Ground Zero

These days are ridiculously exhausting, considering that I'm not really doing anything overly strenuous. It's just that there is so much to absorb and assimilate, to learn and accommodate, that it demands every ounce of effort and attention that one can muster. The days careen from one remarkable experience to another, with scarcely the space to take stock of what has just happened, before the next happening thrusts itself upon you and demands that you pay attention. These are the heady days of a new arrival, the headlong and total commitment to the experience of a place, driven by an eagerness that is founded on total defencelessness and the total faith that the place will provide only worthwhile experiences.

Anyway, taking stock. Among the people that I've already had the privilege to meet are a Nepalese girl, a sixteen-year-old freshman, a Kentuckian, several Californians, a substantial number of New Yorkers (some of whom live right down the street from Columbia), a Beijinger, a Shanghainese, two Hongkongers, an Indian from Hyderabad, a girl from Comoros, a Londoner, a Peruvian and a Venezuelan. I had been rather cynical about the so-called diversity of the cohort before, because how diverse can you be when everyone's in college and pursuing the same goal: a good degree from Columbia? But of course, a commonality of objective does not in any way restrict the multitude of means to get there, and it is in the methodology that contributes towards the objective that the diverse experiences of this class come in. Of course, it would be ludicrous to say that Columbians form a cross-section of the world's societies; but I realise that I am being exposed, all the same, to more backgrounds and experiences than I could ever have imagined.

*

Yesterday was taken up mostly by signing up for this term's classes. Ended up with four courses, namely Literature Humanities, Frontiers of Science, Sociological Imagination and an Urban Studies lecture called Race, Ethnicity and Immigration in Urban America. I also want to try to add Art Humanities to the schedule, but that can only be done on Tuesday.

It is something of a relief to finally begin constituting a timetable, and to gather the required books for the courses - in other words, to start preparing a structure into which this life can be placed. The stability this offers may be arbitrary, but it is still stability nonetheless. And it does offer something else to talk about. Some people have said that they're taking up to 20 credits, which is 6 more than the recommended level. Some chose courses based on how well they fit into an easy schedule. Some are still debating whether to drop one of their six courses for the term - 2 more than recommended. There is a certain element of seeking to reassure oneself in these conversations, since we are all relatively new in this system, and want to be affirmed that we're not only doing things correctly, but doing them well. But what really strikes me is the freedom that they have to choose. This detail may not be important to them; it may not, at least, be interesting to them. But when choosing your courses becomes a luxury rather than a right, then I feel the vexation of being the holder of a Singapore government scholarship, the riskiness and frustration in having to trade a measure of freedom for a measure of empowerment. I understand that without the scholarship, I would not even be here to be vexed by the strictures upon my choices. This very frustration is thus enabled by the strictures that form its target. But the frustration is real, and it is there, and it is acutely felt.

Also watched Pan's Labyrinth in the on-campus cinema (a room that also doubles as a lecture hall), and found out that it is a pretty good movie, with stunning graphics and stunning plot ideas that play with the power of wishful thinking. Fantasy and real life intertwine through the plotline, and magic and material things come together to mutually annihilate, in the process generating beautiful patterns of consequences. It was a good story, written self-reflexively to comment on the power of story-telling to transfigure reality into something more manageable. And there was a beautiful ending, a death, but not an dreadful death, more like a deliverance, the return of a soul to its rightful place in a dream world, escorted by a hummed lullaby. The ending was good in that it made moot the question of whether all the magical things "really" happened, showing that no matter what, the effect of the magic, real or fake, is felt in real, emotional terms, by real, emotional people.

And after that, met up with CUE people again to go to the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe, a legendary establishment in Alphabet city, crammed among row-houses with only a faded awning to identify it. Apparently, this is the most venerated literary spot in Manhattan, and is renowned on the international slam poetry circuit. So we were there, crowded into an overcrowded room, enjoying normal people making beautiful verses about welfare reform (which, I thought, was a topic more suitable for an essay rather than slam poetry), child molestation, sex and dignity. The words were well written, and the stage added another dimension of performance, so that the emotional impacts of the words can be amplified, and also so that the audience is not merely a passive receptacle of art, but a participator in its production and thus its meaning. In Singapore, such events always strike me as pretentious, but here, where they had practically invented the medium of slam poetry, it was pulled off sensitively, brutally at times, but always with a sense of awe and respect at the artistry that was being given to us on that tiny stage.

*

Today, some of the Singapore group started out by going to Flushing, the other Chinatown of New York, located in Queens, a Chinatown that is really Chinese, because the Chinese moved there from the Manhattan one because they were being priced out by that area's growing success. It was a happy trip, on which we took another Chinese meal (with the table overflowing with good, authentically prepared Chinese food, as should be the case for good Chinese meals), ate some great egg tarts from the Taipan Bakery, bought Yeo's packet drinks from a supermarket that imports things that I never expected to see outside of Southeast Asia (attap chee in syrup, for example). Also bought another jacket, in preparation for the turn of the weather to coldness that is sure to come soon.

And after dinner, went to Tom's Restaurant (the Seinfeld restaurant) for enormous milkshakes, before making our way further downtown to wander through Tribeca. Found the cinemas at which the eponymous film festival is held every year, and made our way into the Civic District, past colossal neoclassical skyscrapers, City Hall and what looked like a courthouse. Our trajectory eventually took us to Ground Zero, which is still empty, a sorry sight after seven years. On the one hand, the peacefulness of the site at night really enhances the solemnity of the unassuming, simple memorial at the site, a memorial that consists of nothing more than a nominal roll of all the victims of the attacks. But on the other, one hopes to see this scar in the Manhattan landscape start to heal. We owe it to the lost, to the heroes, to build something out of the ruins.

