Saint Peter's Basilica / Irreverent Tourists

I stand in line waiting for the bag check, Memoirs of Hadrian in my hand. A short distance ahead of me, three girls are dressed in bustiers and skirts, midriffs entirely exposed. One has a jacket draped around her that I'm assuming she'll put on once she's inside; another has a glossy translucent wrapper around her shoulders that looks more like a classy wrapping paper or a huge roll of tracing paper than a shawl. It covers nothing. I can still see her bra strap beneath her bandeau.

On the way in, a small crowd is gathered around a little opening in the wall, taking pictures...it's a Vatican guard! The tourists are raising their arms, tiptoeing, clamoring to click the shutter; the sole lanky young man dressed in pompous red yellow and blue stands upright and unperturbed, his left arm outstretched to grasp a long metal pole.

In the basilica I see so many tourists with cheap translucent shawls carelessly wrapped around their waists as a makeshift skirt in an attempt to cover up. Cheap shawls, shawls that you can still see through, shawls that aren't tied properly so their shorts and bare legs still show - please can they not? If they don't have the respect to bring a skirt or just dress appropriately when they know they're going to St. Peter's Basilica of all churches - how would they feel if they knew they were in the presence of the King of Kings? Is this the way we respect royalty, let alone divinity? Sure, you might not believe in the religion; but at least respect the place by dressing right. Would you tie a "ROME" shawl around your waist as a makeshift skirt if you were going to a nice place for dinner? Why does a church warrant even less respect?

People walking around in berms and sandals, in a jumper and hobo pants, tour guides walking around with a raised umbrella or a small scarf tied on a stick. I mean, would you just look at the grandeur of this place for a second, spoiled by humans. The church adopted the architectural layout of the basilica, which in ancient times was a marketplace full of shops, because it was spacious and covered and it fit the needs of the church. Perhaps the St. Peter's Basilica of today feels more like an ancient basilica than the planners might have expected, with all that noise.

"EXCLUSIVELY FOR PRAYER AND ADORATION" - the chapel behind thick pale green curtains brings relief. Silence. People are kneeling, praying. Sitting there in prayer, when I run out words to say I still feel the presence and peace of God inviting me to stay, to simply be with him and let His presence fill my heart, in a quiet place undisturbed by visitors wandering and cameras snapping and people calling out to one another. I just sit in the little sanctuary enjoying the presence of God. Perhaps this is what adoration is about.

I also spend a long time in front of Michelangelo's Pieta. Tour groups float by me; I simply stand with my elbows on the barrier, taking in the emotion of the piece... I have never had a sculpture speak to my heart like that before, never spent so long staring at a statue before. Were you there when they nailed Him to the cross?

A few days ago in the Vatican museum, a painting by Caravaggio made me think about how the apostles and Jesus' loved ones must have felt the night he died... betrayed, foolish, resigned, despondent. We gave our lives to follow Him... and He turned out only to be man. Dead. Scourged. Humiliated in every way. We thought there might be more and we banked our lives on it. Now He has left us, abandoned orphans, stupid to have believed something so impossible.

 

Beside me, a mother snaps a photo of her daughter with the Pieta. A pause; she doesn't move away. "Did you get it?" "Yes," the mother replies. "I just want to look at it." That's right. That's the way to be a tourist. Many people just snap a photo and go.

Near the entrance, a monk? - dark grey robe and a rope belt, no priest's collar - takes a rest on the floor, massages his leg. He's got a bright green earpiece in one ear, characteristic of those tour groups. A man comes over, tells him he can't sit there... he looks up with a friendly chuckle, massaging his leg.

At the painting of the transfiguration of Jesus by Raphael, the body of Pope Innocent XI lies below the altar, his face and hands encased in silver. A frail and withered picture, yet quite intriguing. Many simply snap a photo and go; tour groups crowd around for a minute, and then leave; I stay for quite a while. Another woman beside me, too, lingers. Eventually she comments "That's gross" and walks away. A Chinese tour group - ah maybe I'll understand something - unfortunately not. But they're nice, quiet and respectful. They come and leave silently. The tour guide speaks softly into her mouthpiece. Another tour group comes by, brushing past me, carrying musical instruments, orange bandannas tied around their collars.

At the tomb of the popes: the first thing I see is the tomb of Pope Boniface VIII - HURHUR alarm bells go off in my head. Dante hated Boniface. In Inferno, in the circle of hell for bad popes, a condemned soul mistakes Dante the sojourner for Boniface: "Dost thou stand there already, Dost thou stand there already, Boniface?" - he can't put Boniface in hell yet because Boniface is still alive. Talk about sick burns. The description at his tomb says that he "convened the first Jubilee Year in the history of the Church (in 1300) which saw the participation of famous personalities as the poet Dante Alighieri." LOL. Well. Dante would be rolling over in his grave right now. I guess we tell the stories we want to tell, eh?


At the tomb of Saint Peter:
"Who is Saint Peter though?"
"Saint... Peter...Apostle"
"You can take photos, as long as you don't get caught," said a mother to her child. (really? In the church of St. Peter's? In Vatican City???)

(note: this picture is taken from Wikipedia - we weren't allowed to take photos)

Lots of gasps. I too gasped inwardly when I saw it. Didn't realise we could still see the original spot. Saint Peter was believed to have been buried here because Nero's circus was here, where Peter was believed to have been martyred in the 1st century. His tomb was found in a complex of tombs - people wanted to be buried close to the Apostle. Then Constantine built a church over this spot in the 3rd century, the original St. Peter's Basilica, before it was rebuilt in 1506.

(What we see today isn't the original church, but bits of the old church still remains. The obelisk, actually, makes for a great story. The obelisk, was originally quarried around 1314-1197 BC (!!!) and stood in Heliopolis, then was moved to Alexandria by Augustus, and then to Rome by Caligula in 37AD. The obelisk then stood in Nero's circus, where Peter was crucified, and where Constantine's church was eventually built. Today it stands in a slightly different spot from where it originally was - Pope Sixtus V had it moved a little in the late 16th century together with the rebuilding of the basilica. Source)

We can't take photos - some people are snapping pictures but I decide to be a good and honest tourist instead - so I sketch. A tap on my shoulder: "It's beautiful!" Haha, no, not at all; I just got over the fear of being terrible at drawing. I can't sketch, but the sketch is only for me, so that I can remember it, and one doesn't actually need much to be able to sketch.

