Friday, July 16, 2004
Two eyes for this guy
To be completely honest, re-minisce without his spectacles is as blind as a hawk. Granted, a slightly astigmatic hawk. Day-vision is pretty much normal, thanks to the effect of contrast and brain suppression of ghost images. Night vision is when the specs come into play. But spectacles are spectacles, are spectacles. They're habit-forming. Put them away into your pocket, and the next thing you know they're back on your nasal bridge of their own accord. My mum used to worry that I was wearing my specs too often - it'll leave a permanent groove on your nose she said. Or summat like that.
Anyhow, I ate dinner on the Thames last night, sitting across the river from OXO tower (yes, Oxo as in oxo cubes) with a balmy summer's breeze (yes! summer returned. for a night, anyhow) ruffling my hair and cooling my mc-fries, and a romantic couple to my left obliviously doing what romantic couples do by waterfronts. (For a full thirty minutes. It's a wonder they didn't wear out their tongues.)
There's a blissful serenity to the Thames by night. A perfect solitude, for the person who sometimes just needs to be alone in his own head - while still surrounded, or rather, with his back to the busy sounds of the city. It's a mercy so few people wander by after dark. I've only been twice now, but these are the memories I hope not to forget in a hurry.
The walk to, and from the river was magical - For one, I didn't bring my specs. And so, as the light faded, the sharp, brutal clarity of the citadel by day was gradually replaced by a softer, gentler, more feminine london, complete with slightly off-focus halo-effects around the streetlamps. (Which I noticed for the first time are extremely ornate indeed around the Old City.) Everything looked slightly kinder, slightly more magical. Slightly more like the movies.
For another, I did what I love to do best - I chose a random direction, and walked. Okay, so maybe not completely random. I knew I was heading towards the river. Sorta. I love getting lost in central London, and walking past. Just past. There's so much to walk past - beautiful fountains in tiny alcoves, ornate pubs with quirky people getting pissed inside, or dancing, (or beating each other up) run-down council flats with the look of utter dreary desolation about them, smack back next to elaborate churches and public parks. Lifelike statues of angels, and effigies of cats, with children footing balls around them. I walked down Portugal road, and Bell Yard, and places I didn't really recognise at all - till on the way home, I walked past their fronts and realised I did know them after all.
There's an infiniteness to London that satisfies the wanderer in me, there's always something new to see. I could spend a lifetime taking random walks through it, and I'll never really know every part of it - I suppose, metaphorically at least, that's what I'd like in a partner. Laughs.
I had this same feeling in Sydney, the Big City, although to be fair there weren't quite as many decrepit pieces of historical interest as there are in london.
I don't get this back home. I feel like I know every inch of the rather sterile city. There's only so much appeal to well-spaced out skyscrapers.
I don't think it's simply because I grew up there. I think it's because the powers that be planned it too well. New York holds the same barren lack of appeal to me as does Singapore - everything's on a grid. There's more to see in new york, little jazz bars on the bronx and, of course, Lady Liberty, than there is in Singapore. Which makes home even less... satisfying for my innate wanderer.
And I thought a lot. About my imminent unemployment (still desperately applying for surgical jobs, with less hope for each passing day) and about my mum and dad's requests for me to go home to work, and well, about the fact that they're not getting any younger.
And I realised that if - no, when - I do decide to leave - I will miss all this so, so much.
I feel that, till now unthinkably distant time for making final decisions creeping up on me, a day at a time. And it brings with it a host of mixed emotions.
Life can be so strange.
But, sitting by the expansive waterfront feeling the warm breeze in my face, and staring out at a muted, open skyscape with the London eye glowing purple (for some reason) in the sunset far, far to the right, I couldn't help but feel that if ever one day I have kids, I'd want this for them. Not London, per se - but this strange "freedom" that I enjoy today. It's not a liberation from rules, although that I must confess, is appealing in itself (singapore is a Fine city...)... it's a freedom, within my soul.
Don't get me wrong, I am no bastardised ingrate, and I did spend my time growing up in Singapore pleasantly enough, I suppose. But something about me - or was it the influence of the GEP? came to treasure freedom - of thought, of expression, and of... life. And while I'll pass the time back "home" well enough - and soon, I suspect - in the company of my ageing parents : one day, I will be back. Back - to this place in my mind. Not London - it's far too cold and depressing - but somewhere. When I am old. To stay, and to die.
*****
Paid labour
oog. apparently my year's worth in A&E enables me to be paid locum registrar rates. Maybe unemployment wouldn't be such a bad thing after all... heh.