In moments like these, then, and at places like this, you realise that you are intimately connected to the pulse of history, by virtue of being in proximity with its heart. Everyone remembers, for example, where they were on September 11, 2001, when the news broke. It was one of the moments that united human experience, that defined the flow of history. I remember that this happening had a profound impact on my secondary-school life. And to see the site itself with my own eyes was a powerful experience. I had pretended to know what it's like at the site itself, extrapulations that seem inexcusably pretentious and presumptious now that I've actually seen the place for myself. You look around you, and things that made history, things that are still making history, are all around you. It is a humbling experience, and a precious, rare privilege to be in the right place and at the right time to experience this.

Multitude

The thing about coming to a new place, of course, is that you come to it totally defenceless. Being deprived of the knowledge of local social conventions and how to navigate them, one is forced to experience everything. The first few days in a new place are defined by an acute awareness of all that one experiences, whether those experiences are directed at one or merely incidental to one's life, because one does not have the social conventions that tell apart the important happenings from those which are just peripheral. One must accept everything at face value, one must treat everything as important. Only through the lens of local knowledge can one discern what one really needs to pay attention to, and what one can ignore safely.

And here, there is no shortage of things that are available to be experienced. From the mornings, I am faced with experiences that are new to me and therefore seem so remarkable. There is, for example, the particular delight in huddling into my light sweater, toting my trusty black bag, and wandering the brownstone-lined streets of Morningside, digging into a breakfast of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese bought from a street vendor, and enjoying the sight of joggers, dogs and cabs purring down the still-quiet streets.

And yesterday, went to Rockefeller Centre to go to the Top of the Rock, an observation deck on the top three floors of this opulent art-deco marvel of a skyscraper. I almost cried; seeing the dense patterns of facades and streets stretching out in all directions, the dramatic swath of Central Park, the famous and hallowed spires of both the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings, the Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue in the distance, and the Hudson all around, you realise that you really are in a charmed place, a place filled with magical names and venues, a place that the rest of the world dreams about.

We also wandered from Rockefeller Centre to Times Square, walking through the district and taking in the crowds and the proliferation of gaudy signboards. There are famous names here too, but I didn't feel that they were hallowed, since they seemed to lack the dignity of the reserved charm of landmarks like the Brooklyn Bridge. One thing that I did find intriguing, though, was the range of shows on Broadway, The Lion King, Mamma Mia, The Phantom of the Opera and more. And if I pass out this year without watching at least one of them, then shoot me, please, for wasting all that time away.

Closer to home, in the Butler Library, a handsome neoclassical building on campus, A and I visited the unbelievable collection of printed material housed in the Butler Stacks. Basically, these are made up of low-ceilinged and dimly-lit rooms filled with bookcases which are in turn filled with books. It was the greatest collection of words in print I have ever seen. I found and held a tattered and disintegrating volume on the history of Prussia, signed and donated to the university by Frederick the Great himself. There is so much knowledge and history condensed into one place; it really is absolutely stunning. And I fancied that, if we stayed quiet enough, we would be able to hear these venerable books murmuring their knowledge, letting it echo throughout all of eternity.

And tonight, just came back from a night out in Central Park, at Victoria Gardens, a small amusement park that looks somewhat like a permanent pasar-malam, an amusement park that Columbia had rented out for the night for the exclusive use of the freshmen. It was surprisingly more fun than I had expected. I guess that, with its carousels, carnival games, acrobats, stilt-walkers, contortionists and fire-eaters, this is a smaller, more conveniently located relative of Coney Island. But despite its diminutive size, there was a great vibe, with the students dancing, riding the mini-rides, munching on candy floss and playing the childs-play games.

It should be immediately clear, therefore, that New York is a place of great contrasts, with intimate encounters taking place side by side with great touristy activities, with spontaneous coincidences coexisting with well-planned extravaganzas. The city offers encounters on all levels ranging from the epic to the micro. The specialness of it comes from how these offerings manage to maintain their ability to fascinate and enthrall despite their sizes. On every level, then, New York delights. And that, I think, is the defining characteristic for a great city.

*

Along with these spectacular activities, the people who I am experiencing all this with also demonstrate a great range of characteristics, a range so wide that it is mind-boggling and exhausting to keep up with, but which is still so endearing despite the wide range. These are, generally, the CUE people (who continue to meet up throughout the week, and at least say hi to each other on the street), the international students (among which are the Singaporeans) and the people living on my floor (with whom I celebrated an impromptu birthday party with a chocolate cake shaped like an unmentionable body part). These are solid, dependable people, and among them I also find people I can more easily talk to, who can relate more to my own previous experience, either due to sympathy with a shared experience, or simply a mind that is demonstrably more open. It is a privilege to have met them, and to be able to count them among my acquaintances and friends.

*

Yesterday, too, was the last day that my parents were here. They flew off early this morning to Washington DC. So, yesterday morning, went out with them for breakfast at a diner near their hostel, and over omelettes, muffins and tea, Dad used the Tower of Hanoi game to point out a crucial insight into life: one cannot keep track of everything, so one should just keep moving forward, staying true to tried and tested principles or rules, keeping an eye on the past to ensure that one does not go backwards, and trusting that, in the end, everything will fall neatly into place.