People walk by the tomb, not realising what's on their right... a guy in a blue polo tee calls his friends back. "That's Saint Peter's tomb." Their eyes open, mildly impressed. "Ooh."


--abrupt ending...wtv--

Men of Rome

The Church of St. Augustine reopens in fifteen minutes, so I take a short walk towards the Pantheon, to the café where Russell works. Last week I had a macchiato there while waiting for Carmen and Amanda, and we struck up a conversation - turns out he's been to Singapore before, because his brother works there. "Do you know Eunos Avenue 7?" In his delight at meeting a Singaporean he gave me a free gelato and said I should come by again, so I guess now's a good time.

He's serving a couple of people at the counter but the moment I walk up to the counter he gives a happy "Hey! I saw you walk by in the morning!" Over cappuccino I tell him the places I've visited, and he says he could take me around someday after his work shift ends. Russell charges me one euro less for the coffee, so it goes to the man with polio in the piazza.

At the Church of Saint Augustine I linger at the souvenir counter, deciding on a postcard. "Hello," the man at the counter smiles. "Are you from the Philippines?" I shake my head, ask him to try again. "Hmm... Korea? China? Malaysia?" "Close!" "Indonesia?" "Close! It's in the middle." He still struggles for a while, so I give him the answer. He tells me he's from India. "Where in India?" "The north, Punjab. You know it?" "Ah, yes." "You do?" he asks, pleasantly surprised. "Yes, there are a lot of Indians in Singapore." "Ah, Singapore. It's a beautiful city." He tells me that he came from a Hindu family, but converted to Catholicism, and has been working for churches in Rome for five years. We both marvel at the beauty of this city, and the effort the country puts into preserving its history. After a while I go off to look around the church a little more, but I return to the counter to ask him for his name. "Sandeep," he says. "And this is a brochure for you, so you can know more about the church." "Oh, thank you, that's so useful! How much is it?" "No, it's for you. Actually I wanted to give it to you earlier, but you walked off so fast!" He refuses to let me pay for my postcard of the Caravaggio painting, either. I tell him that this is actually my second time in this church, because I want to write about it for this week's assignment - upon hearing that he reaches into a drawer and presents me with a bigger book that contains detailed descriptions of every painting and chapel. Again he lets me refuse to pay the €5: "I don't take money from students!"

Armed with the book that has all the information I need, I'm wandering around the church when he taps on my shoulder: "come, let me show you this." He unlocks the gate to the chapel of Saints Augustine and William; fifteen minutes later I'm still there, taking in the massive paintings of Saint William being healed by Mary, majestically dressed in blue and orange, and of Saint Augustine contemplating the Trinity. "Oh, you're still here. Let me show you something even better, before Mass starts." He walks towards the high altar, up the platform - I stand at the threshold, but he motions for me to come in - leads me behind the main altar through the curtain. "We don't usually allow visitors in here..." - this is where the choir stands? The apse and the paintings behind the high altar tower over me; I cannot take it all in. I let myself marvel at the sheer size of the space, and at the privilege I had of meeting someone so eager to share the beauty of this church with me.

The rosary is being said as I leave; I stop by the souvenir stand again on my way out, to get one more postcard of the same Caravaggio painting - for Sam, perhaps. The stand is swarmed with tourists now, and Sandeep is attending to multiple people at once; I try to make him take the mere 50 cents that it's being sold for. He keeps refusing, and motions for me to come to the front of the counter. I reach out to give him the money; instead he gets out a bracelet from his drawer and slips it around my wrist - "this is for your friendship." A man beside me at the counter who witnesses this looks at Sandeep and says, "You are a Gentleman." I'm so touched - "you keep giving me stuff!!" - we shake hands again, my heart full of the grace of people I have met in Rome. On Day 1, half an hour after I left the airport, my valuables were stolen by a pair of men. Even now my guard is usually still up, and I've been wary to the point of being a little rude to a few people - not without reason, though. But since then I have had the privilege of meeting so many kind people who have given without asking in return, and they have really helped to to redeem my perception of Rome and its people. Thank you, Roma :)

homeless

(disclaimer: the following may sound insensitive to some. Please do give me your opinions if you find it insensitive or offensive, but know that I don't mean it that way; these are just my thoughts and questions being put out there in the open, of a Singaporean girl who comes from quite a comfortable background coming into contact with a country that has a lot of homeless people, something I don't see to this degree back home. There are many people in Singapore who are in need, in terms of finances and much more; but this, here, is in some ways a societal difference that I have yet to wrap my head around.)

cambridge day 2

I'm walking down Bridge Street, waiting to have dinner with Yixuan after she's done with her paper, when a woman stops me: "do you have any change, I'm homeless, I'm just looking to buy a cup of coffee, it was raining, I'm so cold" - at the reminder of the rain I get out my wallet and hand her two pounds. It was indeed raining the whole day. Not a Singapore thunderstorm, just light, rhythmic; but I had spent the afternoon rolling around in bed because of it, and she had to be out here. I would have rather just bought her coffee or soup, but there was no cafe or supermarket nearby.

There are so many homeless people around, and I've been feeling guilty at walking past them without giving them money, so I determined to give today. But it's just sort of odd to me, because many are also seemingly perfectly able-bodied, not old, capable of working. I wonder if a few of them prefer not to work, because they get unemployment benefits; I've heard this more cynical line of reasoning, with anecdotal evidence, from some people. And I personally don't see very many people in Singapore who ask for something for nothing; even a blind man busks; even a wheelchair-bound woman sells tissue packets. (This is also indicative of something terribly twisted and wrong in our own society, though, especially when you think about people who are forced to resort to prostitution or multiple jobs to support their family; I do think that unemployment benefits have a place, and better medical fee coverage / childcare support for those who need it.) They're doing what they can, as long as they're able to, for what you can give. Here...there are so many people just...sitting there, unashamed to ask others for change. I'm a student who earns $6-8 an hour from taking bubble tea orders and transcribing interviews late into the night. During the school term I sleep about 4 hours a night. My flight ticket here was the result of 3 months of part-timing at Koi. And even so I hate asking my parents for allowance when I need it - I'd rather skip meals, even though I know my parents will definitely give me if I ask - so I guess it is strange for me to enter a world where so many people who seem capable of working are sitting around and asking for money.

