I was at a shopping mall in Singapore yesterday, waiting for my friend at lunch. The open restaurant is by the pool, with a nice smattering of what is called “Western food” here……..everything from Bangers and mash, Caesar salad to Tagliatelle.
As I sat watching people walking into and out of the restaurant without walls, I took to making notes of them. Here is what I wrote:
Life has not been very good lately, but I have learned that it is better to snatch opportunities to live, rather than just survive from day to day.
Of course, my idea of living tends to be intimately connected with good food and travel, so last weekend I did a bit of both. A sort of compromise: lots of good food (and I mean LOTS), and a day trip on the road.
Writing about rain comes naturally to me, it is one of the things I can write about and never run out of things to say.
It always makes me a little sad, fills me with an unknown longing, it throws me sometimes into a spiritual trance in which all the life around seems to take on a new meaning.
With each clap of thunder I can sense the retribution against injustice, with each drop of water that touches the earth I can feel the benediction of goodness, the blessing of plenty, the promise of well-being.
Writing about rain is a pleasure.
Letting myself be bathed in it is a greater one, one that I have denied myself over the years.
I love this Italian song on YouTube by Giorgia, can’t get it out of my head—- one of those delightful, hummy little numbers. It is all about Love and the various things lovers do, feel, think and compromise on, but all in a song that somehow makes even the most unpleasant things poetic.
I do not know how often this happens to you, but it happens to me some mornings.
I become, well, a nightingale. It is as if a song in my sleep continues into my waking dreams.
I can’t stop singing, humming, whistling, and invent a whole new repertoire of tunes that seem to have just been born. I half-listen, half-dream. In bleak winter or scorching summer, I can smell spring. I thinks of smiles in color.
Sometimes the songs last through the day, seeping through the things I do, the grins I just cannot keep in, and the non-stop banter with no-one in particular—–crazily enough, sometimes even with the ceiling!
Sometimes they don’t. Don’t last, that is.
At other times they just hum and whisper in my heart, warbling close to my ear, and make me go quiet, joyous.
Today was one of those other times. Happy quiet, quiet happy.
This was a post I had done ages ago. A cherished few of you, who used to visit my old blog, might recognize it. I am posting it today (with an update) because I cannot forget dear, dear Sam for more reasons than I care to count.