Brent Fialka

apollo with gold-gleaming crown’d head proud above
those of men who plea storm crowd around stands
tall aloof as god not fiend if his sinewy fingers
sound summon weak spirits arise stand: declare
ourselves weaklings bound released by the wave of
his hand fear most his fiery-form grace a remedy
a bane to bend makes us clowns to fall down
exhausted from his games of god-man where
sickness mar feigned apollo abounds master
of muses send healing poetry-music which astound
weaves life’s fragile frabic then reigns discord to rent.



Letter to Brent
New Prince Takanawa Hotel, Shinagawa, Tokyo

1 September 1988

Will You? (1983)

will you, so fresh, so young
with eyes deep, distant, wide
wait patiently?
know, i where life has flung
a shell-hole to hide
waits painfully?


September 1983

on the maimed beloved, the Great War 1914

There (1983)

there – out to the end of the sea
where     lines of wave and cloud
freely     mingle in the failing light
there – shall my future wait patiently
where     past, present flings whirl about
and fall from the greatest height
into the oblivious abyss of
deep… sweet night


September 1983
Pulau Tekong
Reflections while sitting on the breakwater at the reclaimed land, watching aircraft lights over Changi Airport.

CAMBRAI (1983)

CAMBRAI


in silence you sit
your form, gentle, young and fresh
will you mourn?

the leaden times will not let go
the painful aches of love
but wither will you run?
or yield to the heart’s bright sun

will you walk me by
and hapless cast your eye –
watch flesh and earth weave
the fabric of mine grief

so hum me a tune as you walk sadly by
think not of my foul wound as mangled i lie
forget me, lady love – as i silently die


14 September 1983

(reflections of the Great War 1914, of the Fallen)

He's A Life Quickly Spent (1984)

he’s a life quickly spent
walk gently, do not run
thus all distances end
let’s not run

venture he does, let it last
wise, thrifty, a life planned
time swiftly shall pass
understand

in life’s every stride, decide
disappointments, fallen
perchance snared by hidden pride
plays silent

simply himself he’s all free
snug, easy, plays along
loyal, honest, wills to be
Eye of Storm.


August 1984
Pulau Tekong Camp III

On thoughts of a friend (Sgt Chua)

Even The Longest Day Finds An End (1984)

even the longest day finds an end
time’s cruel stride builds then rent
the fabric of hope once woven by hand
to be spun again, when?


therefore strive now for the distant
images of your aspirations to materialise
into reality



August 1984
Pulau Tekong Camp III

Some handwritten notes:
I realise how easily, how often we imagine the most wonderful goals to achieve but if these cannot be accomplished with the resources and tools at hand it as as well as building a castle in the air.

Timeless (1984)

Timeless Our Problems Flow
One Speaks But Who Listens?
One Cries And Who Knows?
Hear O Man, Do You Dare
Silent-suffering Bear?



1984

Load! (1984)

‘load!’
i pressed the magazine in
the hands of my wife gave in
and gladly gripped
          the open lips (of my gift)
that touched the heart of all belief.
readily i put my hand to her
and drew her warm steel near
my cheek to rest on her butt
eyes to pierce through her heart
i breathed and let go gently
aimed into the hart standing free
‘i’d squeezed burnt metal into thee!’
a crack and thump, splendid symphony
a cry of love, instant fatality
this soul of mines speeds on fine
twisting air in an arc of line
bursting through with certain weight
the orgasmic groans quickly fade
          her chambers fume with infernal air
          another round is there
          through her proud sights i stare
          fiercely aim with greatest care
          thrust my stud into her piped frame
          then feel a grip most tight
          my spirit, passion, incensed, inflamed
          comes as fire in an arc of flight.




1984 Trainfire exercise, Rifle Range III
Pulau Tekong

O Paradise You Seem So Far (1983)

o paradise you seem so far
distant as the farthest star
o life how illness quickly mars
wrecked with pain, thoughts of death, etcetra

let me mingle with there, vain liberty
let me soak in thy soothing sea!
lights blink and vanish upon your face
like lonely thoughts in a vast space

casurinas before me stand
so bold above the camp
a life beyond these woeful men
mocked by the wind which you bend
i may be hurting no one knows
you are boring until the wind blows


9-11 May 1983

Secretum Meum Mihi (1978)

a narrow pathway though it be
it leads us to a glorious sea
of light and immortality

heaven’s eye agaze on men
the earth bears a tired friend
the two here are bound as one
their love becomes the eternal sun



I wrote this on a fullscap sheet, during class in 1978. I remember it was in the afternoon, and instead of doodling, I found my mind wandering slightly. It was in Anderson Building, which now stands as part of the Singapore Art Museum. In my mind’s eye, I saw an image of the sky like a circle of clouds gathering around a brilliant source of light, and the shafts of light piercing through it, towards me. I sketched this as well, and preserved it for some time, before that sheet, along with the first scribbles were lost.

That It Is So, I Wonder (1983)

that it is so, i wonder
why days come and go, ever
these pines litter upon the ground
leaves fall to heap around
revel to the bugle call
yet nothing really happens at all

unable to communicate
my nature easily break
unable to contemplate
beyond experience of fate
belief in God who’s dead
or probably just late

what use a will to live
(to struggle, survive
     is to deceive)
hopeless I state
‘life is a gift’
am i wrong or
just dead afraid.



9-11 May 1983
Written while confined to the medical centre sickbay at Pulau Tekong Camp I

The White Sands Reach Far Out To Sea (1984)

the white sands reach far out to sea
rolling bunds upon sun-beaten lee
how far out the horizon seems to be
grey against cliff-face and fallen scree

but on this gloried sand i walk now on
the noon sun lighting a heated storm
the glare burns fiery in my eye
as they wander up the sky

young voices echo in the weary mind
distant drones of machines at work
and rustling leaves, quickly fade
into the lapping mournful waves

such happy sights of the mind’s eye
quickly, too quickly these die
men’s thoughts are mortal too
o bleached sands am i like you
seemingly happy but found so dry


25 April 1984
I wrote this in the afternoon, after a short walk from Camp III when was stationed at Pulau Tekong’s Infantry Training Depot.

According to a handwritten note scribbled on the original fragment, it was written “on the reclaimed land off Pulau Tekong used for long distance training runs”, and dated, 25 April 1984. By this time, I was half way through my national service, which was to end within 11 months time. At this time, it was already clear to me that I might not succeed with my own plans to “sign-on” the Air Force as air defence communications officer, and get a scholarship. The sight of aircraft taking off and landing at Changi Airport from the breakwater of the reclaimed land is impressive, and inspiring, especially in the evenings where the airport lights are the brightest in the southern horizon.