But then I live in a country with an unemployment rate of under 2% and the third-highest average working hours in the world. A country whose housing prices are sky-high so a large portion of us live with our parents until we're married and eligible for our own flat* (or even after we're married, too; or also forever if we remain single, like my aunt or a couple of my mum's friends). A country of sleepless, overworked, stressed-out individuals who are always chasing, always chasing. A country of people too obsessed with "saving face" to be comfortable with asking others for money. A country where the poor work far too hard, for far too little, just to earn enough to get by, because unlike the UK, we don't have unemployment benefits; if you're fired you don't have a system that will support you. Work is a matter of struggle or death. What do I know about this country and its culture that is different from mine?

Two minutes later I reach the end of the street and stop to look at the advertisement of an Italian restaurant. "Ey," I hear from behind me. I turn back. Two men are sitting on a bench. "You got change?"

I do, I have two more pounds; but I finally ask him the question that I've been too afraid to ask every person who has asked me for money: "why don't you work?"

He doesn't seem to understand me. "Something, you got change?"

"Do you have a job?"

"I'm homeless. See my sleeping bag."

"Why don't you have a job?" He finally understands, I think; he tells me he had an operation. He raises his pant leg to show me the skin graft on his shin, tells me it was from his elbow. The two pounds are his immediately; ah, it must suck, being out of a job and needing an operation like this. He wasn't conscious for four days, broke his ankle for the second time during a pizza delivery job he had previously. He tells me he was from Poland; came here sixteen years ago. "Why did you come here?" "You know Poland." My heart sinks. I come from a country that's all about economic growth, and I often forget how badly most of the EU is doing economically. When I was in Greece in freshman year, it was undergoing its sixth year of recession; youth unemployment rate was over 60%; you could have an MA and be working as a server at Subway; people were tired. For me, a well-educated Chinese from an upper-middle class background in Singapore, I can have a decent income as long as I put in the effort. The policies in my government and the workings of my society support me, don't marginalise me. The economy is doing well, and my parents have stable jobs. I am not discriminated against. There are so many others who try so much harder, but were born in circumstances that don't allow them to thrive.

Twice he invites me to sit on the bench, but I say it's alright; Yixuan's arriving at any minute, and while I'd love to hear more from him, my heart is also a little sad. The guy beside him shouts something presumably in Polish, and they converse loudly for a while; they're probably saying something bad about me, the weirdo Asian girl who's so hung up over a mere £2. Whatever. I'm a college kid; I'm broke, too. The other guy motions towards the Italian restaurant, suggests something in English about treating them to a meal there. "Aye, don't listen to my friend, he's a bit crazy." I smell hard liquor in his breath, and I hope he doesn't spend my money on alcohol. I wish there was a supermarket nearby so that I could get him one of those £3 meal deals. I had one of those yesterday, and the day before, and probably tomorrow... they're cheap, wholesome, and good. A full meal for £3, complete with a smoothie and yoghurt / fruit! I hope the £4 I've given away in the past five minutes will be put to good use. That's more than an hour's work at Koi. £4 is $8, and that's four lunches I can buy back home. (Ananas chicken rice, man. It's quite bad, but it's $2. Or tako balls, or economic bee hoon, or 菜贩 with two veggies and no meat, or lor mai kai. If you're like me, a brokeass college student, you'll know.)

"Buy some bread with the money," I suggest.

"Yes, I will buy something, chips maybe," he replies.

"But chips are not healthy. You can buy bread, or rice, something that will fill you up." I wish there was a Sainsbury's nearby. I'd just get him that meal deal. And, I mean, a baguette at Waitrose is £0.60. A bun at any supermarket's bakery section is less than £1. Come on. You can get a decent box of sushi for £3. Chips don't add any nutrition at all and they don't fill you up. They're a luxury, not something you get when you have nothing. The £3 meal deal is great and delicious, too, and you can find it all around. But he doesn't seem to understand me. "Yes, something. Thank you very much." Ah, forget it. I think when I'm in Rome later in the summer and I'll be buying groceries to cook and stuff, I'll bring around an extra sandwich, or maybe just carry around one of those supermarket meal deals if they have them, for times like these.

"Have a good day," he says in his casual loud tone.

"Thank you," I say softly, so that he doesn't hear. "It's my birthday." I let it quiver in the air, a little wisp of a word, before it vanishes with more of his casual words that roll past me. A ping on my phone: Yixuan has arrived. I fight back tears of frustration and settle my heart. Over dinner Yixuan tells me that she volunteers at a homeless shelter or something on Saturdays; I guess I'll go, too, if they'll let me, just to... just to know.


-

*I recognise that there's also a big problem in the HDB policy, regarding couples that are not considered to be married under Singapore law, single-parent families, etc., basically families that are not what Singapore considers to be the traditional nuclear family. I do feel that something needs to be done about this, but this is not my focus in this particular post sooo yupppp

Places

We never really leave a place, or a person. A bit of an exchange goes on - it leaves its imprint with us, and we leave a bit of our souls there. Labrador Park is full of memories for me: it's where I go when I need to escape the confines of school. Most recently I was there past midnight, the lights from the ships shrouded in haze, a guitar's melody blending with the crash of the sturdy waves. We were lying on the ground, my thoughts and tears going to a special person I once knew, a person I hope to meet again. The Esplanade waterfront is my favourite hangout spot in Singapore. I brought HY there - him getting all excited at drinking beer underage, asking for a picture and all - and Sabri, and Max before he went back to Germany. The Kallang River is where James and I played with sparklers last week. A beautiful, peaceful place I've never been to before. Every time I walk past Red Dot Traffic Museum I desire to go in and walk through the corridors where OB Music Forest used to be. Music classes there used to be the best part of my week, goofing around and singing acappella and squealing over JJ with the best companions. Those were beautiful years, when we foolish teenagers were unapologetically, unashamedly, absolutely hilariously ourselves. I also lost my first kiss in that lift.

