Restlessness & Contentment

Another weekend gone. 

I can't believe we're already midway through April. The days are melting into weeks that culminate in Fridays. Saturdays don't even seem to exist while Mondays stick out like a sore portent of imminent work.  

Are my consequent years in Singapore going to be like that?

Neh. I don't think so. 

But it's scary to imagine the rest of my life playing out like a never-ceasing hamster's wheel going round and round and round. I don't want to be in any sort of rat race... I'd rather spend my days in suspense, change, adventure- that sort of thing. Stability is welcome but stagnant living is not. 

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At the end of a rather rainy work week, last Friday dawned bright and sunny. Very sunny, in fact. My colleagues refused to walk the ten minutes distance to Tiong Bahru Market for lunch but I had to go there anyway to get my Singpass. 

The Singpass, for those who don't know, is a single password for an individual's access to all the government sites. For example, if you needed to file taxes online in Singapore, you'd need a Singpass[word] to log into your account. 

I thought I had to file Singaporean taxes this year, but after getting my Singpass and logging in, I found out that I did not have to. 

*Does happy dance*

That night, our regular urban rollerblading meetup went on as usual. This time, we went from ION Orchard to Sentosa, Sentosa Cove, and then finally back out to Vivocity for supper. This picture is of us in Harbourfront Centre next to Cheers (convenience store).

After leaving behind some concerned security personnel at Vivocity (we didn't rollerblade in there, just passed by), we finally made it into Resorts World Sentosa. We kinda got lost for a second, trying to get to the beachfront. Thankfully, Darren knew the way so we followed him up a loooong flight of escalators, up more stairs towards the Merlion.

Paused for a picture at the giant word "SENTOSA". Tourists on wheels. 

T-braked our way down the treacherously slippery slope behind the Merlion. In the dark no less.

I thoroughly enjoyed our journey back and forth across the south end of Sentosa. The road was completely empty except for a few people getting things ready for some road run event coming up the next day.

While going fast along the path, I fell once and my camera hit the ground. In a state of dull panic, I checked my camera for damage and ignored the superficial wound on my left elbow. This is one gadget I do NOT want to lose!

Anyway, the rest of the Sentosa trip ended on a very hilly note into and out of Sentosa Cove. By the last hill, everyone's smiling faces had turned into sweat-stained wrinkles of concentration and effort.

Unfortunately, it seems like some part of my camera is damaged. The 1cm focus doesn't work as well anymore, and the lighting seems to be off. But at least it works!

Here's a blurry pic of the place we settled down for supper after our long journey.

I wasn't planning on having supper at 03:00 in the morning, but the smell rising from Darren, Benedict and Zhizhong's plates convinced me of its necessity. I ended up splitting a plate of Hokkien prawn noodles with Chen. $2.50 each. Yay! 

We all took a taxi home afterwards. 

I wanted to rollerblade home, but the thought of having to wake up in a few hours changed my mind.

On Saturday morning, I jumped out of bed fifteen minutes after I should've been ready, hopped onto the MRT and rushed down to Chinese Garden where I was supposed to meet Annie, Rodrigo and his parents who are visiting from Spain. 

We were going to tour the gardens with Rodrigo's parents who were set to leave Singapore on a cruise later that afternoon.

Annie asked me along because she doesn't speak a word of Spanish and she thought I could help. I thought that was kind of funny since... I DON'T SPEAK SPANISH?!

I mean, I know about the "hola", "senor", "senorita", "como se llama" and various other disconnected words that vaguely sound like their French/Italian counterparts. Beyond that, I am a smattering mess of "si", "no", and "comprende". I even caught myself replying "da" (Russian for "yes") to them a few times on impulse. How embarrassing and awkward.

Rodrigo's dad turned out to be an even crazier photographer than I am. From his very first step into Chinese Garden, his female co-travelers gave me a look of knowing resignation as they explained how he LOVES taking photos of everything and everyone ALL THE TIME! 

As they laughed and apologised about his photo-taking addiction, I was secretly being very happy about this whole affair. At long last, I am at home among people who are used to being randomly photographed! And what more, there is a greater culprit than I!

I loved every second of it. 

The sky was perfectly cloudy as we sauntered along a path that led toward the middle of the gardens. Something less than a drizzle fell on us from time to time and it made the whole place seem much more romantic than it would have been under a sweltering hot Singaporean sun.

We paused many times along the way for Rodrigo's dad to take photos and to stare at fishies.

As we went deeper into the heart of Chinese Garden, the landscape began to look more and more, well, Chinese. 

I'd been here many times as a kid during the annual Mooncake festival. My parents would bring me here in the night when the lantern-bearing crowds would swell through every nook and cranny of this place. Therefore, my memories of Chinese Garden always took the form of some noisy, squashed, sweaty dream. 

Even in the past years, I've never bothered to stroll through this place in the day time. I always came here for a run instead- and my surroundings would also melt into a sweaty blur of heat and trees.

But Saturday was different.

We walked very slowly. 

The weather reminded me of a morning in late spring. I shut my anxious thoughts in a box at the back of my head and took loads of pictures to my hearts content. 

I watched Muscovite tourists feed fishes illegally. 

"Откуда вы?" I asked them.

They stared at me with dark suspicious eyes as if I, this strange Singaporean girl who approached them for no reason other than to speak Russian with Russians, would like to take advantage of them.