And it is still early days, but as far as I can tell, this insight into the nature of life has held true. The principles that life in Singapore has taught me - or some of them at least - are still sound here, sound enough so that I find that I can stick to them and still see things falling neatly into place. Things were a bit iffy at the beginning of the week, but now that I've started to sort out my schedule, and now that I know CUE people will continue to be a dependable source of support in times of trouble, it seems like everything will work out fine.

Said goodbye to my parents in the lounge in Furnald yesterday evening, handing over my old phone (with the Top of the Rock pictures still inside, so I can't post them up here at the moment) and receiving sundry items, among which was a large microwaveable pot. The impression was that as long as we kept talking, we could put off the moment of leave-taking. But there was only so much that they could think of to ask of my college life thus far. They eventually promised to fly me back home whenever I felt like I needed to return. And in the end, I simply hugged them.

The enormity of the departure still catches me off-balance now. I will not see them in the flesh for a year, a prospect that is now clearly more daunting than I had expected. And as they left the building and blended into the crowd outside, I was struck by a deep sense of yearning and sadness. They had enough trouble letting go of their son; I had not expected to have so much trouble letting go of my parents. But then again, this does not in any way mean permanent estrangement. And anyway, some things need not have been said.

What can I say here, then? These are my parents, and I love them very much.

Opportunities

...and another day brings new challenges and new hopes. These days have been filled with so many extremities that they are very tiring to live through, as emotions crash from highs to lows to highs again. Such great mood swings have not been experienced since the days of Frexprog, and to reencounter them in this context was unexpected and undesirable. The mood swings rob me of clarity of perception, force me to turn inwards and to retreat from the social interactions that are so crucial at this point in time to construct a new, meaningful context in this strange place. But then again, I should have seen this coming, as this situation does bear a substantial amount of similarity with Frexprog: I have felt, in Paris and Lyon, the same kind of alienation and disorientation before, feelings that are so intense that they can paralyse you.

But also, in a very fundamental way, New York is a place of extremes, a place that enables you to experience extremes, to plumb the farthest and most absurd possibilities of human experience. Here is a place where vistas of incredible inspirational power coexist with scenes of abject deprivation, where the most helpful and warm people live alongside people capable of startling rudeness - and both parties still get along surprisingly well. Here is a place that awes one by making incredible things real, and disappoints only in that in making these things real, it renders them in the dull, unattractive colours of human imperfection. Nowhere else in the world have I experienced this effect of rendering the fantastic into human scale, or, to put it equally in another way, to elevate things that are human to fantastic levels, without sacrificing the grimy, flawed, imperfect human quality of it. Here is a place where greatness can be lived, rather than just observed as an artifact. Here, wonder is participatory rather than simply a spectacle.

I've said it before, and I'll say again how here, opportunity lies thick on the ground, more so than anything else. New York tires you out by throwing ever extreme at you with scant consideration of whether you can handle it - and you have the feeling that you'd better find a way to handle it, and fast, because there's lots more where that came from. During the academic introductory talks this morning, the deans made it a special point to point out how the class of 2012 is liberally peppered with prodigious talents, like the guy who's already made $40,000 by publishing his own children's book, or the future Olympic archer. And they also pointed out how being in New York connects one to the world, and how the world reciprocally impinges on every aspect of our intellectual, social and physical lives. And I was thinking: what sorts of opportunities for synergy and insight can arise from such a remarkable milieu? What wonderful things can we make by catalysing the opportunities available to us with our own talents? We stand, indeed, on the brink of a world of unimaginable opportunities - but the thing is not to just stand there, but to go out and actively, bravely grasp it.

And I still feel overwhelmed by that prospect, and quite inadequate as well. I am intimidated by this place and the people it houses, by all that they're bringing to the table, and by the comparatively paltry abilities that I can offer. I feel as if I'd somehow snuck in by a back door, and that I'm just extremely lucky, and by right should not be here at all, taking up space, breathing the hallowed air of genius and curiosity, and collecting opportunities without knowing what to do with them. I only bring my self, my experience and my abilities, but I am beginning to see how these may not actually count for much in such a charged context.

*

Had a bit of a fright today, because I had arranged to meet a couple of the Singaporean students to go down with the folks to Chinatown for dinner, when my phone ran out of battery power. I had told them to meet at the "Canal Street station" on the subway, but I had neglected to check the subway maps, and to my dismay found out that there were actually 3 different "Canal Street" stations, each on a different line and serving a different avenue in the Chinatown area. So, being unready to deal with this unexpected communication failure and having no way to contact them, I tried to recharge my phone at local phone shops, but could not find one with the right charger. And we then proceeded to search all the stations called "Canal Street", until, by sheer dumb luck, we ran into each other when I was coming out of the Canal Street station on the green line.

Went into Chinatown, and Mum and Dad showed us a great shop that they found, that stocked such critical comfort foods as mooncakes, Khong Guan biscuits, instant noodles, sauces, Teochew porridge preserves (like the spicy beancurd and various pickles), and a range of authentic-looking Prima Taste sauces (laksa, Hainanese chicken rice, satay) imported from, of all places, Singapore. Suddenly, New York doesn't seem like such a scary place. And they also stock instant noodles, steamboats and woks. It was great to step into the place, and to have the familiar smells hit you on a visceral level. I was quite frankly surprised by the intensity of the nostalgia.

After that, we went to a Chinese restaurant run by a Cantonese family, and had an excellent Chinese dinner of fried rice, beef noodles, hor fun, soy sauce chicken and char siew. It actually tasted like the Chinese food from home, rather than the sweet-sour fare that usually passes out of allegedly Chinese takeaways. Even the scaldingly hot Chinese tea, nothing more than reused tea leaves steeped in boiling water, tasted like nostalgia. I had not expected to miss home so much, and certainly not so soon, and definitely not when the folks are still here. I wonder what it'll be like next week.