I was only in Krakow, Poland for a week, but how I love that place, how many beautiful memories were made there because of friends I made on the free walking tours. The day Isaac and I decided to brave the thunderstorm to get to the Schindler's Factory with my flimsy umbrella, we got fantastically lost and ended up in a place so dull they had put an advertisement over it on the map. Bar-hopping with Isaac and Jack, roaming around the square on my own, going on all those amazingly insightful tours. My current phone wallpaper was taken in Krakow. It's a stencil mural in the Jewish quarter - the Jews in Krakow witnessed terrors of an unimaginable scale, with Auschwitz being just a short distance away, and only a tiny remnant of them remains. The mural is of a timid Jewish boy, made afraid by the atrocities of only a few decades ago, who must remember his identity: he wears the headdress of the lion of Judah. Remember who God has called you to be. Put on the identity of your destiny; be courageous and strong, for He is Jehovah Nissi, the God our Banner.

Even places that you're not too fond of also stick to you. I didn't exactly love my Banda Aceh internship, and I did not enjoy bathing with a pail or not having a toilet flush, but bits of Banda Aceh still feel like home to me - the coconut juice corner and the egg murtabak man and the incredible avocado juice, the supermarket, riding on the backseat of a scooter with a spoilt helmet. Watching the kids do simple English exercises on the floor of the porch, the afternoon light casting its yellow veil. I was only there for five weeks, but part of it feels like home, strangely, somehow.

I think what sparked this post was my thoughts about the Paris incident. This morning we awoke to shocking news, terrible news. It is currently 7.30am in Paris. The city is shrouded in blue morning chill, but the silence today does not speak of peace. The silence this morning is of terror, fear, mourning. I don't know many people from France, and I've never been there, but we live in an age without borders. Many many terrible things have been happening all around the world, and what can one do but ask for God to give us hearts of compassion, to keep ourselves bowed in prayer; to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly.

Stars

I am in a Greyhound bus on the way to Orlando, and I am looking at the night sky. There is no other car on the road, no streetlights, only a short constant row of dark trees blocking the horizon. The sky is almost all there is outside my window. I am looking at a drape of black spotted with stars like splotches of paint, so bold, so clear. And even here, as on the wall of my dorm room, Orion the hunter watches over me. 

Jupiter creeps out over the row of trees, and with my Sky Safari app (thank you Prof. Penprase and Cosmic Origins!), I learn some new stars: Procyon from the Canis Minor constellation, and the heads of the Gemini twins. The entire time I am thinking the heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. Look at His beautiful handiwork all the way out there, and also consider His handiwork in us. 

Occasionally a series of super bright streetlamps come barging their way in, and the stars give way. Or a few cars with bright headlamps, or a little rest stop. When the fierce human lights command their power, the black is just black; the stars knowingly take a step back. I try to close my eyes, get some sleep, but the stars are still whispering. 

It is dark again, and the stars reappear. Hello, home. 

midnight weaving musing missing

i haven’t written in a while. i am in despair my creative nonfic pieces are a hot mess i don’t want to read my pieces out for goodness’ sake and there are things i were supposed to write for like i wanted to write about befriending strangers in poland and the tragic beauty of fleetingness like a rose and it is tragic it is as if he has died, as if i lived for three days, four, and a portion of me died 

damn i miss poland, but a place doesn't make an experience as much as the people; as much as watching french-rapping old men in bill piel attire (collared short-sleeved shirt and berms) over beer with jack daniel evans and isaac nam

as much as braving the rain along the riverbank and then taking shelter under a piece of glass barely big enough to cover us both as he talks about watching my favourite movie black swan on the alps and some guy getting a heart attack

and then finding ourselves in a place so dull that they put an advert over it on the map

and especially the last night and that berlin story and growing up in tanzania and oh

the castles and the churches and the cobblestone path memories are so fragile so beautiful i could cry

maybe it’d hurt too much to go back

but then i’ll just hop on another free walking tour in hope of similarly fun company - but never as good, never as good; never have i clicked so well with someone and never again

i wonder what agape will be like when it comes; we can play around with half-assed love now, the fun of the flutters, but it’s nothing. it’s a mockery of something more beautiful. how much more beautiful? will i get to know? will he have a thirst for travel, will we be explorers together, explorers of ourselves and of each other, and will we be work on farms in new zealand and at that divine pie place meliartos in athens and will we be english teachers in japan and will we own a cottage in oxfordshire. will we breathe israel and eritrea and egypt. will we target the little islands. will we explore this country’s own little islands. will we be explorers. will he laugh on rooftops and in fields with me, guitar and beer. will he also be a romantic shithead. will he not mind me being around 24/7. will we cry together and lift our sorrows up to the Lord. will we work hand in hand, two hearts as one. 

will i miss these days in dorm rooms, and the friends sleeping over. will i miss iowa with hamid (the most incredible days) and looking for fun on a dead monday night in philadelphia with sandra and chancing upon a karaoke bar and befriending the two dudes with a car. chris and alex? generic names. one of them was born in scotland and he didn't even know that their national animal is the unicorn. (one of their national animals, anyway.) will i miss amsterdam street with sabri sandra sarah, or the night these two guys tried to hit on us and we spent the entire night making them guess which countries we were from so that we could finish our beer and leave. no karaoke thanks. and i had to lie about my surname because i wasn't going to say i was a hoe. will i miss poland. i think i always will.

the first day i went on that walking tour in poland i befriended a guy from hong kong. can’t remember his name. can’t remember if he told me his name. we walked back towards the square together and halfway through he ran after a lemonade girl to try to hit on her, but she was attached. of course she was. she was absolutely beautiful. the most captivating eyes.

goodbyes

"See you," I said.

He hesitated. In that fraction of a second I knew. I used to find it funny too when someone said "see you" but you both knew it probably wasn't going to happen.

"Bye."


-

And that's how it goes. You're roaming around on your own and you cross paths with hilarious people with fascinating experiences and the craziest stories to tell, and you spend a couple of hours together braving the rain with no idea where you're going, or checking out the old men doing Polish punk rap in their striped polo tees and bermudas, or standing by the river at midnight, and you're just laughing about everything in the world. The conversations take you places - you're in a bar but you're also watching Black Swan on the Swiss Alps, getting mobbed in Vietnam. But you also know that once the night is gone, so is he. You know that if you happen to meet again it's out of the norm. And so you treat each goodbye like a last one.

