1. Write a book about life and living and get it published
2. Spend 1 year volunteering overseas with an international aid organisation
3. Chile
4. Attend a salsa congress in Europe
5. Compose a bachata song and perform it in front of an audience
6. Watch the World Cup Opening and Final matches live with my dad at the stadiums where they're being played
7. Buy a conservation shophouse, restore it and live in it
8. Dance all day at the Mardi Gras, Rio de Janeiro
9. Take the Trans-Siberian from Moscow to Ulaan Baator and Beijing
10. Learn Spanish
11. Antartica/Sahara
12. Give my late grandmother a proper gravestone
13. See a total solar eclipse
14. Watch Alan Rickman in a play and shake hands with him
15. Take an iconic photograph
16. Learn scrapbooking
17. Have a complete collection of MLP flutter ponies and newborns (including the non-twins)
18. Stay for one week at the Banyan Tree Lijiang
19. Spend a whole day having a picnic and flying kites with my husband, and watching fireworks
20. Be on good terms with a friend once more
21. Stand at the crossroads in Shinjuku

Last Saturday I was off-duty, so I decided to make a trip out to Bukit Panjang to eat my favourite prawn noodles. I also lugged my D60 out (because like every other Singaporean, I just have to take photos of my food to post onto my Facebook, right?).

Thank you, God, for making me Asian.

After that, I thought I’d head out to take some photos. However, I hadn’t put much thought into it, having only made the decision to take photos that day. So I boarded 67 towards Bedok, intending to get off somewhere at Dunearn Road and transfer to a bus headed into town.

Along the way, it dawned on me that I hadn’t had a chance to explore the disused KTM railroad. First of all, I work on alternate Saturdays, which often meant that I’m usually too tired to go back out on the Saturdays that I am off-duty. Secondly, I refused to go during that period when it had just closed, because a lot of people were exploring the area, and to be really honest, Idetest crowds. I don’t enjoy having a bunch of people standing around and pushing past me when I would like to take my time, maybe observe a trail of ants on their way to hauling 50 times their body mass back to the anthill, and looking at small flowers.

But it’d been almost 11 months since the last train rumbled past. So I alighted at the bus stop opposite Bukit Timah Plaza.

Behind the bus stop, there is a little stone path that the residents in the estate just beyond the railroad track used as a shortcut to get to the homes: the alternative is a long trek to Rifle Range Road. The track always fascinated me because to me it represents an aberration in this country, where planning and space usage is so strictly controlled–a stone path that transgressively crosses another’s, as if almost daring its users to get as dangerously close as possible to the massive force that is a moving train, and to feel its power as the wind rushes by your face.

But there is no track now, and no train would threaten my safety. So down the steps and along the flat grass belt I trot, to find what I can.

Just one of the numerous grass flowers that line the path.

And find things, I did. It’s pretty amazing to see the amount of plant biodiversity lining the path, with small grass flowers of various shapes and hues growing in an unplanned manner everywhere.

Tracks of a time forgotten

Most of the rails and sleepers have been removed, but the track on the bridge spanning Dunearn and Bukit Timah Roads was left in place. In the absence of movement, the local flora has quickly colonised the track, and the man-made and natural co-exist comfortably in the same spot.
Despite being in such close proximity to one of the busiest thoroughfares in Singapore, it was strangely peaceful, and somewhat surreal to hear the sounds of heavy traffic passing not 10 metres below my feet.

The old Bukit Timah station

Not far from the bridge is the old Bukit Timah railway station, which still stands. There is a staff who is still posted there everyday, although the station is no longer operational, and I greeted him as I passed the station. I did think to stop and chat with him, but the sun was hot, and I wanted to keep going.
The old station, like many train stations, has a pole for mailbags–I’ll freely admit that when I first saw it, I couldn’t quite figure out what it was for, but a few minutes later I did. Trains passing through would pick up the bag as they chugged past, taking missives and love letters alike from their writers to wherever they would go.

A reminder of the prerogative of humanity in an ever-shrinking natural landscape

Up until now, the path had been well-defined, but subsequently, the going became a little harder: the part of the trail that had obviously been the track was now obscured with long grass and lush vegetation, giving no indication of the ground conditions. I could either 1) turn back and take the bus home, or 2) continue along a small dirt track running more or less parallel to the old track.

I carried on walking.

