At first, I had nothing to write for today. But I remembered that something significant happened yesterday morning.
I was on a bus to work when it suddenly pierced me how wonderful the sunlight at that very moment was. The light comes from a sun that continuously burns and yet the light reaches us in different degrees, each pleasing and disturbing everyone.
The soft light pleased me for it casts everything in a gossamer glow, beautifying everything. The journey to work, the crowded bus, commuters’ expressions. It’s the kind of sunlight I like best. At once a reminder of both the day and night because I still feel the coldness in my bones and in the air. I see a trace of night in the air, water vapour hanging over large patches of greenery, to be evaporated by the sunlight once it’s out.
At 8am, it’s still a kind of day/night. When the moon hangs out in the sky and the sunlight’s light.
There are so many versions of sunlight out there for each and everyone of us. For those who want to tan, for those who want light, for those who want heat, for those who want a rainbow, for those who want life. By the mere interference of a landscape, of a horizon, of the earth’s spin, of the universe’s spin, infinite possibilities exist. Simply sublime.
In the world there are plenty of songs that will make you laugh, cry, smile or tear.
There are plenty of songs that will make her laugh, cry, smile or tear too.
But there are only a few in the world that will make you do all at once.
And fewer still, that can make the both do all at once, together.
There will be a time when a problem arises and you find that everything you have in your arsenal is useless.
Nothing works against it. Not time, not experience, not money, not desire, not effort. Not knowledge. Your world thus ends here. Your knowing and your being.
Everything for naught.
Those who won’t listen have their own problems. Those who will dispense advice – but can you rely on them all the time?
What will you do next?
Disconnected. Everything in the glass has been poured away. Emptied. The phone is just a phone now. No 25-hours connectivity.
Multi-tasking is just a dream. Like the vapours that arise from forested areas which you, as an urbanite, don’t see anymore. We only do one task at one time and pile them up on top of one another. A lot of single-tasking at once. But we make it sound as if we are that capable.
Thus removing all the outlets, thus pouring away the water, will more pressure be built up elsewhere? Hopefully. Lessen quantity and more will still appear. Quantity in quality. The empty glass will be full.
Many mornings ago, I realise that there is a mountain spring flowing out of my tap.
When I turned on the tap, like I did this morning, the water was extremely cold and refreshing.
I imagine that it had sat in the tanks above our flat for a whole night, chilled by the fall in temperature. Cooled by the morning dew. And the sun had not yet touched it. I haven’t been to the Swiss Alps or the mountain springs. But I can imagine that that is how a spring should have felt. Cold and refreshing to the touch. Uplifting. Even though it flows out of a man-made device and even though the water is artificially brought to us, it still has the touch of Nature.
We live in a country called Singapore. It’s a small island when you compare it to the countries that surround us – Malaysia and Indonesia being the closest. We have been continually reminded by our government that we do not have any natural resources. No oil, huge swathes of land to grow plantations or anything else. We only have our people. This has been burnt into our national language for over 40 years.
I think the national language (I don’t know what else to call it) obfuscates what is really there in front of us. It covers up a lot of things. And alienates us from the nature of things. We do have the mountain spring in our taps.
It is true, isn’t it. Where does the water in our reservoirs come from? From the rain that falls from clouds too heavy to stay up. From clouds that wandered into our little island as they visit countries all over world. Water from the mountain springs that evaporated. From the Swiss Alps. Drops from the Himalayas. From Lake Baikal.
Every time I turn on the tap, I just have to feel the coldness of the water and I am reminded of the springs, glacier floes and mountain ranges. And I am grateful for it.