No Idea How Bad It Gets

4.30 pm

I feel like I've lost control, off the verve of things, like playing Playstation with a joystick that's not responding, no matter how great your faith or will might be. You think, what and whom should I blame for this. Are things just pre-determined, the matrix of cause and effects, or plainly chaos. It doesn't matter what model you want to work with and hypothesize, because ultimately, there's a heart still breathing, lungs still squirmming for air, and a mind that's pulsing with an electric train of thoughts. Then you realise that I might be in a world that doesn't share the ideas and ideals that have shaped this life of mine. What if. It is like the Twilight Zone, minus the theme. But I am awake and I can figure out that they can take all they want, even whatever dignity that's left and any other semblence of value. It's already nothing to me, really. That's what it feels like to be in the game, where the joystick doesn't work, and the rules and programs don't matter any more. But it's not running on automatic. The gaming program is still awaiting the move. It is anticipating strategy which might not be forthcoming from this player. Does it think? Does the game think: how fuzzy is the logic. Does it operate on logic. What sort of ethos dictate its mind? Aristotle? Kohlberg? Even so, thinking does nothing. I think... So What? It is an illusion to assume therefore "one is". It seems to be getting really bad and maybe more Prozac will make the difference. Maybe statins? Maybe a barrage of valium mixed with histamines, alcohol and some caffeine. It will be the new Singapore Sling, now. I think I am missing the point. So I decide to get out... and bike for 25 km, average speed a casual 22.4 km, and just watching the world go pass. Then I realise, the speculative truth, in a rather tantalizingly real way. In just letting it go, and letting life be, and cease all the struggling, I seem finally at peace. I know this, because the pedestrian and jogger on the wrong side of the track or a couple of elderly folks chatting mid-track in a bottleneck, all does not upset me the least. Instead, I slow down, and calmly negotiate the straight path past, and hardly does my dear heart beat hasten. It is another thing when we lose the frenetic for the uncertainty of wide open options. By twilight I am home, the bottle of water on the bike frame untouched, and un-needed. I felt refreshed again, and mindful, of each breadth, no longer a floundering effort, no resistance. I had no idea how bad it got, until I realised I really wanted to get up a high floor and get in more fresh air. The thought was just not thick enough to cut it. It would have be something people do when completely out of their minds!

Fall Like Rock To The Bottom

1.38 pm I could have sworn I did not expect it. But it’s been coming some time already. It’s not right to be blogging some things outright, and probably feels fine if it’s under some cover of anonymity. But these are plain facts. Oh boy. Just looked around the envelopes and papers expecting my attention, you know. The mind immediately leapfrogs into the futures ahead, and immediately you have a sense of numbers going exactly where you know they ought to be. It was no panic attack. Not breadthlessness. But a lucid conscious state of being, like entering into a whole new scenery you have been expecting and know exactly what it’s going to feel like. You can’t escape reality. It’s jumping from fantasy back into the real world. Cool dosage. Then your head and whole body feels gravity. Everything is otherwise very fine. Thoughts are beginning to seep back in, like an endless train. You think about all the things you have thought about and the plans are simply unfurling as you had planned. It is exactly like an Escher artwork, or some other modernist art, that is a view within a view, within a view. Let me make this clear, there is absolutely no confusion. But you know something is seriously amiss. I feel the weight of my being pulling my mind down, closing in slightly on itself. In an instant, I find myself giving in to grief, then acute sorrow, and the pain hits you like a stray dart that finds its mark in you. You know it’s too ridiculous to be true, but inside your mind, there is this urgent urge to connect with the intensity of the moment. No fear. No tears. Just a stinging split second of a moment, and the fabric of sanity is separated for you to feel. Just to feel. Suddenly, I am thinking again. How did it all come to be like this, so desperate, so aggravating, so insanely wrong? The manic sense of falling, of entering into an abyss, of being in some depressed state seems so unnatural. In that instant, stupid and trivial thoughts interrupt the pain. What will they find. How long before they know. The house will be clean, the mess will be mostly in files, computer memory and papers here and there. Get rid of the books, and DVDs. Do I delete the same stupid stuff I just downloaded to view? Or, hell with it, they will clean the mess and like all respectable people, it will be swept under the shroud of discretion. Do I leave a note. What should it say: sorry? Why? At that thought I am fully cognizant that it will not happen. I was acutely aware that the whole idea was simply and plainly against every concept I had lived for up to this moment, and you can betray your whole existence on just doubt. I was past doubt. I wondered why. Then I remembered, I could not feel the aloneness of being totally forgotten and alienated. I could still sense the love that held me to this uneasy embrace. It is like you can’t understand death if the spirit still lives. The spirit was stronger. With that I felt comfort and leaned back. The air felt very cool, and very comfortable. Fresh, too. It felt as if I was on some boat out in the open sea, in the bright afternoon, within the shade of the cabin, or in some cool cabin out among the hills, in the deep woods. I felt asleep. 2.20 pm I found myself alive, not breathing. There was no involuntary sense of breathing, and I did not know it then, but I knew I have always been a candidate for sleep apnea. I could feel the swirling in my head, like some sort of mental buzzing, and spinning and my limbs are soft and relaxed. Nothing wanted to move, and I felt like I was inside my own consciousness, conscious within being conscious, like being in a dream of your own dream. My chest was too relaxed to be breathing, and I could now feel my heart rate picking up, and the body feeling desperate. I could slip into this dream if I go this way, no further that way, yes, down that way. But I feel fresh air tugging at my and before I could think further, my racing heart is galloping away, and I slowly feel my limbs limber and awakening. I sit up. It is very strange. What happened. Then I felt hunger, like a strange siren welling up a music from the recesses of your own physical centre. It became very compelling. The brown rice should almost be ready, I think, as I prepared it even before all this happened. Funny as I thought what would they have thought if they found the brown rice remnant in the cooker… With familiar flair the garlic cloves were chopped and ready, and then an onion. The cabbage in fine strips. I got the canola oil hot, dipped the chopped bulbs into a frenzy fry as they oozed their caramel flavours into the air, and then twisted open the can of corned beef. Best before date, 2008. Just then I wondered what year this was. In a short instant, I got the corned beef softened, and lopped in the cabbage. Half an hour later, feeling more composed and slightly in equilibrium, I sat down and eat the brown rice with the corned beef and cabbage in my blue porcelain bowl. I looked out of the window… 3 pm Hell, this is the best time of the day. Then I recollected the weird experience. At that moment of falling, suddenly it occurred to me that I was thinking several thoughts simultaneously. I was experiencing a whole host of comfort thoughts from my childhood, including some silly story I read when I was probably seven or eight. It was a Muffin book: there was this girl who had a dream. When she awoke, she noticed that what she saw in the dream was in her drawing book. She then drew flowers. When she slept, she was among the flowers. It went on. There was a lighthouse, a house in the hill… and in one eerie experiment, she drew a boy in the house. She met him, but he was trapped in the house. They became friends and she realised that there was nothing more she could do, and after this, it would be destruction. She drew terrible things into her dream, and the boy disappeared… I can’t tell you the ending, but what still haunts me is the dreamscape. My own dreamscape is something which I have recorded several times over. It is the afternoon, in what is just like a Kodak moment, with grassy hills of bright green dotted with little yellow flowers of wild herbs, ablaze in the sure light of the 3 pm sun. Then as my eyes turn outwards through my own window, I see it is exactly the same sunlight which is now dancing on the leaves of the trees. This is a good time to depart. Heaven, as my soul would recognise it, would beginning with a landing in this place. Perhaps, too young I had fed on a steady diet of scenes from Little House on the Praire or was so impressionable as to have stolen an image from the Kodak advertisement with Paul Anka’s timeless voice in the background. Cheesey. But I think the sort of Hollywood heaven we all seem to first know, may have been the product of our own times. Anyway, I find myself accepting the fact, that I have fallen into the deepest deep, where there is no apparent measure of an end, but all you can feel is the ceaseless falling and the velocity you pick up, and within that realisation, the density of your own soul. My imagination got fired. I felt focussed about where my energies needed to go and prepared tea, while I set the newspapers and laptop up. The scissors to cut the appointment ads, and ballpoint pen to mark the date of the ad for reference, and a plastic folder to put these in, should I be contacted, I could reference which advertisement it was from and promptly research. It feels totally afresh. I was surprised at the lack of a déjà vu, for I have been sorting out interesting appointment advertisements for some five consecutive years. Got some calls, some queries but all to a frustrating and disappointing naught. Nothing. The only prospects I ever really had coming, was when someone made a recommendation or got me hired on a strong personal reference. Except for my very first full-time job in Singapore Airlines as flight steward, I have never successfully had clinched an appointment through correspondence. It is an exercise in futility. That was what make me hit rock bottom. Feeling utterly worthless and still trying. Simply because the effort was supposed to account for something. But after all this time, nothing still. It is as if some charm or fate is determined to extinguish my being from the cycle of this life. But some other power makes me stay. It is as if my own destiny is no longer in my hands. Yet, if I my own convictions might have blinded me, to have faith and to believe when in fact there is nothing to hold on to, nothing to suggest that things may yet be. I am being taught a serious lession about life. And that secret is beginning to unfold in untold ways. There is a mystery unfathomable, veiled and so secret, but its presence alone banishes fear. 4.09 pm