And you think, man, if only he were born a couple years later, if only we were born in the same country or went to the same university or whatever, if our paths had the opportunity to cross more often, perhaps we would've made great buddies. Perhaps he'd be the one you'd go on night walks with, or the one whose room you'd crash with a tub of ice-cream. But fate doesn't work that way, and sometimes its fragile fleetingness is all the beauty it can ever offer. Maybe it will catch you even more unaware than you realise - maybe you scheduled to meet again, but he doesn't turn up, and you're wondering why but you have no way of contacting him; you realise you don't even know his name.

burlesque

creds

french guy takes me to coney island the night i miss my flight; carnival lights and screams amidst dark 

we walk past a burlesque advert

"burlesque is nice to watch, for girls also"

"uhhh"

"no really, the women are not naked. and also it's not like a strip show, where the men put the money in her (undies), you pay before you go in, so none of that weird stuff."

"yeah, i always found that super degrading for the woman."

"i think it's more degrading for the men. because they fall for it. the woman understands the whole situation. she is in full control." 

What I've Actually Been Doing This Summer

This post is gonna be done slightly Jack Kerouac style, inspired by On The Road and laziness. I realise I never really explained what I was doing in the States, so here goes. 

I was awarded with the Summer Writing Fellowship by Yale-NUS to go to the University of Iowa for two weeks to attend their creative writing course, and I decided, since they were paying for my plane tickets, I might as well make the best of it and go around as much as possible. 

The night of my birthday, after NGO Bootcamp and a chill-out with a few lovely people at Vivo,  Wei Liang and Derrick arrived at my doorstep with cake and a beautiful framed set of photos of us, and the dudes fetched me to the airport. 

My first stop was Mississauga, Greater Toronto, where I stayed with my mum's friend's family. Over the weekend we drove up to their cottage.

Then I stayed for a couple of days with Zach, and he and Nik took me around, which was really fun. Also met the primary schoolmate Bryson for dinner!

Then I left for Ann Arbor, and just getting there was another crazy story. I changed train itineraries at the last minute and had to get to the other end of Canada, find my way to the Detroit border, and then find my way to the train station to get to Ann Arbor. Thankfully the bus driver that got me past the border also had a bit of time, and helped me out. He was from Albania I think, and we talked a bit about how Singapore's doing, and Japanese hentai. Also, apparently you can get an orgasm by having someone else stick their tongue into your eye????!?!?!

 I only had two days in Ann Arbor, but i absolutely loved the vibe. Brown brick buildings infused with the energy and creativity of youth.

Ann Arbor is where I met the friendliest strangers. From the Potbelly's guy and the live singer to the NeoPapalis girl to Billy the liquor store guy, everyone seemed genuinely interested in you, and wanted a good chat. I was alone, but felt far from lonely.

Then I moved on to Chicago for about a week, where Fang Jiunn and I started at the theatres with Maleficent and ended with The Fault In Our Stars - the day-before premiere!!! Walked down the Magnificent Mile, got some Garrett's, checked out the Bean and a gay bar in Boystown, etc. Field Museum, Museum of Science and Industry, UChicago. Our apartment had two adorable cats - one was practically a dog with its attention-seeking meows and nudges, and the other was a beautiful timid tricoloured female.

And then it was Iowaaaaaaa

and I cannot emphasise enough HOW MUCH ART THERE IS. okay? okay. just understand that this town, while small, is alive with music and art and nightlife. All these young people looking for a good time, all these creative people looking for some energy, families looking to dance. I love it. I love how the whole community comes together to make music and hold festivals. I'm so glad I got to spend my time with Hamid. I learnt a whole lot in the two weeks of our writing course - I gained so much invaluable feedback about my writing (which I hope has improved) and a whole lot of ideas from everyone else. The pieces I put up on my blog are all pre-edited, so while I've received comments about them, I haven't gotten around to doing a second draft. During the course, I experimented with a lot of different things, like dialogue and stories inspired from other stories (e.g. Isaac), and while they probably aren't my best pieces, they were fun to try. 

So, my bus from Iowa to Chicago reached really late thanks to traffic, and I missed my train to Pennsylvania. Thankfully, Fang Jiunn hooked me up with the Carnows, and I spent the night at a beautiful home. And I'm so glad I got to go to The Pancake House again - that Danish Garden pancake!!! 

So, on the road again. I had a wonderful five-hour chat with a guy called Brian, and it was lovely seeing a person grow up through his stories - from childhood memories to high school to getting married and having kids. 

Okay, let's do this.

iowa bar-hopping, among other things

I guess it's what comes with being a college town. At night, even after the live concert in the heart of the town where everyone's gathered round and families are dancing, the streets are more than alive. Music and loud voices become one, young people take over every square foot of sidewalk. $2 beers, $25 for 21 pitchers (?!?!?!!), $4 long island teas. Packed college bars, packed with noisy young people, gosh, never anything like it in Singapore. Also, because bars are a casual and cheap thing, there's none of that crazy dressing up for clubbing that you have in Singapore. We were in shorts and slippers (okay, that was probably pushing it a bit too far).

In America it's apparently common for bars and clubs to be kind of the same thing - the bar also has a dancing area. The town goes mad with life. It's incredible. Wild young vibe. All you need in any place at all is young people.

Gosh, we had the best time. Some hilarious moments. Eden, S13. Unfortunately when we finally got into the mood to get up and bop around to the beat, the music stopped because it was 2am. (It's really safe in Iowa City, so being out at night wasn't a problem.) We got really bummed about it so we continued to roam the streets downtown to see if there were any other places open. The kids were still all over the place, just sitting around and talking, but gradually it started to fizzle out, and by 2.30 it was pretty empty. Bummer. We should have left the house earlier. 

Things I loved about Iowa City?

- The bar-hopping was definitely fun. And so cheap. Wouldn't be able to do that in Singapore. 

- Writing alongside hilarious retired white women. (Hamid and I were probably the only people from outside North America, and on the first week, we were 2 of the 3 people who weren't working or retired.)

Our Week 1 prof, Hugh Ferrer

- Friday evening public concerts, and the whole town being there, and families dancing along.

- Murals and sidewalk prose.

 

- Farmer's Market on Saturdays, with live music and kids chalking up the sidewalk and art classes.

  

- The art & music festival the weekend we arrived, and the gay pride the weekend we left.

- All the adorably-painted benches and Herky statues and public pianos.

- The Hemleyyyyyssssssss, and Scamper the absolutely affectionate cat.

- Our visit to their friend's place - they have a friggin' farm.

