Desired things.

When I was younger, I couldn't wait to grow up. Adulthood seemed to hold so many colourful, exciting things that were out of reach of my tiny grubby hands. Every birthday was a step closer to that bright future (and a reason for me to have my friends over to eat cake and stomp on balloons); every birthday was a chance to dream up a new fairytale. When I was 16, I couldn't wait to be 18. I wanted to be able to drink, drive and party. And when I was 18, I couldn't wait to be 21, to watch R(A) movies, get married on a whim and oh, whatever it is to be a legal adult.

Well, adulthood really isn't quite what a five-year-old me imagined it to be. You see, apart from all the drab realities that come with it, being an adult gives you choice, power and opportunities. Dreams are all they are when you're five – if I wanted to be a teacher, all I had to do was lay out my Barbie dolls and wobble about in my sister's stilettos acting all grown up. My flight stewardess career could wait until tomorrow. Fast forward 20 years, and I am actually able to do something to attain my dream, whatever it now is. But with great power comes great responsibility. No, I kid you not. Knowing that I have the choice and the power to change and shape my life whenever and however I want to scares me, because I desperately want to do the right thing; because I am a slave to calculating opportunity costs. And ironically, power leaves me feeling a little powerless sometimes, too.

Am I having a quarter life crisis? That may explain the restlessness brewing inside me, the growing need to charge journeys, seek clarity and chase the dream, however fluid and murky it currently may be. And I will. Or it would be an awful waste of adulthood, wouldn't it?


Desiderata
Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly,
and listen to others;
even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain or bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; 

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, 

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, 

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labours and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

If I Knew.

If I Knew

This poem was circulated soon after 9-11, and it never fails to put that little ache in my heart. Even after eight years, it still serves as a very real reminder to try to reform my procrastinating ways. Have a read, and then call someone to say "I love you".

On a very different note, P will be home in less than 2 hours! That is a welcome departure from the sadness usually associated with 11 September. Now excuse me while I try to nap...

If I knew it would be the last time
That I’d see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in more tightly
And pray the Lord your soul to keep.

If I knew it would be the last time
That I see you walk out the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss
And call you back for more.

If I knew it would be the last time
I’d hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would video tape each action and word,
So I could play them back day after day.

If I knew it would be the last time,
I could spare an extra minute
To stop and say ‘I love you’,
Instead of assuming you would know I do.

If I knew it would be the last time
I would be there to share your day,
Well I’m sure you’ll have so many more,
So I can let just this one slip away.

For surely there’s always tomorrow
To make up for an oversight,
And we always get a second chance
To make everything just right.

There will always be another day
To say ‘I love you’,
And certainly there’s another chance
To say ‘Anything I can do?’

But just in case I might be wrong,
And today is all I get,
I’d like to say how much I love you
And I hope we never forget.

Tomorrow is not promised to anyone,
Young or old alike,
And today may be the last chance
You get to hold your loved one tight.

So if you’re waiting for tomorrow,
Why not do it today?
For if tomorrow never comes,
You’ll surely regret the day.

That you didn’t take that extra time
For a smile, a hug or a kiss
And you were too busy to grant someone
What turned out to be their one last wish.

So hold your loved ones close today,
And whisper in their ear,
Tell them how much you love them
And that you’ll always hold them dear.

Take time to say ‘I’m sorry’,
‘Please forgive me’, ‘Thank you’, or ‘It’s okay’
And if tomorrow never comes,
You’ll have no regrets about today.

~author unknown

My Sunday Shangri-La.

My Sunday Shangri-La.


picture from inmagine

a tangled canopy of rain-drenched leaves
the snap of twigs beneath my feet
shafts of sunshine shyly peek
between weathered trunks of aged trees

hints of citrus and heady musk
whispering crickets in bristled grass
faded Polaroids of rendezvouses past
darting around like motes of dust

the enclosed sanctum of young love's plight
reveal gravelled roads once hidden from sight
enlightenment dawns in gilded light
the discovery of Shangri-La inside the mind

Daydreams along the Tiber.

Daydreams along the Tiber.


As luck would have it, the ticketing machines at Gare du Nord were out of order, and the long queue at the only counter coupled with one of Paris' many train strikes had Kenrick and I missing our 12:10pm flight to Rome. There was nothing to do but to bite our lips, fork out 75 euros for a later flight and spend six hours waiting for it in the airport. It was night and drizzling by the time we finally found our way to our Trastevere apartment, and despite the ruckus and laughter from the restaurants and bars just outside, we were soon fast asleep.



We were up and out by 7:30 a.m. the next day, anticipating the queues at the Vatican. We walked along the Tiber river, and let the gentle sunshine warm the slight morning chill.