40 Winks and First Thing In The Morning

The connective world of networks and servers are dominated by a cycle of access peaks and maintenance time-outs. You know this because your are online everyday, and you would have noticed that at certain hours your host server simply won't cooperate.

Then you are forced to experience this other aspect of globalisation, where the cycle of life and recreation on the other side of the globe or several time zones away are entering into a frenzy of access and you are simply timed-out by a peer computer.

It is blatant and true. And when that happened last night I decided that I had tried long and hard enough with all the patience of a Trappist monk or a zazen practitioner, with equanimous detachment and stoic zeal (ironic, right). That it is finally time for those 40 winks, and first thing in the morning, I would head out and try again.

So I have, and was again logged out, and could not upload some pictures (just that), but time and tide turns out to be on this sunny side of the world now and as America switched off, the rising sun now rose above the oriental hemisphere.

It just tells you that the majority of Internet users are day-time, at work and via the office, and we know from reliable conjecture that it is not just dedicated, securely encrypted business lines.

So, the sheep is out agraze, and the world now turns and I am again abuzz with the banal realisation that I am just a swanky blinking light in a maze of galactical proportions of highspeed connections. Those 40 winks were the best.

Left My Knees In Greece

"En Taxi! Disinestra, Efharisto!" Yes, Left... No, "Then Meelo Hellenika!" I don't speak Greek, obviously. You get to Greece and you expect to arrive in a Hollywood set, filled with those impressive columns and paved, marble streets, and people in throngs dressed in ancient garb. I have had the best memories of Athens, and my only regret was not making the time for a real private pilgrimage to the Aegean island of Skyros, to visit the gravesite of Rupert Chawner Brooke, not that anyone today would know who this World War I poet was. He considered himself a Georgian, but his contemporaries would be better remembered as the Bloomsbury group. In Athens, I was fortunate to have Nancy as my erstwhile companion. On my own wanderings from the Olympios Zeus (ruins of the ancient temple to the king of gods) to the site of the first modern Olympics, the stadion, and then to the famed Areopagos hill (St. Paul preached here) and the Acropolis (where the Parthenon stood for an eon until the Turks blew it up accidentally when a stray shell struck the munitions they kept INSIDE of the great temple!)... I even located the house of Lord Byron, at the very end of the plaka and further down. Oddly, my memories of traversing the whole circuit of the old city, back past the parliament, orthodox cathedral and central post office until I reached the Hilton, are familiar and clear as yesterday. I always felt very at home in Athens, perhaps because I have long time been familiar with its culture, and history, myths and Christianity, and in particular, at least found the conversational Greek enthralling to use. For immediately you can work out which words were to form the root for the English, and which were borrowed themselves. The Hebrew letters aleph and beth, I wonder, were Persian in origin, or semitic and Canannite? Afterall, these and other letters are very similar in the Greek. This makes me wonder which influenced which... But as far as these many footprints I left behind in Athens are concerned, I retrace them often, and they are fresh, like the early Spring morning chill and dew, but similarly, these too evaporate with the sharp heat of reality that stalks my every day. To the ancient Greeks, efharisto para poli! Parakalo!

Picture This!

Scary version of the real me... Mutation occurs sometime in mid-life, and things aren't the same any more. Well, for more stuff on lifespan, body functions and other esoteric abilities, catch X3! This Summer 2006, in theatres near you!

Perhentian Nights (1999)

E-Mail to Brian Yang, Wednesday, 0130 hrs, 11 August 1999



As the day's haze retreats, soaking up the dark shroud of a humid night -
The sky's blurry eye clears, and splinters into a cloak of starry light
While the Malaysean sea flickers the shore's distant dance
Of fairy-coloured party lights blinking on the waves' crested glance.