*

And to top it all off, we took a train up to 83rd Street and 5th Avenue, because the university had rented out the Met for an event that night. Yep, that's right - Columbia took over the Metropolitan Museum of Art for an evening, so that students could wander the galleries at leisure till 8.30pm. Now, I've seen some pretty good museums over the years, museums that would put anything Singapore can offer to shame, but the Met very nearly takes the ticket. I mean, there were mummies that were so perfectly restored that they seemed almost fresh - almost moist, even. There were Grecian urns with brown figures traced out on black backgrounds that have appeared on many covers of Greek literature works, pottery that is hallowed by age and recognisability. There was even an entire Egyptian temple, donated by Cairo, dismantled and shipped to New York, to be put back together in a dedicated gallery in the Met. It blows my mind to be among such objects that are eerily familiar, eerily meaningful, and so old that I cannot even imagine what it must have been like to make them or use them for the first time. Only the Louvre, in my mind, surpasses the Met.

So there we were, Columbia students all, from the various undergraduate schools, some dressed up impressively (the girls from Barnard), others coming in sandals and berms (the guys from the College), filing through the hallowed and high-vaulted galleries, looking at objects of incredible antiquity, discussing classes and orientation activities, and pondering on how these ancient objects we can see and sometimes touch will fit into our lives from now on. Certainly, the connections that we formed tonight between the museum and our syllabus are laughably simplistic, and certainly real classes will begin soon that will take us through those same galleries to explain the connections far more eloquently, but already I feel like opportunities are coming together here in ways that I had only imagined about, daydreamed of, before.

Ran into lots of CUE people in the Met, and inevitably, the group grew till we could have formed our own tour group. It was a chance to reunite, and to share the experiences of the previous days apart, as if CUE had not already ended, and that we were simply taking a break from the distractions and laying the foundations for the imminent resumption of CUE. We had only been apart for two days, and we were already talking in nostalgic terms, planning our next reunions and promising to keep in touch as if irrevocable departure was impending. And afterwards, wandered the streets of the posh Upper East Side with K and A to go to the subway on 77th Street, reflecting on what we've seen of the city, the new people we've met, the old people we can't get enough of - and how much of all this we really owe to CUE. And it really was a special time, and it deserves all the hype it's getting. And I do think that, judging from the trend over the last few days, the memories and relationships of CUE will become more and more meaningful and precious as time goes by.

Live From New York

This, too, is New York.

I have realised that it is harder to make new acquaintances than I had anticipated. It is partly, I think, that I am really in some ways too old for some of the antics that the people here get up to. There are certain things that seem to me to be too self-indulgent or pointless to go through with, and that does form a barrier to quickly establishing new connections, a quickness that is especially important in the rapidly shifting circumstances of the freshman year. But more importantly, I think, than the age differential is the gap in perspectives. It is not that people here are unable to appreciate the irony or self-indulgence of what is happening around us; indeed, some people have spotted them before I have. It is a fundamental disconnect in the vocabulary and modes of communication between me and them that hampers the capitalisation on that common realisation. The potential of the shared insight is thus unable to be harnessed as a social device.

In quite a few ways, then, I find it impossible to understand where these people are coming from. Beyond very basic, functional levels, I can't seem to read them and their intentions, and thus find myself at a loss as to how to respond to some of their behaviour. Of course, one must always be nice, but sometimes being nice seems to muddle the situation even more. It elicits responses that I cannot seem to account for; and what is more fearsome than nastiness is random nastiness, which cannot be grasped and thus avoided. And all this demands a set of social conventions and an interpersonal vocabulary that I have not figured out yet - that I need to figure out fast. It is clear, at least, that the problem lies in me, rather than in them.

*

I find myself entertaining myself for quite a substantial amount of time, therefore, and I can see that it is becoming unhealthy. It is simply that putting in the necessary effort is so tiring and ineffective. But that is certainly not to say that I'm sad or upset. Apprehensive, yes. Sometimes irritated, or frustrated. But not sad or upset. This is New York, and it is big enough and thick enough to offer anyone - and stranger - distraction and enrichment.

The picture above was taken on the last bluesky day of the week, from the Staten Island ferry. On Saturday, we spent the day out in the city, and visited a beach on Staten Island, taking some time to frolic in the surf and across the sand. I was snapping a shot every other minute, because the scenery and the shifting situations simply proved too compelling, from every angle. And when you see a scene like that one above, its beauty arrests you, and its wonder overwhelms you, and drives all other thoughts out, leaving a vacuum that is filled by incredulity and awe. Scenes like this show how a place is filled with promise, and that promise gives one the courage to hope, and to try, and to put in the effort.

And then there is the Columbia Urban Experience. It couldn't have been a more awesome introduction to this place and its people, I think. Well, it could have been better, I guess, but I couldn't have rightly asked for more, because I do think my lack of sustained effort and comprehension is the cause of its shortfalls where I am concerned. The people were immensely helpful and thoughtful, and the programme exposed me to sides of New York that I definitely could not have accessed by myself. I miss the familiar faces and the clarity of purpose that we shared (even if we did not share a certain clarity in meaning). Most of all, I miss the kids that we worked with. I will have to write more about CUE some other time, but let me say this: this programme has meant more to me than I can say.