It’s interesting how immersive the experience of being so close to nature is. The air is so fresh and crisp that for once, I didn’t need my inhaler. And the silence–oh, the silence of the jungle wraps you as you trek through the grass, and the only sounds you hear are that of your footsteps, and the calling of cicadas and nearby birds.
Even then, constant reminders of humanity are always in the wings: the clamour of a lion dance troupe performing were clearly heard, even though there were no houses in sight. I wondered what the birds thought of that foreign, even intrusive noise.

Not quite a dandelion

In a country where nature often has to give way to humanity, you don’t really get vast fields of colourful flowers like poppies, sunflowers, and tulips. What we often find instead are small, plain little flowers. And I personally feel that we don’t give enough love to such things–we’re so attuned and conditioned to pay attention to the grand that we neglect to see the beauty in the tiny. To many (and I’m not just referring to Singaporeans), wayside flowers are common, run-of-the-mill, perhaps even inferior versions of the originals, and nothing to be impressed about. Perhaps that is why the PAP faction of the government is so quick to dismiss such things, and to send instructions to draw up plans to redevelop the place as a new residential district, or business centre.

I beg to differ–to me, the small is equally awe-inducing, and it is precisely its delicacy that makes it something to be celebrated and appreciated, and greatly so. Miniature snowdrop-like blossoms that grow in the cracks of your sidewalks, baby ‘dandelions’ waving their fluffy heads in the breeze as one by one, their seeds float away, quiet mosses of all shapes and sizes thriving side-by-side with creepers and tall trees–they are all unique, if we’d just recognise that everything has its own beauty.

It was also on this trek that I realised that everything can be beautiful if you put it against something that will complement it. There were numerous butterflies inhabiting the area, but I took few photos of them because they would not stand out well in the photos–first of all, I don’t use a macro lens, and secondly, a lot of the butterflies are orange, yellow and black–colours which don’t stand out well in a verdant green. However, as I neared the Holland Road area, which had more built-up structures, I noticed a butterfly. It was no different from the rest I’d seen (it was a bright orange), but it was sharply contrasted against its background: grey-white concrete.
Likewise, the above photo of the butterfly was not outstanding in its original format (colour). I’d taken it not because I thought it was pretty, but because that butterfly was OCD and kept returning to the same spot to rest, which made it easy to capture on camera. But when I’d leached the colour from the picture and cropped it, I realised that the butterfly, previously overwhelmed by the hues and shadows around it, stood out well against the now-desaturated background.

It’s about putting things, and people, into situations where their strengths are prominent, so that they can shine.

By now I was pretty tired, having trekked through the jungle for over 2 hours under the hot sun (I’d brought no water with me). So I made my way to my finishing point, which was the part of the track just under Buona Vista MRT station. I climbed out, muddy-footed and legs itching from my activated grass allergy, and caught the bus home.

I think one of the fun parts of life is a certain spontaneity–to suddenly make that decision to go off the beaten track, and to explore the unknown, without knowing what the journey ahead will be like. All I had on was my Wicked T-shirt, a pair of berms, a pair of Ripples slippers, and a curious mind with a heart for adventure.

And really, that’s all you really need in this life.

The rest of the photos can be seen here:

One night in early January this year, I dreamed about a patient who was particularly fond of Vivian and myself. The last time I'd seen her in person, she was severely oedemated, both her legs had been amputated, and overall she was in bad shape. In my dream, I was in the supermarket, at the dairy products aisle doing some grocery shopping. The whole scene seemed bleached, but it was not cold. Someone called me, and I turned around to see a vaguely familiar person smiling at me.

Ah girl, do you still remember me?

I looked hard, and suddenly I realised it was my patient. Ah ma! You are out of hospital already!

Ya, she said.

You look so much better now! Last time I saw you, you were very swollen! Now you look so healthy and happy. She nodded happily. We walked together for a little bit

And then I woke up. And immediately I was afraid.

You see, we who come from these parts have a belief about the deceased. Sometimes, when they pass on, they visit the ones they love, or who treated them well, in their dreams. It's their way of saying thank you to those who helped them along the way, as well as their final farewells before they head into the next life.

Early this week, the bulk of her inpatient bill was paid. Her daughter-in-law was enquiring about the bill. As I was clarifying the matter with her,

she mentioned that she had passed away in December last year.

Maybe it is true, after all. She did come to say goodbye to the daughter she 'adopted' towards the end of her life.

Chalk one more up under the 'WTF workplace?!??' category:

Slicing up my boss.

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