We found our way to the Vatican easily enough, but the early start did us no good as there was an outdoor mass about to begin. Undeterred, we turned and headed for the Vatican Museums and Sistine Chapel instead.




Note the group of patriotic Koreans in their colorful hanboks.




I think museums are great and all, but after an hour or so, all the paintings and sculptures begin to look the same. I don't think I would ever be one of those chichi women who would be thrilled at the thought of spending a quiet afternoon at the museum. Still, I must admit that there were some fascinating displays, though I had more fun clicking away on my camera and indulging my new fetish for light and silhouettes.


Unlike Ken whose stomach does not wake up until four hours after he does, I'm unaccustomed to starting my day without breakfast and was starving by the time our four-hour walk was over. Brunch for me was a simple but delicious cheese and salami sandwich at one of the cafes just outside the museum exit.

After refueling, we headed back towards St. Peter's Basilica. The afternoon sun was out in full force, scorching us and the hundred other people in the queue ahead. Thankfully, the queue moved quickly enough, though I am guessing it was partly because quite a number of ignorant tourists were dressed in shorts and body-baring clothes.









What is one supposed to feel inside such a magnificent architectural piece? Awe? Reverence? I could appreciate the aesthetic beauty, but I wasn't moved in any earth-shaking way, unfortunately. However, it was in St. Peter's that I received B's jubilant call that he was accepted into the Masters' programme in Singapore, and was promptly shushed by one of the staff.

Despite having lost almost an entire day with the flight delay, we were covering more ground (okay, monuments) than we had anticipated, and we decided to hop on an open-top tour bus to cover the monuments we had initially planned for the next day.




The Spanish Steps were quite literally just a flight of stairs behind one of Rome's countless fountains, and we had a bit of a point-and-click tourist moment before hopping back on the bus towards the Colosseum.







All around the city that day, people were stripping down to the bare minimum and soaking up the sun, like the stranger in picture two. Inside the ruins, Ken gave me a quick history lesson, which I supplemented through reading the many panels installed. Unlike St Peter's Basilica, I was awed by the sheer grandeur of the Colosseum and its winning of the war against time and crumbling.

Like in Paris, the sun doesn't set early in Rome and in the waning summer sunshine, we sat down to dinner at one of the cafes in Trastevere Square near our apartment.


I got to try gnocchi, which I'd been curious about since I first saw it in David Rocco's La Dolce Vita programme. The tomato sauce was tasty, though the gnocchi tasted a little disappointingly like pasta dough. Our thin-crust pizzas were huge and yummy however, and I think a steal at 4 euros each.



Trudging our weary feet and heavy bellies, we took the short walk back to the apartment, where I played a very unconvincing taitai modeling Ken's LV purchases. No self-respecting taitai would wear Indian fisherman pants and a H&M shirt, but I will revamp the taitai dresscode if when I become one... goodbye poodle hairdos and Chanel suits, hello braided hair and sarong skirts!








We stumbled upon the morning market at Campo de' Fiori the next day, and I had a whale of a time just living the colors and flavours of it. Luscious fruits, unfamiliar looking produce and bottles and pots of homemade goodness jostled for attention with rows of spices and lewdly printed aprons.

Reluctantly, I left the soothing chaos of the market and we walked on towards Piazza Navona, which struck me as a disappointing Montmarte remake, with a few half-hearted stands hawking paintings and caricatures.






We then headed on to the Pantheon.



These monuments are really intricate and full of astonishing details I'm sure, but I am just not interested. Point, click, shoot and go. I'd very much live and breathe the heart of a city. Which I think are in its markets and food. Go figure, haha.



The Trevi Fountain was quite the magnificent structure though, and along with the crowds, I threw a coin into it, choosing to believe that it would bring me back to Rome some day. I read on the plane the next day that the fountain collects about 600,000 euros worth of coins annually, all of which is donated to charity.



Satisfied that we'd covered all we wanted to cover, we hopped back onto the open-top tour bus for an hour and a half of sightseeing/sun-tanning. We weren't prepared with sunblock at all, but with the sun on our faces and the breeze in our hair, sunburnt shoulders were the last thing on our mind.



When we'd exhausted our time on the bus, we hopped off at the stop nearest our apartment, and spent the evening nursing our gelatos from Blue Ice while sitting at the fountain.



Even as I was savouring my Chocolate Soya flavoured gelato, I was crossing my fingers that the pigeons flocking around the fountain wouldn't find it a joke to poop on me. I escaped unscathed, phew.




While strolling around aimlessly trying to digest our gelato lunch, we chanced upon a bakery which sold canolis and the most sinful nutella pastry. Ken had the nutella, and me the tiny canoli because I couldn't bear the thought of missing the Chinese dinner we'd decided on.


