Skyglass

CityLink Mall from Marina Square, 1 May 2008

Had a great time out with one of my classes on Labour Day, joining them for lunch in Marina Square before watching Ironman (which was good fun - even provided a teaching point on irony!). I still remember an earlier time when outings with classmates constituted food and a subsequent option of either a movie, pool or bowling. Things haven't changed that much since those days, except that I find some of my students brandishing ATM cards, credit cards and membership cards, in a testimony to the rising power of the non-adult consumers. One person actually bought 20 public-holiday movie tickets for everyone else, and although everyone did pay him back afterwards, it still means that the guy carried around hundreds of dollars in cash for a while. I know I'll sound like an old fart to say so, but it's mind-boggling to me!

At any rate, the company was good. It was a tad uncomfortable, since, after all, the context was still very much a teacher-student situation, but there is great promise here for connections that will extend beyond Friday. I think, one day, the conversation will inevitably grow beyond the usual orbit of academic matters; and the trick is just to keep in contact until that happens.

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Office Tower along River Valley Road, 2 May 2008

Also, since Wednesday was Ms. Ong's last day of work in the education service, we went out to mark the occasion yesterday. Hooked up with Joel and Conan, then spent a good two hours wondering about where to have dinner, in the meantime meandering our way downtown to Peninsula Shopping Centre because the two of them wanted to salivate over guitars and associated accessories. Then we adjourned to Funan, where we spent a delightful half-hour in the Children's Section at the Times Bookstore (which is an entirely different story altogether!), before making our way with Ms. Ong to Liang Court for an enormous Thai buffet dinner.

I have said this before, and I will say it again - one of the things I will miss come August is this tradition of end-of-week dinners and the long, slow talks that come along with them. And though we spend Friday evenings with generally the same range of people week after week, we still manage to keep our conversation topics from repeating too seriously. On the other hand, what keeps us coming back time and again is not so much the promise of new conversation topics, I think, but the promise of a reliably good time gastronomically, intellectually and socially. So every Friday we look forward to something new, in terms of the location and the atmosphere and the content, but we also depend upon the presence of a deeply seated and deeply comforting familiarity.

What will happen when we start going away in August? I know I will miss this, but I reckon that I won't be the one who misses this the most. Because, for me, this change in routine comes with the considerable consolation of a fundamental change in context. I am able to anticipate that something new and hopefully equally fulfilling will be lying in wait of me on the other side of August. But for the people who are going to remain here, they don't have that luxury of anticipation, at least not to the extent that I have. And while it's another thing entirely to (falsely) assert that new things won't lie in their paths even if they stay right here, what matters now is the impression in their minds that new things won't happen. It's the prospect of more of the same, sans one of the major small mercies that make it bearable, that can really get a person down. Whether it's actually likely or not is another concern entirely, and not really relevant to their current state of mind.

But I say this hoping that it won't be the case. There is promise to be found here, too, but you have to be really aware of how to get it, and there is a need to somehow devalue the overseas experience, so that it becomes a different way of learning rather than an inherently better way. Things can go very wrong; there are stories of people who do not enjoy themselves. But the current perspective is that being depressed while overseas is somehow more glamorous or worthy of sympathy, and so even the possibility of being depressed overseas is inherently and illogically valuable. You are therefore liable to feel cheated of an opportunity that is intrinsically desirable, even if it is an opportunity to be sad, albeit in a different setting. Is this rational?

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CBD Skyline from MICA Building, 2 May 2008

Anyway, that evening, the sky and the light cooperated beautifully to create stunning conditions and views that are singular in their uncharacteristic clarity. It is not often that gold light ennobles the downtown buildings like this. The last time I saw it was when I was writing for Elsewhere. But ennoble them it did, and in times like this I am once again struck by the majesty that is also audacity. Under such light, architecture looks so hopeful that it is defiantly so.

Maybe at the back of their minds, architects design buildings and builders realise the designs in the hope that the fruit of their labour will have the chance to be transformed by light like this into something more than awesomeness. Light like this lets their labour make a lasting impression on the psyches of people. Views seen under such light are not just astounding; they are also moving.