 

- Watching Hamid read everything aloud in that stupid patronising tone. That crazy fellow. I'm so glad I got to spend my time in Iowa with him. ^^

iowa city: morning

I've been travelling for three weeks and I have yet to actually blog about a place - it's usually more of the things that run through my head. But this morning. This morning. I love Iowa City.

Hamid and I started the day off at the Farmers' Market, a three-minute walk from Prof. Hemley's house. It's at a covered carpark, and it's bustling with people. The stall-owners were practically selling their things right out of their vans. Potted plants, vegetables and fruits, coffee, chocolate fudge, tarts, croissants - but my favourite stalls were those selling wooden bird-houses. Didn't get any pictures of those, though.

Right beside the market there was a live performer with a guitar and an audience in chairs on the grass; kids painting at a table; other kids bubble-blowing and chalk-drawing on the sidewalk and just running around. (Sorry, this is a terrible photo. How about a badly-taken video?)

 

We checked out more market stalls, and it sort of blended into the arts festival - guitarist faded out, symphonic band faded in. People were just chilling; the art festival booths were all around. And excluding the farmers' market performer, there were three performance stages for the art festival, all really close to one another, and someone was always making music. And there were public pianos!

 

This was the stage last night, at 10.30pm. Pretty amazing, especially after I went walking around downtown Chicago at 9.30pm and there was just, like, barely anything going on at all.

We walked around for a couple of hours, and there was just so much to see - from sidewalk prose and other literature stuff to the amazing art festival booth displays.

Sidewalk prose!

And I mean amazing. These are some of 'em - there were also some beautiful paintings, man.

Photo taken from http://steelwoolstudio.com/don-esser-stainless-garden-sculpture.htm - this is made of twisted cutlery!

Photo taken from http://www.facebook.com/pages/MetalScapes-by-SW-Huffman - scrap metal masterpieces!

Photo taken from http://dreamchimes.com - these are windchimes made with cutlery!

And this is what I call "art for everyone". These were big cardboard structures (as you can see), and kids were invited to paint it however they wanted. I absolutely loved it. Public art displays don't have to be perfect. They don't even have to be pretty. In fact, that public piano that a third-grade class painted wasn't all that fantastic. And there was one pretty badass kid belting out Funkytown, and it was pretty impressive, but not perfect. But that doesn't matter. What matters is community and participation and feeling like you've done something. I loved the scene, everyone coming together and the environment of art that the kids were growing up in. (There was A LOT of painting stuff for kids.) And Prof. Hemley's wife was doing a Filipino dance performance too, and her daughter was supposed to participate in a fashion show thingy with a Filipina costume I think, but it was cancelled due to the rain. I love the spirit of involvement.

Stepped into Prairie Lights, a wonderful three-storey bookstore, and found a few tiny lovely reads, like this lovely Tiny Book of Tiny Stories (incidentally by Joseph Gordon-Levitt XD):

(photo credits for this and the above quote: Amazon)

(Photo credits: iTunes Store)

and the Instructions for American Servicemen in Britain in 1942 when they were going there to help out with the war:

We also checked out The Haunted Bookstore, a second-hand bookstore with a cat and also the Oxford Dictionary of Euphemisms, and pretty much every page has a whole bunch of euphemisms for sex and dicks and the like.

Okay, since it's 2.30am I don't have to talk about the morning alone, do I. Hamid and I then went to Chipotle for lunch, and then it started raining so we went home, and while he fought off jet lag I happily took a nap (which is why I'm only blogging this now) and the rain was still going on at dinnertime so we had a lovely home-cooked meal by Prof. Hemley's wife, Margie. Their daughters are beautiful through and through. The older one, Shoshie, will be bringing us around tomorrow!

At dinnertime, the younger one, Naomi, handed me the aluminium foil wrapper that covered the lasagna and said "Can you make this into a swan?". I was very pleasantly taken aback, and I thought, wow, would a kid in Singapore have even thought of doing something with the foil wrapper? I wouldn't have. (Shoshie: "I mean, she has the creativity of a person her age.") Naomi proceeded to play with the swan for a couple of hours. I mean, it was a piece of aluminium.

I love this place.

Tolerating people who are intolerant

Billy the liquor store guy and I have a pleasant chat about various things. And I say, Ann Arbor's a lovely place, I love the youth vibe coupled with the brick buildings. And he says well, you know, it's not all as rosy as it seems. People from [can't remember what region he was talking about, whether it was the outskirts or the US or all over the world] come here and they bring with them "bad things, like gays, hash - y'know the hash bash..."

Something in me twitches a little. Putting a group of people who have certain attraction inclinations into the same category as drugs and calling it a "bad thing" "other people" "brought in" is reason enough for a bit of a twitch. I don't like talking about my views on homosexuality because it's far more nuanced than anyone has the patience for (including myself), but I feel that love is love all the same, and that acceptance of people is paramount, of who they are, regardless of what they do and whether you agree with it or not.

And so I encounter a person who is intolerant towards a group of other people, and that goes against my values. And then I wonder how I should respond internally - how I should feel towards him for his intolerance. And I realise, if I feel even a small degree of antagonism towards him as a person, if I do not accept and love him despite his views too, I would be equally intolerant. If I stand by accepting everyone, that includes people who don't accept. Tolerance is all-encompassing; it doesn't exclude people who are intolerant.

Got plans? Don't bother.

I have just left Toronto and am on my way to Michigan. I was supposed to take a long train ride that included a 10-hour stop at Buffalo, but right at the last minute I got a train switch, and I'll be arriving a day earlier than expected. Because it was so last minute, I only had the time to collect my first of three train tickets for this trip, and everything's kind of crazy. I have to find out how to cross the border on my own, before transferring to the next train. I have to get my refund at Detroit, somehow. I have to hope that the other station gets the memo so that I can get my next two tickets, because I have no itinerary for my new trip. I have to find a place to stay. I've emailed the person I'm supposed to be staying with tomorrow, and I really hope she gets my message while I still have wifi.

Yesterday, after a really nice dinner with Bryson (we're now 21 and on the other side of the world!!! 14 years ago we were 7 and table-neighbours playing with his stationery in class and getting caught), I was at Finch station and I was like, "okay, now I just need to text/call Zach to let him know to pick me up from the other station in 20 minutes." And then I realised I only had his Singapore number in my phone, not his US one. How stupid could I get.