*

And moving on from the last day of CUE, we had the convocation ceremony for the first-years today. I have to say I was approaching it rather cynically, seeing that it was basically a self-congratulatory orgy on the South Lawn, but I have to admit that I was deeply impressed by what was said. Belinda Archibong, the student leader responsible for the New Student Orientation Programme, spoke movingly and eloquently about how being a Columbia student makes available special opportunities to one to grow intellectually and emotionally. She ended off with a "I am Belinda Archibong. I am a student at Columbia University - and so are you" that sent a shiver down my spine. And then Dean Quigley of the College spoke about how matriculating means that live would "never be quite the same again", and how, even though we were about to undergo deep changes in our lives, we should try to maintain a measure of continuity with our pasts, so that the past will help to make sense out of these disorienting shifts. Basically, all things change - but all things must not change at the same time.

And, for the first time, in a very real way, the realisation struck me that this place is not just a place for learning, but a place for growing. That New York is not just nice scenery, but an interactive and mutually supporting environment, a context within which to live, and which informs all aspects of one's life here. That Columbia is not just a school, but a mindset. The enormity of the choices and opportunities that lie ahead are daunting. I feel intimidated by everyone I meet, because of their diverse and richly detailed experiences that I cannot hope to parallel. They are offering me so much, and I am not equipped well enough at the moment to take full advantage. And even worse, I am at a real loss as to what item of value that I can actually offer in return.

So things are awesome and fearsome, incredible and intolerable. I still feel like a spectator to all these things that are going on around me. But it certainly is only a matter of time before I find someone I can really talk to here. I believe this to be true, out of an act of faith in the opportunities offered by this place. In the meantime, though, I pray for courtesy and patience, which will provide the strength I need to pull through all this at the moment.

This is New York

Warmest greetings, everyone, from New York!

Okay, haven't been posting pictures because I haven't set up my permanent internet connection yet and am using a public computer in a lab at the moment, and haven't been posting at all because CUE has been utterly packed with events, meaning to say every night's sleep is only at most six hours long. In fact, by posting this now, I will probably regret this tomorrow afternoon. But too many things have happened, and all of it begs to be written down somewhere.

But what can I say? New York is utterly astonishing. It's not exactly a forgiving place; the first thing I encountered when I got of CX 830 at JFK was a long queue through Immigration, because their computer system had broken down. Then, there was a long queue for the taxi, and then a traffic jam along the highway from JFK to Manhattan. The first impression of the city was, therefore, one of gridlock. And the people are rather ruthless when they're irritated, all too ready to unleash a formidable array of curses and cleverly disguised profanities at you.

But they make up for it by being almost flawlessly polite. The traffic here does go out of its way to give way to large gaggles of undergraduates wandering across avenues and streets with nary a glance at the lights. On the subway, people do say their P's and Q's, and even the most perfunctory "Thank you" prompts a reply, an extra effort that is almost unheard of back home. It is not difficult or intimidating to deal normally with these people at all; the only possible obstacle is the accent, which can be easily learnt and overcome.

And the things that New York throws at you every day are astounding. Every night, CUE participants get to go out on the city to explore various landmarks and activities. So, over the last three nights, I've been to Central Park (where we went in search of a Graciella commemmorative concert but found a spontaneous rhumba party instead, which was in turn broken up when the cops showed up), the Brooklyn Bridge (after which we went hunting for cheap eats and ended up in a fantastically decorated European-style cafe near school), Chinatown (where for an exorbitant price we got authentic-tasting bubble tea) and Shea Stadium (for a Mets game - after which there was a fight among the fans, and New York's finest appeared again, this time on horseback). The city is so vibrant that even when you get lost, you're bound to find something worth going to; boredom is not an option. And whereas history may lie thickly on European streets, here, I think what coats the streets and avenues of New York is fascination.

And the unexpected can ambush you at any moment. On the subway ride from Chinatown back to Columbia, a man with an orange t-shirt on his head and many plastic bags tried to talk me into joining his evangelical army to save Riverside Church from the Devil, in the meantime demonstrating an incredible knowledge of Singaporean society. On campus at the start of this week, film crews were all over the lawn filming scenes from Gossip Girl, which actually means nothing to me, but was fun to watch - and I'm sure this factoid will make someone jealous (I mean, we were within spitting distance of the stars, whoever they were). A CBS reporter haunted one of the Columbia gates on one afternoon. And when I was opening a bank account earlier today, a woman suddenly burst into the bank, screamed at the manager to leave her alone and stop harrassing her, and then left - after which the cops arrived.

And the people who experience all this with me are amazing as well. It's still early days, but it turns out that it may not be that difficult to talk to these people after all. There is a certain youthfulness in their thought and expression that cannot be ignored, but above all, their earnestness and goodwill smooths away any cultural barriers that may have existed, defusing potentially explosive differences into valuable talking points. There is also a certain degree of racism that is only to be expected in a city and school like this, but most of the time it is harmless, and sometimes even richly funny. And anyway, practically everyone has been game to try out new things, and to wander the streets of Manhattan at all hours, and have been invariably helpful and friendly. There really is nothing more that I can rightly ask of these people, and I am deeply glad that I've had the chance to pass this week with them.

At my service site, too, the people are remarkable. I'm working at a homeless shelter, and there is a day-care centre in it that looks after the kids when the parents are out looking for new accommodation. K and I are working with the older kids, who range from three to six years old. Their energy is boundless, and they are utterly, stunningly intelligent, demonstrating a surprisingly wide knowledge and being able to carry out conversations that are so earnest and sensible that it makes your heart melt. And even though they are under welfare, they seem to lead such charmed lives to my eyes, and I find that my fascination with this city is somewhat reflected in them, in a more intense, more guileless, purer form.