Two meteors glow and pierce, streaking forth from Perseus strung ahigh -
Across the Milky glow-worm, home of a billion-billion other stars up nigh
While my humble pair of eyes gather in their long-travelled light
Knowing some other end of the earth another traveller might behold the same sight.

Gentle now the boat's imperceptible rock increase, as the tide ebbs low
And high above the new moon's crescent groans and the pink clouds flow,
Greeting my thoughts with a tease:  oh, my cosmic insignificance!
How large above the universe looms, and full of emptiness!

On the bow, beer cans, wine, chips and endless banter begins to warm -
Eunice, Micah, Jason, Andrew and I - sip and whine - feel the calm
And ponder nonsense seriously as soberly as single-minded seamen would
While Greg turns in as a huddled mass, asleep soundly as far we understood.

Now I wish how perfect such a night as this, its empty hopes list
And so quickly sinks - would alter nothing in my memory - nor turn to ashes,
But remain forever etched, that I would understand this:
Of sea breeze caressing ever so gently my senses...
"carrying away my thoughts, carrying, carried,
away to yesteryears, lingering, hoping,
desperately longing for those olden days,
those golden days".*
And then silence envelopes, like the drowsy morning coastal mists;
And lights seems to shimmer no more but break into streams
Of day-glow and indigo and yellow, in patchy reefs of sky
And Venus hangs suspended like a tease
Poised to greet the new dawn emerging as a nymph
Yawning away my perfect night with an open "Why?"



*  These lines are an extract from Brian Yang’s own poem written at Dayang, untitled, at about 0100 hrs, Sunday, 18 July 1999.

This one is entering my log book for you.
Enjoy each and every moment - meaningfully, always.

Our Human Hearts Ache (1988)

19 August 1988, between Copenhagen and Frankfurt



our human hearts ache
when love departs like dreams we awake
the longing, hoping cannot help
our loved one stay for our own sake
to witness and not be empowered
strength to act
is cruel to the heart, yet human to the fact
we live, die and the letting go
     begs time for effect
love is often committed to the urn of our treasury
not to lie in dust, or other things over bury
but illuminate the dark of the memory
love being rich in joy and passion; not rage or fury
should love leave us entangled with pain
our aloneness haunt us and whisper, remain
cherish then the glad thoughts of love
whose aim was a quest (you its object)
was wont of grace beyond grief from above
advises us practice compassion; let’s not neglect
the good art of grieving for a while -
but grieve not for love
for love which comes from within, flows forever on
prompts us go on and conquer the distant mile
walk the obscurity of faith, negotiate the turf,
bends that blind but run on to tell the course
that our labour, love’s sweet labour is never, never lost.



On 19 August 1988, when I was a crew in SIA and was flying from Copenhagen to Frankfurt, with a stewardess named Elsie, I was told that that day was exactly one year to the date that she had lost her young husband to cancer.  I wrote her this on a SQ stationery pad, which I copied for myself.

Questions Why (1983)

0300 hrs, 14 September 1983


questions why
i ask myself over,
over again, how?
then reflect on the ancient days
of infancy
of times long past
moments of puerile bashfulness
minutes of awe and joy
smiles and wide-eyed hopes
hours of loneliness
seconds of pain
feelings of having to start all again
i thought
i’ve been through it all
that mine was full of it all
emptiness
wordless silence
unwavering loyalty, of it all
yet i am here
knowing a secret fear -
it only twists within my heart
and whispers,
“aren’t you afraid to start?”
then it begins all again,
no, not the feelings like those before -
but one new and familiar
like same smell of the old rosebush
like vapours of the morning air
the fleeting freshness of fallen dew
and the silence of the night
like the hollow wind
like the pinkish even’ clouds

yes i’ve known this way
before
am i to go where i’ve gone
to go once more?
shall i walk, stroll or run?
or is life to start anew
questions i ask myself
pointless observations of stilled Time:
will her motionless wheels turn once more
or let this moment be eternity
endless as the endless sea?
what of this long trek,
will it also end?
is this pause in time
a moment
held in Eternity
mine?
and if i wait too long
is it a crime?
be still in time
and
breathe
the immense
oceanic expanse
of dawn upon Universe
Dimensions
awakening from
sleep
never knowing
that i alone, alone
in time
have watched all this go by.
then i go on
and forge destiny
and fall helpless
in Life’s fragile sea.



Guard Duty.
Infantry Training Depot, Camp I
Keyed in on the telex machine.

Mental Physics

I was working on my notebook one evening, blogging in public via wifi, at it was about 3 am in the morning. A woman walked in and sat in the adjoining table. At first I did not notice her, but another guy about three meters away seemed to be looking anxiously at my direction and I turned to look at what caught his attention. He was staring with some disbelief at the woman sitting near me. I looked up slowly and without trying to seem obvious that I was curious or glare at anything which might turn up to be surprising or weird. She was of very fair complexion, somewhere in her mid-forties, hair slightly dishevelled or unwashed, with rather skimpy clothing. Her arms had many pockmarks of blood clots and scratches, which looked reasonably fresh. Her eyes are piercing and searching. She was quiet, and looked into her handbag. For a while I thought she was digging into it, as her torso was turned aside. But she seemed to be putting her hand between her crossed legs, and her face was turned towards me. I kept on working on my laptop. Certainly, I was uncomfortable. But I thought that if I appeared not to care, and ignore her, like some ostrich with its head in a hole on the ground, I would not have to contend with any trouble or end up having to explain myself to the police an hour later. Eventually, my power drained to a low and I had to shutdown and leave. I left without ever looking at her again. How I behaved, made me feel "normal", that is, like everybody else around who sees a sick person that might become a burden, and walks on the other side of the road to avoid taking responsibility. How hard it is, really, to reflect on the good samaritan story. I guess, Jesus could have added that it was not a man who got robbed, but if it was an abandoned human who had lost all dignity and sunk into madness, and was beatened up yet, and robbed. Just as well, when walking in Bishan Mall, or Toa Payon Central, or at my late night bouts in McDonald's, I seem to notice people who seemed to have "lost it", mumbling to themselves or desperate for a conversation or food or drink. Once with a neighbour having coffee, another woman called at my table and started talking loudly to me. To many, she was just another "mad woman", as my neighbour described her, and he preferred to ignore her completely. But she chose to sit immediately in front of me, sharing my table. She kept on commenting on my look, and then asked if she could get a drink. Well, I was broke, really, but had a two dollar bill in my pocket. I asked her what she wanted and she couldn't say. I suggested an ice tea, and she still couldn't say. I got it and presented it to her and when on with my work, but as she was insistent in mumbling to me, I put down my work and tried to listen to her incoherent mumbles. My neighbour got up to leave, somewhat annoyed at the interference and my willingness to pay heed to this "mad woman". But after no more than a few minutes, I knew she was a repeating the whole conversation over and over again, until she then talked about being abandoned by her husband and being without food or work, and that she was desperate. She had just opened up, and I simply had no stomach for it. I knew myself that I could not help, even if I were to surrender the small change I had left with me. My own life was desperate, and here I was, no better than her, and I could finally hear this woman's cry for help. It was nothing normal, for the whole paradigm of what constitutes as ordinary for any person in such dire straits is a wholly changed perspective, with only a flicker of what other people might recognise as "sane". The state of affairs in Singapore where mental health which is so closely linked to our obsession for physical well-being, is depressing to say the least. I was reflecting at length at this whole point and awoke this morning to blog down all my irrate concerns about mental health when I noticed the HOME section of The Straits Times read: For every suicide, there are seven unsuccessful bids. (Page H7, 11 March 2006, The Straits Times) The funny thought that flooded my mind this morning when I rolled out of bed was a short story about death and suicide (I will work on it shortly), but in particular the line in my head, "Death is the only way to defy Gravity". That is some weird physics, man!