*****
In Two Minds
There're so many ways of interpreting that phrase.
A very long time ago, when I used to mull over things in my head, I sometimes heard Her voice. I don't know why... it just happened. I guess I was just nuts about Her. And maybe it was because we spoke on the 'phone a lot, discussed each other's lives, criticised and poked fun at each other, and laughed a lot, from across the world.
I spent the longest time erasing Her voice from my mind - and from my own patterns of speech. Eventually, the australianisms faded, to be replaced by slightly gawky Grant-ish English-icms. I'm told I have a neutral accent slightly tinged by Brit, but believe you me, when I'm at work I have a much, much heavier accent. It alters with who I'm speaking to, and in the presence of a voice from home, the Brit bit takes second seat as I relish the singaporean-ness from my past bubbling to the surface. But the voice in my mind... is different now.
It doesn't have an audible pitch, but it's deeper than that long-lost voice.
It doesn't really have an accent, but it's only occasionally, and generally in play, just the slightest bit australian.
It doesn't really have form, but it's not quite as fluid as before, slightly more clipped. Sharper about the edges. Slightly less pretty.
It's my own voice I hear now, inside my head.
And sometimes it tells me the strangest things, walking alongside the walls of green fringing Queen's Square, en route to home on a warm summer's evening. laughs.
More commonly, the phrase in two minds connotes indecision.
Part of me wants to go home, and be with my parents. And... who knows? Maybe take that broom out of the closet and polish it off. That would be... interesting.
Yet part of me desperately wants to stay, and that part will fight to stay, body battered and blade broken - the way I have been, for a while now. Metaphorically, at least. And literally, in a way - my sabre was shattered by the ex, a while ago. She didn't so much fence as swipe, and the day she cut through my - adequate - parry, through my sabre (the sabre that I learnt on in college, my prize and joy - the sabre that accompanied me across the UK with my uni team; the sabre that followed me across the world to australia even), something inside me broke. And my eyes opened. (And I will confess, I stopped fencing - with finesse and skill - and started clubbing her back. The caveman was awakened, and he was ANGRY. laughs)
It was so easy before; I never had to stop to think. I always landed the jobs early, I always had purpose in my life - purpose that wasn't quite decided by me.
Now my roads lie open ahead of me, and I don't know what I want. Or rather, I know what I want - but I want so, so many things.
*****
The Wonders of Technorati
Finnish has never been my strong suite. Uh, could someone translate this for me, pretty please?
"Heppu ja The Lingual Nerve - hepun tositarinoita potilaista."
from : http://opisto.alkio.fi/~atsuopan/paivat.html
Anyhow, I ate dinner on the Thames last night, sitting across the river from OXO tower (yes, Oxo as in oxo cubes) with a balmy summer's breeze (yes! summer returned. for a night, anyhow) ruffling my hair and cooling my mc-fries, and a romantic couple to my left obliviously doing what romantic couples do by waterfronts. (For a full thirty minutes. It's a wonder they didn't wear out their tongues.)
There's a blissful serenity to the Thames by night. A perfect solitude, for the person who sometimes just needs to be alone in his own head - while still surrounded, or rather, with his back to the busy sounds of the city. It's a mercy so few people wander by after dark. I've only been twice now, but these are the memories I hope not to forget in a hurry.
The walk to, and from the river was magical - For one, I didn't bring my specs. And so, as the light faded, the sharp, brutal clarity of the citadel by day was gradually replaced by a softer, gentler, more feminine london, complete with slightly off-focus halo-effects around the streetlamps. (Which I noticed for the first time are extremely ornate indeed around the Old City.) Everything looked slightly kinder, slightly more magical. Slightly more like the movies.
For another, I did what I love to do best - I chose a random direction, and walked. Okay, so maybe not completely random. I knew I was heading towards the river. Sorta. I love getting lost in central London, and walking past. Just past. There's so much to walk past - beautiful fountains in tiny alcoves, ornate pubs with quirky people getting pissed inside, or dancing, (or beating each other up) run-down council flats with the look of utter dreary desolation about them, smack back next to elaborate churches and public parks. Lifelike statues of angels, and effigies of cats, with children footing balls around them. I walked down Portugal road, and Bell Yard, and places I didn't really recognise at all - till on the way home, I walked past their fronts and realised I did know them after all.
There's an infiniteness to London that satisfies the wanderer in me, there's always something new to see. I could spend a lifetime taking random walks through it, and I'll never really know every part of it - I suppose, metaphorically at least, that's what I'd like in a partner. Laughs.
I had this same feeling in Sydney, the Big City, although to be fair there weren't quite as many decrepit pieces of historical interest as there are in london.