Two words: sugar addict.


We walked along the Tiber after, and I ordered a really sour lemon juice in hope of speeding up my digestion in preparation for dinner (I was REALLY craving Chinese food). I'd thought I'd ordered granita, a sort of frozen slush that the people were licking, but I got plain old sour lemon juice. C'est la vie, c'est la vie.



Dinner was a late affair, but just look at how contented I was with second-grade fried rice and sweet and sour pork.


I was in Chinese-food heaven, and even Ken found space to have a second helping of rice after his hugeass Nutella pastry.

"Thursday, 19 June 2008
19:25 hrs
Tarquinio apartment

This is my last night in temperate Rome, and whilel Ken and I have possibly done everything we could do in the city centre, I think I'd be a little reluctant to leave the warm smiles and warmer sunshine in this city.

We chanced upon the market at Campo de' Fiori today, and the riot of colors and smells was the perfect start to my morning. Luscious fruits, perfectly green vegetables, truffle oils, aromatic spices sundried romatoes, fresh flowers and bottles of homemade marmalade. What made the market experience even better than it already was were the chatty and friendly stall owners. It was everything I'd dreamed of an European market to be.

We spent the rest of the day strolling in the searing but bearable sunshine, though I'm sure my burnt shoulders wish I'd brought my bottle of sunblock along.

Bumbling along the cobbled pathways in my sundress and flip flops I was oddly cheered by the crowds of people in summer clothes - shoulder-baring dresses, floaty skirts bikinis and tube tops. I don't think I've seen so many exposed toes since my arrival in Europe two weeks ago. The cold weather in Paris warrants boots, and the crazy speed at which Parisians walk renders sandals useless.

As we sat watching the river this evening, I was filled with a sense of blissful contentment, a feeling that has escaped me the past two weeks. I'm extremely happy with B, but the luxurious urban vibe in Paris just ain't for the earthy island girl in me. I feel very much more at home here in Rome's distinctly bohemian vibe (think people in beads, Birks and fisherman pants), with the sun and my braided hair.

But this is what I love about traveling. Throwing myself into different situations makes me challenge my comfort zones and learn something new about myself each time, as well as reinforce my essence of being. Though the initial culture shock can suck, I think it trains and conditions one's survival instincts.

Come morning, it's goodbye sunny Rome and back to Paris with its temperamental sunshine and rains. And as I threw a coin into the Trevi Fountain today, hopefully I'll be back. If not to Rome, then at least to explore the rest of Italy."


We went back to the bakery (thankfully they don't keep short hours like the Parisian ones) and I bought some to bring back to B, as well as the Nutella pastry for my breakfast the next day. Come on, a girl can only say no to chocolate ONCE. Rejecting temptation twice in three hours is just too difficult.


And after my 1000-calorie breakfast the next morning, we were off to the airport in our chartered limo cab (just a fancy name for airport transfer driven by a Vin Diesel lookalike) and while Ken jetted back home to Singapore, I bummed around in my own company for 5 hours writing and enjoying a leisure lunch while watching the planes land.

"Rome Through My Eyes

Cotton-candy clouds against clear blue skies
On red brick walls vines climb and rise
Fuschia flowers bloom in sun-warmed pots
Around stone fountains crowds laugh and talk

A whiff of sunblock fills the air
Along with aromas from the pizza stands
People in flip flops and braided hair
Eating gelato around every bend

Alfresco dining on cobbled streets
Frozen granitas ease the summer heat
Lazy dreaming along sun-dappled banks
On the Tiber seagulls swoop and land

At the river's edge the Vatican rises
Reverently silent and free of vices
Tourist queues snake around its city walls
People leave the church in quiet awe

Among age-old ruins the Colosseum rests
Tall and imposing, having withstood time's test
It's easy to imagine that once upon a time
Gladiators battled to keep their lives

In the morning market Rome comes alive
With the gaggling of stall keepers, grannies and wives
Zucchini flowers as big as a fist
Jostle with tomatoes, plump and sunkissed

Pungent spices fill the 10 a.m. air
Pots of home-made jam beckon and tempt
Bottles of truffle oil sparkle in the sun
Sundried fruits are sold by the ton

And as the sun sets, friends and strangers mingle
Against the night sky fairy lights twinkle
Restaurants come alive as people dine
On gnocchi, pizza and the finest wine

And in the hours of the early dawn
Church bells echo the rooster's call
Even as the city settles down to sleep
The heart of the eternal city beats."


Until it was my turn to board a flight full of chattering Italians and French, not to home but to something close enough. ;)