Shade In The Afternoon Heat

It's blistering hot and I know better these days to get a water bottle along in my excursions. In the heat of the afternoon sun your mind wanders into both the distant and near mirages. You recall the treasured steps you have taken with others, and how these have been great memories. Now, the steps you take are paired with your own, left and right. The birds go on their business and the lilies are blooming large in the stagnant pond: ironical that out of the muck such beauty emerges. My own bike wheels spin with control, and I reel at the idea that I am steering my own direction to an imaginary line, which seems to have been crossed over, but another looms like a hallucination in the bellows of turns and bends. I wonder how my friends are. The silence in my mind is almost deafening, if not for that same heat which burns the dark shade beneath all living things. Suddenly the sun is both giver and taker. On the dust trail, my footsteps are softer, and remembering my days at the Sahara, and horse riding, I think of the many good things that I have already been fortunate to enjoy. This makes the heat bearable, slightly. At night, it is not under a great sky of stars or glowing pink clouds that I hunch under. Rather, I sleep with the sound knowledge of forgetfulness, and its luxuriant mist that hides and dissipates memory. There is always the draught that blows overland, especially in such islands as where we live, and that is lost in the windbreakers of window panes and doorways, of sheets and dreamcatchers. Instead, we crouch and hunker into odd shapes snuggling for the missing warmth as we turn up the thermostat to chill and turn frosty the very air we gasp to burn our own heat. There was a tiny stream which I was used to crossing, and because of my influence, enjoyed the going and comings as I pleased. That stream is now a torrent of passing events that I cannot wield over. That river now separates my whole being from the happy fields of friendship and companionship. I see the pasture on the other side: slightly green and ready almost for harvest. But on the desolate bank where I stand, the view is always good and out of reach. "You got no fuckin' idea how bad it gets. I am not you... I wish I knew how to quit you." It is with these thoughts that I confront my reality, and the sharp winds that knot my sails and hold me back against the shoreline. I cannot yet break free from the dark shade that glooms overhead, and race out again, into the afternoon heat. (Above: atop the Acropolis Hill where the Parthenon stands, Athens - northwards, the small mount in the background is the famed Mt St. George, with its tiny chapel and Orthodox monastery crowning the summit; middle left and right: with June, horse-riding among the Pyramids at Giza, Cairo, Egypt; and below right: atop the highest mastaba at the Great Pyramids.)

Park Right, Bishan By Night

It was just after the sun got down, but after this afternoon's mad, long swim (66 laps) and brazen by the sun, I felt totally vitaminised! Must be the Dee Vitamin, right. Anyway, I did manage to get some work done and as I promised myself, if I had the energy, I will explore the park with a night ride. So I got my bike together, bumped up the tire pressure (and discovered one cap broke, so I will have to get that replaced to prevent dirt from clogging the valve), and got out, with protective eyewear, lights and comfort pants (dirt pair, of course!). But the best was fixing my mobile phone holder on the arrow arms... it looked like some GPS shit! The night ride was fantastic and easy. I guess that's the problem with the flatish route, although it was curvy somewhat at places and with a slight incline. Good practice for the gears, too. Few joggers and mostly were pretty beat! But saw a cute girl batting her eye at me; guess the bloke next to her couldn't have been a boyfriend. and maybe by now, an ex, too... Anyway, it was sheer joy and I liked being back on the bike, and feeling the wind... Got back to the special corner to hang around a bit and note the type of crowd. Safe and very family oriented, which is great. Guess, I will be back on this route and routine more often than I can expect... and it is nice to find a treasure spot for sport and contemplation, which is just minutes off the home front. It will work best for later evening workouts, as MacRitchie is somewhat too adventurous for a midnight snack! Okay lah, I admit... I was pretty suah-khoo (provincially ignorant) about this whole place... just thought it was beat and unglam, you know...

Late Discovery, New Route

Tuesday, 7 March 2006 You think that you almost know everything. Short of what we know from direct or personal experience, quite all the rest is perception based on report and hearsay. For the most part, my first reports about Bishan Park was that it was cluttered with leaves, the trail was uneven with root-breaks, and that it was rather desolate place. So when DJ suggested that it was a good place to skate and that we could go there instead of East Coast Park, I was not inclined to listen. But I know that he’s skated there with Sarah, and runs there with his younger brother. When my brother Chris insisted that it was not at all quite what I seem to think, and that he too regularly would cycle or jog up there, I thought perhaps there must be more to it. I thought to take the Braddell canal route, either down towards East Coast/Kallang Basin, as Chris does on weekends, or up northwards, to Bishan Park. As time would have it, I decided that the northbound route would be better, as I did not want to be back after dusk. So after crossing Braddell road, I started my run after the school, and noted that crossing the slip road that leads up/down the Braddell-Toa Payoh flyover can be a bit tricky as there is no path and drivers may therefore not be as careful. Apart from that slight hiccough, the pedestrian route to the canal just before Comfort Delgro’s headquarters was clear cut and unobstructed. When I got on to the cycle-running track which ran along the canal, I was actually surprised that it did not smell foul in any way, and without the stench, it was breezy and well-used by many other leisurely joggers and cyclists. There was a fitness park just at the start point next to the tall point blocks and it looked good to use. About just 1200m later, you would be at the crossing under the MRT train lines and Bishan Road, where the park actually starts. About 400m before that point is a small gap route next to Kuo Chuan Presbyterian School and that would be a good short cut to take if need be. I remember now that’s where DJ would start his route, and it makes sense. Anyway, once in Bishan Park, I got to study the map, the features and routes. Bascially the park is broken up into two sections because of the Marymount Road intersection with Ang Mo Kio Avenue 1. The route along this first part is pretty short, about 1200m, and the round route at the second half of the park is only 4400m, which total just 8800m for a full round the park run. It’s not much, considering how undulating it is, and hence, pretty easy to go in good time, which was what I found out, despite the drizzle. There’s also this really terrific fitness park right at the starting corner, which makes it the envy of any heartlander anywhere else. So I hung around there for a while and make use of the regular stations, which were all in terrific condition. The afternoon rain began taking a heavier fall, but luckily for me, as I decided to head back about 5.30 pm, it was just a drizzle which wet the ground but kept the air cool and very nice. No good for my specs though, which we dribbled with some water, but did not affect my vision. All in all, it is a very late discovery but a fantastic new route which I can incorporate for my skating and running, cycling route, with my swimming from now on. The best part of it all is that the flora was just terrific, with the trees and lotus ponds all in healthy condition, unlike what I have been seeing of late at MacRitchie. There the trees are literally rotting to the ground, and the vegetation is just dying along the trails, with increasing litter and frequently (worst of all) by visitors who disregard any consideration for the joggers and runners when they bottleneck the routes with their banter and hogging. Still, it’s my preferred route because of the trails, the nature reserve and the distance incorporated, as well as general privacy at the odd hours on weekdays.