The streets, too, seem to me to be enchanted. The weather has been flawless since I left Singapore, making every day a blue-sky day, when the light is sharp and clear, making everything blaze with beauty. On the first day, riding the cab into the city, we passed over the Triborough Bridge, and there was the Manhattan skyline, resplendent in the gold of sunset, shadowy and utterly promising in the distance. The largest monuments, like the legendary Shea Stadium, and the smallest details, like the book stalls that pop up on the sidewalks in the sunlight, speak to me equally with promise and anticipation; these streets contain within them the seeds of powerful experiences, only waiting for someone to come and find them. But by far the best moment so far was when I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge on foot at night with some of the CUE people. Seeing Manhattan glowing in the weeknight darkness, the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings incandescent in their luminous regalia, Downtown made up of dense constellations of office lights, and the torch of the Statue itself a pinprick of yellow in the distance - at that time, I felt like I would burst into tears right there: I felt I was ready to die. At that time, I knew that the long journey to New York through space and time, the journey that started so long ago in such different circumstances, had finally come to an end, and had given birth in its waning to a new era - this new era - bursting with promise. And the best thing was that since I was with a CUE group, I had someone with which to share this incredible moment, something that had almost never happened before, and had certainly never happened so intensely before.

This is New York. And things are starting.

Everywhere

It was a pretty good night, all things considered. Caught a couple of hours of really good sleep on the airport benches after the last post, and woke up this morning with the dawn breaking outside the windows of the terminal, making for a splendid alarm clock. The thing about Hong Kong's airport is that it's basically one very long pier encased in glass curtains three storeys high, and it's built on the shores of Lantau Island, and these two factors make it a surprisingly good place from which to watch the sky turn from yellow to white. And with runways all around the terminal, it also makes for unparallelled plane-watching. It's a cathedral to aviation, where enthusiasts and acolytes can come to worship those great flying machines.

The problem is that as is usually the case with cathedrals, everything is very grand but not very user-friendly. It seems I maligned HKIA a bit in the earlier post: there are free water fountains here, and there are also free sleep lounges with luxurious-looking chaise lounges. But it is clear that there are to few of both (I assume the lounges are comfortable, but I didn't have a chance to find out myself). And this morning, I blew almost HK$200 in one shot over a shower and hotcakes for breakfast. This place really doesn't show mercy for one's wallet. But oh well - it is an airport, after all, I guess.

I'm going to go onto the aeroplane later and conk out. Yesterday, worked on some updates to the website until I was typing words wrongly, and when I tried to walk to find somewhere for a nap, it felt like I was swimming. And finally falling onto a bench to sleep was the sweetest feeling ever. I was getting dangerously uncoordinated; in this effort to reset the biological clock to New York time, I plumbed depths of fathigue that have not been known since night-shifts in the Army.

At any rate, I am eager to get going for the next leg of the journey, the sixteen-hour flight to New York proper. The planes sit on the tarmac gleaming in the sharp morning light, the kind of intensely clear light that you only get on early mornings and on island seasides. Each one sits uncomfortably on its landing gear, clunky wheels that seem totally out of place on a machine of speed and height. Each plane is a flight of fancy, with an unknown and therefore infinitely various destination, encompassing within its frame a universe of possibilities and within its mighty engines the potential to realise them. And I am going to New York. New York. I roll the name around in my head like a sweet, like an incantation or a prayer. Savour it. New York.

*

Some principles of this new era, then, perhaps.

Firstly, approach everything with a sense of awe and humility: awe that such everyday miracles can happen, and humility because such miracles can happen to someone as ill-prepared for them as I am.

Secondly, don't begrudge other people their good luck, talents or abilities, just as one should not blame them for shortcomings that are out of their own control. The only real shortcoming is laziness.

Thirdly, a problem is only a matter of perspective, and perspective can be enhanced by open-mindedness. Unfamiliarity breeds vulnerability, in that one does not have the everyday markers and conventions that signal what is important, and what is not. One is forced to experience everything as acutely as a critical event. But the best way to deal with this is to embrace the opportunities, rather than to be obsessed by the risks, however real they may be.

Fourthly, always be generous. The more people who can benefit from one's effort, the better. Anyway, it's less tiring to give things away than to safeguard them.

And lastly, remember where one comes from. And remember to hope.

CX 716 to Hong Kong

And so it begins.

Going through the actual process of departure is far less glamorous than contemplating it as a hypothetical situation. What one envisions is a scripted leave-taking, picture-perfect and therefore enviable; what one leaves out are the moments of drudgery and tedium, the pre-check-in scramble to repack the luggage so that it fits in with the baggage guidelines, the struggle with bulging packs and bags, the sweat that flows freely, belying the fluster that nags one's mind. And underlying all this is the constant nagging doubt that one has forgotten something crucial, something simple and indispensible, and one will think oneself the consummate idiot once that oversight is discovered.

But once the bags were checked in, and the boarding passes were obtained, everything started to go more smoothly, in the way that I had envisaged, in my idle fantasising moments. After the bags are tagged and have disappeared down the chute, one knows that one is committed to the trip; there can be no turning back now. And, for better or worse, the only real way to counter that nagging doubt is to embark anyway, and find out the hard way whether the doubt is paranoia or prescience. So, once my boarding passes were in hand, I felt a lot more settled, and could turn to the task of taking my leave of my people.