Now, I had a host of options that would've cost me a little. I could've turned on my mobile data to Whatsapp him / look through my email for his number. I could've walked to a shopping centre to get wifi. I could've taken the train to the nearest stop, and take a taxi from there. But I made the stupidest and most expensive decision - to take a taxi from where I was - and it cost me $35. The meter was rising by the second; my heart was sinking into a pit. And I was like, "C'mon, Karen! Be strong! Make the best of this! Make it worth your $35!" so I talked to the driver and asked about life in Ethiopia and his kids etc. He had this habit of practically shouting, and it made me a bit nervous sometimes, but it was hilarious.

And so I don't know where I'll be sleeping tonight, but I tell myself not to worry. Things will find their way home.

(I got lost recently, and ended up wandering close to a neighbouring town, but hey, I found my way home. Even if it took an hour of wondering where the heck I was and following random bike trails and crossing a train track over a river oh freak my heart was pumping like mad.)

I'm more chill on this trip than I should be. No researching (I'm so lazy), no Google Mapping places I want to go, no looking at the next day's plans until the night before. In Toronto I found a lot more joy in seeing how people lived - checking out Zach's school and his dad's ice-cream shop and watching a movie with Zach and Nik in the basement - than in going to all the touristy places. I enjoyed just walking the streets and taking public transport. Musing at the shower knobs and car door locks - it's in the little things. There's a big part of me that's all FOMO (fear of missing out), but I'm trying to keep it down. The first thing Fang Jiunn and I will do in Chicago is catch Maleficent, and I really really REALLY REALLY want to watch The Fault In Our Stars when it comes out there too. Mm. Go to the theatres, do normal people things, grab a sandwich, cross the road - it's not the big touristy stuff, but the everyday living, that tells you the most about a place; that is the most diverse, yet connects you with its people.


-

I've also learnt a couple of other things on this trip in the past week, the biggest one being it's all in your mind. Long lonely rides make my mind wander, and wander into bad places. I'm afraid of my own mind, and I hate thinking, because I spiral down a well and it's very hard to get out. But how you feel is entirely up to you. You can have a shit day and people can be annoying, or you can have spent $35 unnecessarily, or you can be dragging yourself up a long flight of stairs with 15kg on your back, but how you feel is entirely up to you. You're responsible for appreciating the things in your life, simply because you are alive. I have learnt to escape to a different environment if it helps me escape negativity. I have learnt to just brush it off: "yeah, whatever". It's not as easy as it sounds, it takes some force, but it's necessary. Do what it takes to stop being focused on your little self - talk to a stranger, get some coffee, sleep. Sleep works magic.

Adding on to that, how something turns out in the end is also entirely up to you and your words.

You:
Simple enough. Your life is in your hands. You have all control. Unexpected things can happen along the way, but it's up to you to take that and make it a tool.

Words:
I used to dislike it when people asked me how an experience was, because having to put a word to it reduces it to that word. Nepal? Half a day of walking uphill, only to go downhill again, and repeat it the next day? My Nepal trekking trip highlighted for me the futility of all human activity. But there were also some irreplaceable memories - hot lemon drinks on mountaintops, bathing in cold water in the freezing weather, playing card games with Mark and Chin Wei. When people ask me how it was, I say "interesting". But it's up to me to put down more words so that my memories don't get reduced to that.

And that applies to this. An experience could've been terrible, but it was still an experience not worth wasting, and it's up to my words to concretise the memory - and manipulate it, if necessary. The worse an experience is, the more interesting, impactful and valuable, isn't it?

2012 & 2013: A Review (Part 3 - Yale-NUS and travelling!)

(Part 1: 2012)
(Part 2: first half of 2013)

July: YALE-NUS ORIENTATION 
1) Singaporientation (album)
Honestly, I didn't feel all that ready to meet all these new people and be a bubbly hyper facilitator, because June had been such a hectic month and I was missing SOT and all. But Chris Tee was an amazing partner and I'm so glad for the time we had as co-facils and for the friendship that lasted beyond, and will continue to strengthen.
I can't really remember what the weekdays were like anymore - sample classes? Talks? The highlight was obviously the weekend, planned by the comm led by Jared. An Amazing Race to places like Haw Par Villa and Pulau Ubin; camping at East Coast Park; doing the mass dance in the CBD...

but we shall not spend too much time on this because

2) YALE!!!

(album 1, album 2)

I've never been to the States before (I mean, come on, a round trip ticket can get me 2 MacBooks), and what better way to spend your virgin experience than with 150+ absolutelyfantasticallyamazingbrilliant people, for free? And it was just nothing short of amazing. (I've run out of adjectives.) We had a lecture, a seminar and a rector's tea every day - would've been far more enlightening if I had actually understood all that was going on, lol. Rector's Teas were like optional guest lectures, except that nearly everyone went for all of them, and I kept feeling that creeping sense of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out, lol Marvin Chun) whenever I considered skipping it for a lie on the hammock or a Shake Shack trip instead. Stupid me. 

Other memories: walking around / food-scouting with Wanping, Chris Tee, Evan and Shaun; blueberry picking; Insomnia Cookies. Lying on the grass with Sheryl one night. And, of course, magically becoming closer to Kevin :) Okay but seriously. Nothing beats the hammock. I remember one day I was feeling all overloaded with all these classes I didn't understand, and climbed into the hammock and put on my earphones and let myself drift into the most peaceful sleep. (And then I woke up when I felt a push and Shaun was like "shit")
And going acapella with The Wallets (video) and doing Wondergirls' Nobody with Carissa, Janel and Charlotte LOL (video)! I don't know what evil powers got me to agree to do it with them, but I'm glad I did because our lovely bond wouldn't have been forged otherwise.

(the middle picture is of me using a spoon at Shake Shack cos it's so fantastically thick and creamy)

I also went to the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library and got my hands on the Wycliffe New Testament - one of the first ever handwritten English translations!!! And you can actually decipher the words!!! I spent an hour touching the pages and marvelling at the pencil markings and breathing in 700-year-old awesomeness. The one on the left is John 3:16!! Try deciphering it!! It's not hard!

The weekend trip to Boston was great - explored on my own a lot. I'll always remember sharing a mattress with 4 others in a room of 17 people, because budget, duh. Night-cycled around the city after our amazing lobster dinner! 