Houseman!

Some of the best work outs has to be doing the house-cleaning, and turning it upside down... so it's not just about the feng-shui (Chinese geomancy, literally "wind-water"), but actually doing exactly what Pat Morita got Ralph Macchio to do with waving hands and rowing strokes on Lemmon Pledge and a towel - in my case. The funniest thing was watching Grey's Anatomy tonight and when I got up to get a drink, for a second, I didn't recognise where I was... thought I was in a friend's place elsewhere on the other side of the world. Talk about getting dis-oriented when you get up too fast... Well, it could be the world spinning faster on its axis than I thought. Well, anyway, it's good that the bike's all pumped and cleaned and ready to rev, too. About Joe's Subaru Forester...?

Torso Twist, Outstretched Arms, and Spread Fingers

Thanks, Gary, for the Drill Four tips. As I haven't been in the pool a while, I decided to keep my 40-lap tryst yesterday afternoon casual and easy-going. That's another way of saying that I planned to enjoy the swim, which ultimately means doing breast-stroke. But occasionally, I would do the front-crawl - either because a new intruder into the pool is hijacking my lane or because I was breaking my lap routine for variety. Anyway, as I broke into the front-crawl, with the torso twist advocated by Gary, I found myself more relaxed, and with the vertical alignment of my outstretched arms overhead, into the water and pulling it back with slightly opened fingers, I could immediately feel the vast increase in efficiency. The net result was a much smoother, faster and breathable swim. But the pool quickly got crowded, with swimmers who really did not care about lane swimming and in particular, one bloke who simply could not swim straight! Thankful for the fine afternoon sun that came out to bless the day, I found myself in the training pool side, away from the hustle of the competition pool, and then taking on some essential vitamins from the day glow. It was great that I met Gary last night and could happily tell him about this experience, too. What a cool guy!

Long Walk West

I had thought it would have been a more active day, but it began with a slow start and despite the great weather outside, lethargy from a slow roll off the bed simply means the rest of the day will be "no go"! I was very inspired with my meeting and knowing Gary GL Heng - an astounding triathlete and ironman in his own right. It was terrific to have him talk about the Total Immersion programme to fine tune and tune up one's competitive swimming skills for these multi-races. He was adept in describing to me the drills 1 through 4, and emphasised the benefit of focussing on the first two up to full comfort, if the objectives are to be achieved. I definitely will schedule myself at the pool, early and without any distraction, to take the slow pace of drills 1 and 2... Really can't wait, though, but these couple of days are difficult with the funeral to attend etc. Anyway, by 3 pm I felt it was going to be a wasted day. Oddly, my whole body ached at one point and my legs just felt like they did not have any control... I knew something was wrong, but felt alert and reasonably energised. So, not to waste the beautiful sunshine, I thought it would be fantastic to take that long walk through Westlake to MacRitchie, and through the trails to Bukit Timah via the famed Rifle Range Road. The walk itself is worth a full blog, for it held some surprises and had its moments. But I will list two down here: the first was finding another mudslide site, just off the locations WO12 and WO13 (marked concrete wells) on the trail diverting joggers around the Sime Track mudslide area. This mudslide looks very recent (see picture left), and is dangerously close to the ridge which the jogging/hiking trail sits on. The drop is also very precarious and you can hear the sound of the stream gushing beneath the vegetation at the drop below. The other surprise occured as I crossed over the Rifle Range Flyover and hiked down the "S" curving road towards Mayfair Park/Bukit Timah. Then I spotted it: it was fully laden with green figs on the branches and main trunk, all over. Talk about Jesus looking at the fig tree in the Gospel and cursing it for not being fruitful. Now, when you look at this tree, you understand why it would be very obvious if the fig tree was barren. And it looks completely luscious and pleasing with all that fruit lingering on it. I am certain that a few more days and either the birds will get to them (good for seed dispersal), or these will fall and rot on the ground around it. These figs are terrific when ripe to sun-dry, salt and eat. I have also seen the same figs in pickled form as popular snacks from Thailand, Taiwan or China. Well, I might as well add that I found a Cardamon grove as well... Maybe the lucky folks who follow me during my next stroll westwards through the Nature Reserve will know more about the popular orchard within, and not just those Tongkat Ali plants!

Much In Vain, Where There's Plain Gain

The festive season still has a week or so more to go, and meanwhile those sugary delicacies are not fading out of view and falling out of reach. In fact, more obvious and ubiquitous than Mars or Snickers bars, these pineapple tarts, greenbean pressed-powder cookies, caramel batter rolled flakes (or "Love Letters" as they are popularly known), et al. are simply impossible to avoid and their seductive powers are greater than any sex siren. So, even as vanity might induce one to fast, you cannot avoid the impulse to procrastinate on the protein at the sight so many conveniently available carbohydrate temptations. The nett result is a real gain... not in losing weight but gaining greater girth! And all the dinners, suppers, snacks, and sweet sensations that symbolise wealth and prosperity in the simple shape of Chinese Mandarin oranges, will make one imitate the Fortune Buddha in form faster than a flash! No pain, no gain is lost in meaning here. There is everything to gain from realising simply that it is in vain to resist. It will only be an added incentive to make things right and be weary of all dietary controls going awry whenever the festivities come around...