I don't get this back home. I feel like I know every inch of the rather sterile city. There's only so much appeal to well-spaced out skyscrapers.
I don't think it's simply because I grew up there. I think it's because the powers that be planned it too well. New York holds the same barren lack of appeal to me as does Singapore - everything's on a grid. There's more to see in new york, little jazz bars on the bronx and, of course, Lady Liberty, than there is in Singapore. Which makes home even less... satisfying for my innate wanderer.
And I thought a lot. About my imminent unemployment (still desperately applying for surgical jobs, with less hope for each passing day) and about my mum and dad's requests for me to go home to work, and well, about the fact that they're not getting any younger.
And I realised that if - no, when - I do decide to leave - I will miss all this so, so much.
I feel that, till now unthinkably distant time for making final decisions creeping up on me, a day at a time. And it brings with it a host of mixed emotions.
Life can be so strange.
But, sitting by the expansive waterfront feeling the warm breeze in my face, and staring out at a muted, open skyscape with the London eye glowing purple (for some reason) in the sunset far, far to the right, I couldn't help but feel that if ever one day I have kids, I'd want this for them. Not London, per se - but this strange "freedom" that I enjoy today. It's not a liberation from rules, although that I must confess, is appealing in itself (singapore is a Fine city...)... it's a freedom, within my soul.
Don't get me wrong, I am no bastardised ingrate, and I did spend my time growing up in Singapore pleasantly enough, I suppose. But something about me - or was it the influence of the GEP? came to treasure freedom - of thought, of expression, and of... life. And while I'll pass the time back "home" well enough - and soon, I suspect - in the company of my ageing parents : one day, I will be back. Back - to this place in my mind. Not London - it's far too cold and depressing - but somewhere. When I am old. To stay, and to die.
*****
Paid labour
oog. apparently my year's worth in A&E enables me to be paid locum registrar rates. Maybe unemployment wouldn't be such a bad thing after all... heh.
*****
In Two Minds
There're so many ways of interpreting that phrase.
A very long time ago, when I used to mull over things in my head, I sometimes heard Her voice. I don't know why... it just happened. I guess I was just nuts about Her. And maybe it was because we spoke on the 'phone a lot, discussed each other's lives, criticised and poked fun at each other, and laughed a lot, from across the world.
I spent the longest time erasing Her voice from my mind - and from my own patterns of speech. Eventually, the australianisms faded, to be replaced by slightly gawky Grant-ish English-icms. I'm told I have a neutral accent slightly tinged by Brit, but believe you me, when I'm at work I have a much, much heavier accent. It alters with who I'm speaking to, and in the presence of a voice from home, the Brit bit takes second seat as I relish the singaporean-ness from my past bubbling to the surface. But the voice in my mind... is different now.
It doesn't have an audible pitch, but it's deeper than that long-lost voice.
It doesn't really have an accent, but it's only occasionally, and generally in play, just the slightest bit australian.
It doesn't really have form, but it's not quite as fluid as before, slightly more clipped. Sharper about the edges. Slightly less pretty.
It's my own voice I hear now, inside my head.
And sometimes it tells me the strangest things, walking alongside the walls of green fringing Queen's Square, en route to home on a warm summer's evening. laughs.
More commonly, the phrase in two minds connotes indecision.
Part of me wants to go home, and be with my parents. And... who knows? Maybe take that broom out of the closet and polish it off. That would be... interesting.
Yet part of me desperately wants to stay, and that part will fight to stay, body battered and blade broken - the way I have been, for a while now. Metaphorically, at least. And literally, in a way - my sabre was shattered by the ex, a while ago. She didn't so much fence as swipe, and the day she cut through my - adequate - parry, through my sabre (the sabre that I learnt on in college, my prize and joy - the sabre that accompanied me across the UK with my uni team; the sabre that followed me across the world to australia even), something inside me broke. And my eyes opened. (And I will confess, I stopped fencing - with finesse and skill - and started clubbing her back. The caveman was awakened, and he was ANGRY. laughs)
It was so easy before; I never had to stop to think. I always landed the jobs early, I always had purpose in my life - purpose that wasn't quite decided by me.
Now my roads lie open ahead of me, and I don't know what I want. Or rather, I know what I want - but I want so, so many things.
*****
The Wonders of Technorati
Finnish has never been my strong suite. Uh, could someone translate this for me, pretty please?
"Heppu ja The Lingual Nerve - hepun tositarinoita potilaista."
from : http://opisto.alkio.fi/~atsuopan/paivat.html