New York was awesome too. Watched Avenue Q for $60 in the fourth row! I didn't do much in New York because we had the BLOODY FREAKING PRESIDENTIAL SUITE AT THE INTERCONTINENTAL. LIKE WHUT. WHUT EVEN. (video) We also had Ban Ki-Moon address us at the United Nations Headquarters - just us, just 150+ wide-eyed kids. (album: Boston + NY)

Okay okay this has turned into an Orientation post - time to move on.

August-December: SCHOOL!!!!!! (album)

Have you ever met someone who talked so enthusiastically about school before? Especially about university, in Singapore? No? Well you obviously haven't met many people from Yale-NUS because school is amazing. Seminar discussions are engaging and enlightening; professors will talk about anything, but they'd rather let the students figure it out themselves; we have Science activities like figuring out the Egyptian King Tutankhamun's family tree with actual DNA information, and constructing a periodic table from alien elements on an alien planet. Essays on homosexuality and the nature of the human soul; debates on kidney-selling, bring it on. Bring it freaking on. Skits involving Greek, Hindu and Chinese philosophers, from walking into a bar to fighting to be a prof's BFF, reality-TV style.

Thanks to Tiffany and Maria I, we got to meet Sam Tsui and Kurt Schneider before their concert!!! We sat on the floor with them and talked about life at Yale, juggling school and music, music... We told Sam we were currently reading the Odyssey (since he majored in Classical Greek), and he recited the first ten lines in its original text to us! SWOON

 What else about school? Dressing up as the Greek goddess Athena for Halloween, bouncing castles, days where we all dressed wacky / dressed with our underwear on the outside / dressed in our PJs / dressed in our school uniforms, the opening of our student-run late-night cafe the Shiok Shack, performing with the Acapella group (a mashup arranged by Jevon for Halloween (video), Somewhere Only We Know for Tharman S. also arranged by Jevon (video), Seasons of Love for Snapshots). Watching three very good friends run their Comedy Improv workshops and shows. Christian Fellowship. Sleepovers with Carissa and Janel at the lounge. Random jamming sessions anywhere, everywhere. Being a sneaky angel and surprising my mortal with a bubble blower and flowers. Loving classes, loving my profs.

And everyone's so talented!!!! Listening to Kei recite her poems, Jevon on the piano, Evan on the piano, etc. Watching Yale-NUS's first basketball game and cheering the debaters on at the Hong Kong Debate Open (two of them won individual Top 10s!!!) and sending our love to the MUN team in Mumbai. We have no coaches / trainers for our CCAs yet, but we fight with what we have. 

But I must move on to 

October: Greece!!!!

I still haven't gotten around to sorting through and uploading the photos on Facebook, but here's a poem (not a happy one), and blog posts one and two, which are only snapshots of the trip and not a comprehensive post. We went to Athens, Ancient Olympia (to witness the opening of the Winter Games) and Delphi, and basically saw a lot, a lotttt, a lot of ancient stuff. WHICH I LOVE. Finally being able to decipher a word or two of ancient stone inscriptions was amazing too. 

 (Ancient Olympia!)

 (Temple of Zeus, Athens)

Delphi was amazing. It was home to a temple where a priestess gave prophecies and was considered "the most important oracle in the classical Greek world" (source: wiki lol). It was a huge complex (being an ancient agora), and VIPs from all over the ancient Greek lands would travel all the way to this remote temple on a mountain for counsel before waging war on other cities. It's mentioned quite a bit in Herodotus's Histories, which is considered the founding Western historical text, and just seeing the word appear on the book made me all excited because like I'VE BEEN THERE. Delphi was breathtaking. It's like, you look at the ancient ruins and know that while this was the structure for the temple-marketplace thousands of years ago, it is nothing like it used to be; and then you turn around, and the mountains you're facing is exactly what they saw in 800BC, too.

Okay. 

Now we arrive at December: so I went on my first hiking trip with my dad, brother, and three others - a two-week trip to Nepal, nine days of which were spent trekking up the Himalayan region. I haven't really blogged about it yet, and I'm still trying to find a way to retrieve my photos from my dead phone, but basically the trip highlighted the futility of all human activity. Like, we trekked to a guest house at 2500m elevation on the first day, and on day 2 they were like "our lunch place is there" and it was a mountain away, slightly lower than where we were standing. And I thought, oh, pretty much a straight road. WELL NO, there's no bridge that leads you directly from one mountain to another, so we had to go down all the way to the river, cross the river, and THEN climb up again. And it was a lot of climbing up and down. I remember one day we climbed 3000 steps to lunch, and then after lunch we went on a very steep downhill trek and then climbed upwards at least 2000 steps more (I gave up counting after that). 

It was pretty insane, and it gave me pudgy muscular legs and a terrible complexion, but a really good experience anyhow. You know how the clouds always seem so impossibly high up? A plane takes you to the clouds, yes, but you're still in a machine that's magically transporting you there. It feels really good knowing that I climbed right up to the clouds. :) 

 

Annapurna Base Camp, 4100m

Okay, so here's a memory: going back down after reaching the peak of our hike. It started SNOWING! Wait...was it snow? It was hard, and bounced off our down jackets. Okay, it was hail. But HECK IT, IT'S SNOW, OKAY?! And the ground turned white with hail-snow and I was just freaking out screaming IT'S WHITE!!! CRAP IT'S WHITE!!!!!!!!!!! and just getting so excited. And then we continued to descend...and then it turned into rain. And then it turned dark. So we were trekking in the forest, in the rain, being guided by a path of stones and soil-turned-mud, in the dark (thank God for headlamps / torchlights). That was pretty fun.

 Also visited primary schools and orphanages - my dad's school had donated lots of stuff to them. The welcome was insane. Blaring instruments and beaming faces in a line rushing to give you a beautiful garland with a "namaste". I was honestly a bit scared, but it was lovely.

And after Nepal I had two days in Singapore before going to KL to meet my cousins for Christmas again. 7 out of 8 aunts, and a whole bunch of kids! Played I Never as usual, watched 47 Ronin at the stroke of midnight on Christmas. And it's just weird seeing so many small kids around. It's like we were the first wave of kids, and now it's the second wave.

Anyway , that's the second half of the year! On to more adventures in 2014!