Mudslide at Sime Track

We have been finally blessed with a spot of sunshine today and yesterday, and as the newspapers report, the clothes lines are full and hanging out once more. But just a few days ago, in the midst of the fury of the afternoon monsoon that came in from the north, I was running at MacRitchie and enjoying the slow rushing streams that gush down Sime Track after the Ranger's Station about 4.2 km deep in the trails. Then, in yesterday's evening news, I caught a report about mudslides at Bukit Timah, near Tiap Tiap Hut trail. My own visit there a few months back did suggest that the man-made trails there were very unstable and would not hold up to a week of constant wash and run-off. In fact, what the TV news cameras showed was much less terrible than what I would have expected. Still, hikers and joggers appeared to ignore the National Parks cordon and skirt the site at their own risk. Yesterday, I decided to hit Bishan Swimming Pool at 2.20 pm and thankfully, it was almost deserted. By before long, the school children were escorted in for some event and by 3.30 pm, the regular swimming instructor there was holding his class of tiny youngsters in the main pool. Certainly, I am encouraged to see so many dedicated swimmers, and possibly among them, some future national record-breaker. But the Sports Council would have done better in anticipating the need for more olympic lap pools and do away with the wading pool, or re-design the pool layouts to accommodate the need for more lap swimming by enthusiasts such as myself. Anyway, for reasons I can't say, I counted as many as 60 laps in less than 90 mins of swimming, which is probably my best yet! Incredible. Yes, I did feel a bit sore on the bed last night... and I slept very, very soundly, too. But this afternoon, I heeded Nature's gently prompting and found myself heading back to MacRitchie with the sky slightly grey and brimming with faint light from sunshine all morning long. To my surprise, when I arrived at the Ranger's Station, the starting point into Sime Track was completely cordoned off with no way to skirt it. Backtracking, I could see the reason why: there was a HUGE mudslide which completely wiped off whole portions of the trail into naked red earth and completely demolished vegetation which washed down the slope at the side of the track. It would have been horrific if some jogger or hiker was caught in that mudslide. Just then it occurred to me that it could not have taken place yesterday but the day before... perhaps even just minutes after I myself had passed that track in the rain. Like my other entry earlier which spoke of fallen trees, I am beginning to re-evaluate the inherent dangers that lurk and may present itself to trailrunners like myself. But that is the same thrill and adventure that all outdoor enthusiasts intrepidly face. Nonetheless, it's only a worthwhile adventure when, just like Bilbo Baggins - hobbit of noteworthy renown - is erstwhile when you do get there and get back again. I definite admore George Mallory, but do not want to emulate him in death and passing.

Sprained Sinews & Fell Trees

On Wednesday evening, after the rain, the weather was simply too cool not to head out and make for a night run. So I got into my GCS Comp once more and dressed for the wet and cold, ran the short 6KM route from home, through the Westlake Braddell Secondary School campus, past Mount Alvernia Hospital to MacRitchie Reservoir. Once there, I was not sure which way my instinct would lead me and my heart laid towards the long trail, entering at Little Sisters of the Poor. But it was falling into twilight, which at the equator was to last minutes before darkness set in. So, I let my instinct rule by safety and found myself running towards the fitness park entrance, which ordinarily I would consider my exit. I followed some runners in, and that was by itself comforting. The fitness area was flooded as usual, and unusable. Just past the 1.5KM mark, there was a fallen tree which had blocked the trail, but not so severely we could not skirt it. I ran past it and though suddenly to myself that just a few days ago, in the rain, that heavy felled tree could have easily fallen on me, or any other runner. It struck me just how much we take nature's own dangers for granted, simply because statistically, there were fewer of us out there to make the numbers. For all our urban tree planning, kerbs and commercial activities, we hustle and bustle mostly away from these falling branches and landslides... so much so that the more likely dangers are falling tiles and slipping on walkways. But in other parts of the world, these mudslides, burst river banks and falling branches are just as real. And I was immediately grateful to be able now to live and share in the forgotten experience and dangers. Yesterday afternoon, at 3 pm, I found myself vacillating between running or swimming, and the rain seemed just as vexed. Then I decided that I could make the run. But the pain in my right knee joint did not subside despite my treatment of it with moderate rest, diet and some massage. I knew that it would be a hairline fracture within the marrow and only worry about any small clot travelling upwards to the brain. I won't need any aneurysm or mild stroke from a sports injury right now. At the same time, I did not want to consume any anti-coagulant such as aspirin or ginko extract. But to keep my blood pressure down, I allow myself some starfruit and starfruit juice. The run was more a jog and I felt fully at ease. At the Golf Trail I took a breather, not that I needed it, but I felt cautious, as well as particularly aware of the calm and vivid colours that besiege nature after the rains. When I reached the fitness park at 7KM mark, I decided to run up my upper body with some chin-ups (done with ease) and rest. I wanted to soak in the whole scene and fresh air. I then started on the job back. I felt rather hypoglycemic by now, for I had skipped lunch to run, then faced with the uncertainty of whether it would happen or not. By the time I reached the last leg of the trail, and faced the felled tree, I was overtaken by this slender and athletic caucasian runner, wearing a www.triathlonfamily.com adidas tee shirt, asics running shoes, arm-strapped Sony-Ericsson player and Polar heart-rate monitor. He seems to have all speed with him, but I could follow his pace for a while and towards the last 600M decided to sprint - just as Dexter Jr used to do to me! - and make for the exit. It was great to be in the open again, with the flat calm of the lake mirroring the pearly sky above. Couples and families are all heading out and this late afternoon seemed more like a weekend. Then a voice calls out, "Hey Beiron, well done that last part, heh!" I look surprised to my right, smile spontaneously and greet my fellow runner. We adjourn to the cafe at the hilltop of the reservoir and chat: he's begun the triathlon experience just nine months ago, and runs splendidly to my mind. And he's also started on perfecting his front crawl strokes (probably with coaching through TriBob, I think at the Farrer Pool at Kampong Java Road), eager to make for his Langkawi race soon to come. Then he's off running back to his Novena apartment for a 4 pm appointment. I wonder if we'll get to meet and exchange notes again. It was great to run into another enthusiast and someone who empathises the whole experience of getting started in a sport such as this. At Westlake Secondary School where I am working on my chin-ups, a blue cab drives up and the driver waves at me. He's looking for the school office. I could not help much, but a young bloke in a black polo tee with the word "Security" stamped on its back appears and he tells the driver that the school is now defunct. Sadly, I also learnt that the LTA planned to build a new link road through the campus and that would ruin the current beauty of the place. We share our thoughts about the sheer natural beauty of the place in the mornings... and I also mourn the probable loss of my fitness workout area in the school campus. We chat for a long while before it begins to rain again. He's name is Sebastian and he works three jobs, with this security assignment being the one before he hits Clarke Quay to bartend. A former Army regular with the Special Ops, we talk about all sorts of things. I guess we will both meet up another day and say more. But it is time to head back and stay warm and dry... and get some dinner.

