a few nights of toil.

To the group who came on the 18th, I love the part when we formed 2 rows, moving chairs and tables, passing them from one to another. I really felt that was the time the ice between us melted and we worked as a team, united and effectively. The rest of the volunteers were amazed at how coordinated we are.

Thanks Joey for the coordination. The events would not have been so successful without u, collating the list and communicating with the group and myself.

Below is an overview of us at work yesterday. Here are the pictures…. Thanks Gin for these.

Born Free

I love immersing myself in the serenity of nature… Most of the time, I can only imagine wishfully, what it feels like to be on top of the mountain, skinny-dipping in the clear blue sea, camping on an unclaimed beach, accompanied by millions of stars when night falls.

However, a few years ago, it became a reality. What irritates me is that, the pictures I have with me is losing its realism… It felt like a dream … I’m so desperate to get it back. I remember the times when I was hiking In New Zealand and Minnesota, I was more overwhelmed by exhaustion and the breath taking sceneries. I was busy snapping away, trying to hold on to every inch of soil I put my foot on. We were on a mission to complete the day’s hike and when we reached camp, I was more involved with nursing my sore feet and digging into the guide book for information about the next day’s hike.

When I feel suffocated in the city , how I wish there is a teleport invented, so that I get transported to that spot where my soul can get a recharge. The place where the awe of nature reduces my ego and I get pieces of myself back again.

Here, I share with you all, those places where my body had been, but my soul had not had the time to catch up on…..

A time forgotten…

I was reading my old diary a few days ago and some articles I wrote a few years back. It felt like visiting an old friend. Familiar, yet distant.

I’ve always liked keeping a traditional diary. Yes, technology is helpful with the additional features, which does wonders to the aesthetic appeal. But I still love how a traditional diary reveals the tiny details about you, at the point of time when the article was penned.

The atrocious handwriting (still is now)… dog-eared pages, faded ink, gave so much character to the diary. Though it has been many years apart, I can still identify my character traits in the many entries throughout the years. How I smiled knowingly and surprisingly at the thoughts I once owned and still do.

People say you lose your innocence with u grow up. But I believe that we just forget what it feels like to be innocent. To be in the moment, when now is forever. The ideals once held, visions waiting to be rekindled, are all lying in the forgotten pages in the diary.

Try putting your feelings in black and white. Any kind of them… it’s a space where u can be honest to just you. No fear of scrutiny, or judgment. Those moments are invaluable. It tells you who you are when u feel like losing yourself, when u can hardly remember what it feels like 10 or 20 years ago. Especially those in your teens, this is the time when life feels like forever, and surging emotions are like daily bread.

Lock them in ink.

Welcome Home

I visited China in 2007. China is not just an ordinary traveling destination. To me, it is where it all begins. Being an ethnic Chinese in a young migrant society, there has always been a strong sense of questioning about “when did we come from?”. We have been educated in formal and popular media about how Singapore grew to be what it is today.

I’ve always wondered about the choices my great grand parents made, and the paths they have taken to give the life my family and I have now. One of my agendas in visiting China is to reconnect with what I thought, to be the roots of my existence.

We always take our identity as Singaporeans for granted and traveling always reminded me of who I am. Sometimes, when u travel, you lose yourself in a new setting. I was just getting comfortable being a suave wanderer when one episode caught me off guard and my heart ached of homesickness at that point of time.

I was in inner Mongolia describing Singapore to a group of interested travelers. Questions like how many languages do you speak in Singapore? What food do you eat there? How big is the population in Singapore? As all these questions poured in, I was slowly regaining visions of Singapore, (The hawker centers, the HDBs, the merlion, national parades, SBS buses, Comfort taxis, squeazy MRTS, ah bengs and lians,), and was being reminded what it feels like back home. All of a sudden, a student volunteering at the hostel I was staying at joined the group excited, and exclaimed,” 新加坡 呀！ 我阿姨说那是世界上最美的国家!”

I looked at him and saw in him a form of pure wonderment and certainty that I felt ashamed of myself for joyfully leaving my own country. I was filled with gratitude, an inner voice saying “ thanks for believing in my country, thanks for bringing me back home.”

I landed in Changi airport terminal 2 upon my arrival. As I ride the escalator, making my way towards the immigration counter, I headed to the queues, which says SINGAPOREANS/PERMANAENT CITIZENS. And a screen below scrolls, WELCOME HOME.

Patriotism is not just an idealistic notion. It is felt and lived by. It is a natural process of attachment to a demarcated piece of land. It is nurtured over the years by generations who weathered the storm and stood by to defend what they have come to love.

Like many young Singaporeans, I complained about many things that are lacking in Singapore. I am curious about the world beyond and can’t wait to get my feet dirty on those off beaten tracks. But now I know for sure. Regardless of where I will be in the future, I can never erase what has been rooted in me since the day I was born. I can never be detached from the place I’ve learned to love, fear, cry, laugh, fall and stand.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SINGAPORE