I guess I did, in a way. 

On that lovely Saturday morning itself, I had spoken to FOUR Russian tourists in total. I gave directions to a first old Russian couple from St. Petersburg (they were old enough to call it Leningrad). They were totally lost and on wrong side of the island. The second couple was illegally feeding fish here. 

There was a Japanese-themed photo shoot going on in one of the pavilions by the water. Interestingly, the models were Malay. I'm really curious as to how those photos would turn out. 

Spotted the usual pale pink dragonfly eggs on rocks and plants.

I was glad to have Annie explain some of the characters that were written on top of several entrances. Although she did not remember the pronunciations of the all the characters, she was able to tell us what they meant. 

This particular one goes something along the lines of "plucking" "fruit" "backyard". Pieced together, they should indicate a garden or courtyard in the back of an estate where one can relax and pick fruits.

Don't remember this one.

I don't remember this one either, but it was my favourite entrance out of all of them. 

At the Koi Pond, Annie was explaining to Rodrigo how koi represent all sorts of good things in Chinese culture. Their gold and red scales indicate things like prosperity, good luck, happiness, etc. 

We stood here for some time but didn't go in. 

The way out.

I think I could sit here all day with a book and a cup of bubble tea. 

Check us out leaving Rodrigo's dad behind, still taking photos!

We finally reached the White Rainbow thirteen-arch bridge (白虹桥). You can see all the arches in this photo. You can also see the gathering storm clouds.

Jurong Lake has always been this colour. I don't think they can make it any less muddy. 

It was a fun walk, but our stomachs were starting to growl as loudly as the thunder in the distance. We left Chinese Garden for the main road to hail a cab.

While trying to hail a cab, I spotted a little chameleon. Haven't seen one in some time now!

Hailing a cab was a failure, so we hopped on a bus and a train. 

The trip in total was actually pretty short. It only took us about 15-20 minutes in total to get to our lunching destination.

In the meantime, I spent some time observing the similarities between Rodrigo and his family members. Looking at his dad and him is like looking at the same person through a time machine.

One thing I noticed too was that as a grown man, Rodrigo is still very close physically to his parents. They were always kissing and hugging and holding hands. They were unashamed and full of love and appreciation of each other. I really saw the contrast when we were on the MRT surrounded by Chinese, Malay and Indian families. For some reason, in Asian cultures, once we reach a certain age, we no longer display such intimate behaviour. In fact, I have never seen an old Asian man kiss his grown man-son on the cheek whilst tousling his hair. 

I think both Western and Eastern parenting cultures have their merits, but my heart was filled with warmth just watching this mother and son pair stroll down the street, arms locked around each other...

We went to a very odd location for lunch.

It's near Buona Vista MRT station.

It's got giant metallic dandelions near the entrance.

The insides of Biopolis is like a futuristic city.

Its buildings have terribly scientific names like "Centros", "Helios", "Nanos", etc. 

During the weekdays, Biopolis seethes with swarms of worker bee humans. On the weekends, it is a dead city, abandoned for a hundred years until Monday morning 09:00 a.m.. 

Tucked in the back of the building Centros, is Raj Prime Vegetarian Restaurant.

We opted al fresco.

Annie and Rodrigo did almost all the ordering.

I really liked the glass ceiling above us. It enabled light to shine through, yet sheltered us from the torrential rain. Though, I think that it couldn't be as enjoyable on a sunny day.

The first appetiser to arrive is this dahi poori thing. It's a crispy sac of cheesy goodness with a little beef surprise in the middle. 

The nice waiter took a customary group photo for us.

I don't know the official name for this dish but I'm pretty sure it's chicken salad. Indian style. I won't go into details raving about all the food here, because they're all great. I'm craving all of it again as I'm typing right now.

They were out of mango lassi so I had sweet lassi. Sweet, yoghurty goodness in a glass...

We had three flavours of naan. Butter, lentil and something else (I forget). 

Mildly spicy mushroom masala.

Spiced rice.

Something amazing, vegetarian, non-spicy and creamy.

And a beautiful background orchestra of pouring rain.

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Why do people travel? Why do we fall in love with the exotic and crave foreign delights?

Is it the curiosity in us- the overwhelming need to see, feel, hear and touch what we've read about in books or seen in documentaries?

Or is it a restless wanderlust that fires and propels our engines across continents?

Has travel today become a more accessible luxury, a necessary trophy that we amass with our other medals? (University certificate, house, clothes, car, boy/girlfriend, etc.)

I think, sometimes a part of me wants to be able to say I've been to all these faraway places. That I've experienced and learnt so much more than others simply because I've seen more foreign wonders. It's a cooler gesture than saying "I've read more books" I suppose. Who doesn't want to be a modern Marco Polo?

Then there's also a part of me that wants to escape this mundane working life. Then again, that is a common feeling among us worker bee slaves. Life must be better in the hive next door.

And perhaps, after all, it really is that burning furnace inside my heart. That restless feeling of having to move every few minutes or so. The same thirst and longing for adventure that drove Huck Finn down the Mississippi and Edward Abbey up Tukuhnikivats. It's driving me out on the streets almost every night now- in my rollerblades. 

If I could come to rest someday, it can only be in heaven. To rest at my Saviour's feet. To not feel like I have to go somewhere in the next hour, the next month, the next year.

Despite all my "travels" and "experience", I am afterall, still learning how to be content.