Rain Reigns; Can't Rein In The Rain

Saturday, 31 December 2005 Why should calendar dates matter, that we define life by weeks, days and months, years and life cycles? I was just glad to wake to another day of life, and vaguely guess what the rest of the day holds, let alone know what I might do in the evening of this day or the rest of the afternoon. Does knowing the future matter? By late afternoon, this last day of 2005, in what may be described as the most peaceful year (era?) of my life (or in another mind's eye, the most tumultous yet?), the weather seemed to wane but the last dripping of bright afternoon sun pre-supposes that there is a chance of yet another great day to run in the open. By 4.30 pm, I am out of my usually lethargic body and my happier self is afoot in a trot by Westlake Secondary School. I make good pace, and find myself very much in the best of moods. I pass the canoe lodge at MacRitchie Reservoir I think I recognise a friend sleepily lazing on a bench unawares I pass behind him. By this time, I decide to wish every jogging passer-by "Happy New Year". My first greeting meets a couple, and I get a hearty greeting a few surprised footsteps behind me, and I know that I have already done the unexpected. I mean, it is New Year's eve and we are sharing an activity outdoors. This must indicate a kindred spirit of sorts. You think. But I also get to meet a few others to trudge the same route coming from the opposite direction who seem too lost at words to return the same greeting. Perhaps, they did not understand me. Somewhere along the first two kilometres, the forest gets very silent, and then around the 2KM bend, the frogs all come alive and I am humoured by this. The overcast sky and drop in atmospheric pressure must have fooled them that it is already night, this smart mind of mine thinks. I jauntily laugh as I increase my pace. The cool air and overcast sky keeps the air fresh and keen, my body does not tire, and I feel the light breeze that comes from my quickened pace cool my skin and refreshen my kinetic spirit. Just past the 2.4KM mark, the drizzle begins with an onslaught that immediately made me certain this would be a great run, probably the best in my whole life... a simple man's backyard penny adventure, almost. The light over head is now just a grey blur, and my brand new Tag Heur sport sunglasses have nothing to polarise any more. The rain is now pouring, and transforming puddles into pools by footsteps I take. The leaves which were rustling just now are flapping in the petering rain, and the sound of the forest - once quiet before the storm - is drowned by the liquid madness. But I get entranced and now I am less worried but more excited... as just the thought of trail hikers being waylaid and hiding out in the cramped shelters seep into my mind. When I do run past the shelters in this mad rain, I feel some kinetic energy pulse through me, perhaps from knowing that these people must all think I am mad and just too absorbed to know better. That latter is true... and to be honest, it was my best pace in the post-triathlon race "era" for 2005. I run past the ranger station, smiling and energized, my body not feeling dehydrated or even dampened by the pouring rain. It seems like the weather is just fuelling my spirit and that is just energising my effort to keep the race and run, run, run, splashes and skids, and miss even spraining my right ankle when I slip. The rocky trail has turned into a gushing stream and disappeared beneath it. The trail is just splurting downstream after the ranger station towards Jelutong Tower, and if you know that route and the direction I am taking, it is sheer fun to run that stretch with wild rain turning trail to raging stream... My Salomon GCS Comp in now really proving how great the shoe really is... the grip, the aeration, the feel, the support and lift, the plough and the stride. The shoe was built for extreme conditons and it surely underperforms when it's used in any less wild situation than this...! I am like - wow, now I really dig the shoe - even when previously I have test-used it in other conditions and already believed it's potential... but now, you just know that for the outdoor and wet conditions, this works wildly great, man! So, I past a few more stranded trekkers, and they all seemed so surprised and shocked to see me run at the pace I am at... I am quietly surprised at what my body is doing as well, and I can bet that my heart rate never exceeded 159 bpm... In any case, the experience still had some real "hair-raising" surprises like when the lightning cracked overhead relentlessly and disturbingly near, too. When you are out in the open, as I quickly came to realise, the sky and anything which thunders overhead all seem strangely near. The high humidity in the dense wet air transport sound so effectively it makes every thunder sound closer... but when I tried to call out the seconds after the lightning and did not get pass "one", I found myself ducking and thinking, "Hey, if my hair starts to stand on end, I am going to dive to kiss the ground and don't care any more what I look like..." But I am drenched to the skin, and luckily, the Salomon XA Tech Tee and race tights are all doing a fine job of insulating me despite being soaked clean. Also, as I hit the Golf Trail, and pass the golfers in their shacks, I note their expressions of bewilderment and concern for my safety. I thought to myself if they would call me to safety and lend me a jacket to keep warm (?), but instead I hear myself calling out: "Happy new year, gentlemen!" and they all gaily reply back. That kept me warm for the next kilometre, you bet! Back into the MacRitchie trails in the last few KMs, and it was a breeze. No stitches or anxiety. At the 9KM mark, the rain breaks... like the eye of storm, and I look to the left to see the lake, the forest trees and sky in ethereal light and crystal clearness. The scenery is more like it apperaed out of a New Zealand postcard, temperature and all, then anything you might feel about Singapore if you have been stucked too long in an aircond office or stuffy flat. By the time I run to the end of the trail, the weather seems to have come to the end of its tantrums, and I feel powerful enough to continue back to Westlake and Toa Payoh North. But when I get into the Westlake school campus grounds, the rain starts to pound again. My thoughts go out to the small group of Malaysian student hikers speaking Cantonese who just got started on their trekking towards the Treetop Bridge inside the MacRitchie trails. Hahah! Well, it is all the adventure that outdoors in Singapore can offer - out fickle weather - to make up for the scarcity of geography and space! I get back home, soaked, and just wished my best pals were all awaiting me with absolut apeach vodka and the TV spluttering noise from the new year eve programming. But instead, it is not a fantasy, and no one has broken into my flat to surprise me. I get home, bathe, change, and within a few hours am downtown, lounging and wet again in a spa, to welcome the new year with fullness to get more physical in 2006. No prizes to guess my new year resolution, but I know better now, it will be sporting alone and for my own sake, too. With rain, who needs company!