Daily (w)rite

I had never thought I would be writing a post about winters. But in perpetually sunny-cloudy Singapore, you miss winters. I never really had cold winters early in my childhood, but there WAS a winter, we had four seasons.

In Singapore being under the scorching sun is not much fun at 30 degrees C almost throughout the year, t-shirt sticking to sweaty skin, with humidity playing all kinds of tricks. I see only the Europeans and Americans sunning themselves, the Asians mostly shirk the sun. This is a garden city of air-conditioners and chalky skin, I have seldom seen a Singaporean happy out of doors.

Reminds me of my childhood, when on winter afternoons, we would sun ourselves, playing around the women in the neighborhood who would be gathered on lawns, knitting, chatting, eating oranges.

I have a craving for those oranges, big, bright, knobbly, juicy, sweet. I remember trying to sleep off under bright sunlight, and how my world would turn an orange red when I closed my eyes, as if the oranges had somehow bled color, and now covered everything in a warm, hazy glow.

I miss that now, that animal-like enjoyment of the sun, the pleasure of warming one side of the body and then turning around to sun the other. There was something full-blooded about that experience, totally out of reach in pale, anemic Singapore.

I have come to a clinic without an appointment, and have been warned by the matronly secretary that I have to be prepared to wait. So here I am, all armed with my notebook and will fill the hours by filling the notebook, I guess.

Singapore mornings are crisp and beautiful, but most people here do not seem to have the time to enjoy them. Not being a regular office-goer myself, I do not have the poker-faced attitude of most commuters who simply tell the driver their destination and are lost in their newspaper, cellphone or ipod for the rest of the ride.

Since I often smile at people, I smile at the taxi drivers as well, and they immediately come to the conclusion that they have found themselves a good listener. I have heard several dozens of life histories of taxi drivers, some of them genteel old men who say they drive taxis to keep from being bored, even tho they don’t “really” need to, women who drive taxis to keep up their lives as single mothers and today I met a taxi driver who is actually a magician!

He declared in typical Singlish: “Today your lucky day! I the only magician in Singapore who drives a taxi!” and then proceeded to show me various sleight of hand tricks with coins and rubber bands at each traffic light where we came to a halt

Since I nodded and smiled at everything he had to say and replied “I’m sure you are right..” he told me in his nasal Chinese drawl:

“You got sweet face, you know, not angry waan, not like most people lah. They angry all the time lah, never have time to listen!“

I reached the clinic and am now sitting surrounded by people with faces absorbed in their papers, magazines or pattering away at their phones(Singaporeans love texting, and do not make as many calls), and realize that indeed the people around me do have grumpy faces…not that any of them is in pain, they are plain self-absorbed.

But maybe all that is just a front, because every time I look up from my writing, I meet eyes that get hastily turned away.

They must be wondering what on earth I could be scribbling into my notebook. But I don’t mind, I have got the post for my blog, and this is not the first time I have been writing at odd places at odd times!

I can see the park by the bay as I write, and it is so amusing to see all the joggers early in the morning. There are those that amble along, dragging their feet, barely awake. Probably been dragged out of bed by unforgiving spouses and shoved out of the house to jog for health reasons.

Then there are those who would jog bare-bodied, no matter how puny their bodies, heart monitors stuck across their chests and on the arm. ( A lot of Singaporean men are undeniably puny). And when they pass a woman they puff up their chests, oh, just a little. I know this because I have seen them in action when I used to be a regular morning walker myself.

There are also the athletic types, who  probably run marathons, in their very fancy nike and adidas, both men and women, their ipods letting them set their pace. They look different, even from a distance.

And it is with them that I see the most interesting dramas played out everyday.

There would be one casual jogger or another who would be running along while these chiseled marathon types effortlessly passes him or her by. Most take it cool, but there are some that take it as a personal affront. (Women somehow never seem to take it personally, perhaps because they are not as naturally physically competitive?)

Then they put everything they have into their run, and cross the athletes with a superior look. After a hundred meters, they are huffing and puffing, and have  to stop soon afterwards. The athletes pass them by without a second glance.

Not unlike in school or office, where I have seen everyone always running for the first place.

Running to win is all very well, but it cannot be done in a day. The athletes did not peak their physical condition in a day and nor can anyone else.

But this is a truth we often forget, I guess, not only while jogging, but in life itself.