I will not belabour this point: it would be unseemly, crass, too much like bragging. It is enough to say that more people turned up than I had expected, and the send-off that they gave could not have been better. I could not have rightly asked for more - heck, they even threw in a few bars from that Sinatra song! It was exceedingly odd to be escorted to the glass gates, pushing this trolley, and realising that it is actually laden with my stuff, and that this time round I was not sending someone off, but was in fact being sent off. I do feel somewhat bad, really, like making a mountain out of a molehill. But if there ever was a way to say a good goodbye, and if there ever were people who I wanted really to say a good goodbye to at the glass gates, then this would be it. To have friends such as these - this is enough to complete any life.

*

And a part of me misses them already - my family and friends. There were no tears this time, thankfully, for they were quite frankly uncalled for. And yet, the departure definitely affected me deeply. Thinking of what I left behind, the enormity of it all sends pangs through my chest, a sort of clenching that is produced by a mix of fear and yearning. The yearning is for more of the same in the coming days; the fear is my aversion to losing what I share already with my people. I cannot let go; more importantly, I will not let go of these days, these people. This is not a question of moving on. Definitely I will have to move on sooner or later. The crux of the issue lies in whether I can find a way to reconcile what is to come with what is already here, to make the old, familiar friendships complement the new ones, to avoid the situation in which they become mutually exclusive.

Am I trying to have my cake and eat it? Yep, definitely. But then again, how can you choose between an unimaginable potential future and an indispensible past? Making that kind of decision will tear me apart, I think. So, it is not greed but self-preservation that motivates this stand.

*

And after finishing the long goodbye, I got on the plane and things got on to a good start. The flight was scheduled for a 6.30pm departure, but up till takeoff, I did not make the connection between the departure time and the sunset time. And so, as the plane hurtled down southward along the runway and then leapt into the air, the whole scene was suffused with a soft golden light. And as the plane banked left to head north towards Hong Kong, I was treated to a breathtaking view of the city bathed in the slanting rays of the setting sun. I managed to trace out the twin runways of the airport, the Singapore Expo complex and Changi Business Park. I am pretty sure I managed to spot Simei as well, but that may just be wishful thinking, as the plane pulled quickly away, and soon, we were past Ubin and into Malaysia. Nonetheless, it is a nice thought to me to think that my last view of Singapore, and of my home, this year was when it was resplendent in the raiment of a sunset. The view seemed like one last parting gift from the city.

The flight as a whole was charmed by its fortuitous timing. The cabin provided ample legroom, the entertainment system left one spoilt for choice, the food was admirable (especially dessert - Cathay Pacific puts in just that little bit more effort to get everyone ice cream, which I think is a little bit that goes a long way), and the service was excellent. But as far as I was concerned, the biggest show was happening outside, and I would have been just as satisfied flying by JetStar. The view through the porthole was spectacular, and I spent two hours simply watching the sun set from eighty thousand feet in the air.

That vantage point really gives a whole new take to sunsets. Below the plane was a sea of billowing clouds, whereas more ethereal wisps hovered at our altitude. The air above was crystal-clear. All this combined with the low sun produced incredible colours and contrasts, as the sun threw the low cloudtops into stark relief by silhouetting them, and turned the higher clouds incandescent by backlighting them, while the higher altitudes were a deep and royal blue. As the plane soared in and out of clouds, and the colours changed constantly from gold to orange to red to dusky brown, one cannot but be transfixed by the shifting patterns of light. I found myself quite simply in awe. And one gets the distinct feeling that this is God's country.

And afterwards, as the last dull glimmer of the sun faded away and night fell, the plane began its descent to Hong Kong, and the lightshow continued. We approached from Kowloon, bypassing Hong Kong Island to go directly to Lantau. There was low and patchy cloud cover, and for some reason, the clouds were gathered in the valleys that lined the Hong Kong landscape. And Hong Kong, being a city that blazes almost vehemently with light, backlit all these clouds dramatically, turning them yellow or red. At one point, the brilliant neons that line Victoria Harbour lent their colours to the clouds, so that they obtained diffuse tinges of unnatural colours. And at another point, the Turf Club's massive floodlights turned the clouds above it to pure white. And at yet another point, a line of lights outlined the great Tsing Ma Bridge and the expressway it carries from Lantau to Kowlooon. And over all of this, the full moon cast its silver shadow, gently highlighting the cloudtops and reflecting on the water's surface, making an evocative contrast with the incredible lights of the city.

*

All this nearly made me decide to go down to the harbour myself tonight, despite my having to catch an early flight out in a little over seven hours' time. I daresay that, after Singapore, Hong Kong is the city that I am most familiar with. This is a place, too, that has blessed me with special moments, and my impression of it is enriched (some may say biased) by these memories. But it would have been an unspeakable folly to leave the airport. And anyway, if I had left, I would not be able to blog now.

So here I am, in the middle of a deserted food court in Hong Kong International Airport, its usually bustling thoroughfares rendered quiet in the lull of the early morning. I have the whole place to myself; I could sleep on these benches if I wanted to, and I could blast music from this computer with no ill effects. My closest neighbours are construction workers drilling away at some unseen upgrading project. But the objective for tonight is to stay awake, so that I can rewire my system for New York time.

Some people say HKIA is the world's best airport. They do have a point; it certainly is swanky and impressively designed. But I do think that the people who agree with this judgment are by and large first- or business-class travellers, who can cocoon themselves in the premier airline lounges, and who may very well never realise the lack of the basic amenities that make the normal transit passenger's life better, things like free water dispensers and even convenience stores. Changi Airport has all this; whereas HKIA seems to me to be designed to suck money, for the most part. Nevertheless, it is pretty nice here, in my personal zone in this deserted food court. The surroundings are clean, I have free power and the wifi is dependable. Definitely not outfield, this.

Predictably, too, the place is festooned with Olympic promotional materials. HKIA is the gateway to the equestrian events, and anyway, HKIA is in China, so they use Olympic posters somewhat like wallpaper here, plastering them on construction hoardings, billboards, walls and trolleys. So this is my tiny, tangential exposure to the Olympics. I guess even being in the vicinity of the Olympics at this time is something to remark upon; and I am reminded of G, Y's junior, who may have very well watched the very match that had guaranteed Singapore at least a silver in table-tennis. I should buy some Olympic merchandise while I'm here; event-themed shot glasses seem to be the best bet at the moment.

The Brink of Tomorrow

Now, writing on the day of departure, I am all ready to leave. The bags are packed - all four of them, large and small, slung and wheeled - and the weight of twenty years of accumulated meaning is a little over 40kg. I am staying up as late as I can to facilitate the switch in time zones - a total turnaround, since New York is twelve hours behind Singapore. And tomorrow, I will pack a few remaining articles, and my toothbrush, and I will be ready to head to the airport. All the preparations that have taken place up till now, that are still taking place (as this entry is part of the process), are the final stages of the long goodbye. And in some really concrete ways, I am already gone.

The big changes in the littlest things bely the magnitude of the impending shift. I am, for example, leaving behind my old wallet, a leather number that has acquired a permanent sheen from being in continuous use for seven years, full of holes, falling apart, but still so familiar and well-used that the tanned surface feels like part of my own skin. None of the old watches are following me; rather, I am bringing all the new 21-year-birthday watches, shiny, impressive and confident numbers that I feel I have yet to grow into. On the other hand, some things remain the same, linger on for a while more. My sole literary concession to the past is Iyer's The Lady and the Monk. My faithful tote bag from the days of Taipei, the canvas having borne the dust and sunlight of many travels and memorable occasions, is also following me to New York. A heavy jacket that last saw the light of day in Lyon, France, six years ago is accompanying me as an indispensible essential item once again.

Such is this departure, then: based firmly on a foundation formed by the past, and facing the future steadfastly; I stand solidly upon my memories, in order to be fully committed to the future. I remember, to hope - and I remember to hope. And it is clear that, on the brink of tomorrow, the memories I carry with me, the mementos that linger on with me, are tools with which to construct and interpret new moments of exhilaration and new additions to my perspective in the days and months to come.

And, ultimately, the hope is to be able to make a good return: that is, to fully appreciate how far you've come. Over the intervening period, things would have changed in me, and in the places and the people that I am leaving behind for the moment; but the hope is not that the changes don't happen, but that they don't happen all at the same time, so that there remains a measure of commonality between remembered experience and the present situation. This forms a sort of landmark, a spot height, from which one can measure the full extent of one's growth, and the distance one has travelled. A good return is thus about self-discovery rather than rediscovery; it is about gaining a more acute awareness of the direction of one's life, with respect to where one has come from.

And as I stand on the brink of tomorrow, eagerly looking forward to the end of the waiting, for this new adventure to begin properly - even as I yearn, starstruck, in this breathtaking state of ignorance, in awe of the opportunities and unaware of the dangers - even as I look forward to the good goodbye that I hope will happen tomorrow - a part of me is already trying to imagine what a good return from New York can be like.

*

And so far, it has been a good goodbye, I think - a splendid goodbye, one that has let me savour it, one that I feel has done due justice to everything that has built up to this. The last few days have been absolutely beautiful, the light intense and sharp on this well-loved place, so that every vista seemed to burn with meaning, and every scene seemed to me to be yearning to be remembered, and carried away to another place in one's heart of hearts. And today started in a similar vein. It being a day of obligation for Catholics, got up early to take a walk to the nearest church, where a spartan mass for people who had yet to start the working day was taking place. It was a bare-bones mass, stripped down and therefore more incisive, I felt. And then, in the golden light of 7am, I took a slow walk back to Simei, and stopped at the local kopitiam for breakfast.

A soft morning, then, made up of a walk through the soft light, sounds filtering through the cool air softly. Soft boiled eggs and a sweet, warm drink for breakfast; soft toast with kaya. The voices of a group of aged friends lowered, soft in the trading of daily gossip. The trains gliding overhead along the concrete viaducts, the thrums and hums softened by the solid bulk, awakening memories of waking up to those familiar whirrs and clicks - mechanical good-mornings.

Later in the day, went out for one last lunch of the season. Met with C again, and went prata-hunting along Thomson Road, and between the two of us, we gave into temptation and ordered too much food, so that the heartwarming sight of a table covered in edibles became a little daunting. And after that excellent lunch, went down to Borders and indulged myself by picking up the new Theroux book along with a guide to New York. It was a sequel to The Great Railway Bazaar, a book that is fondly remembered for being my faithful companion during Army training in Taiwan. There was no question about getting it. And later that evening, ended up in a cinema, watching the new Singapore Film, Jack Neo's Money No Enough 2, with family. It was a show that was in essence a 159-minute soap opera episode, and yet, it was done with such an exuberance and eagerness that was endearing in their guilelessness. Its honest effort elevates the movie into something that is surprisingly worth watching.

And so, this day forms the capstone to the long goodbye to this place. How can I properly say how much all this has meant to me? The words are dulled by tiredness (it is 3am, and I have been up for almost 21 hours now), and also by the usual aversion to sentimentalisation. But I can say this much: now, standing as I am on the brink of tomorrow, when I look back over the instants and events of the past year, at the incredible coincidences, the unexpected surprises, the heartwarming reassurances, the people, the conversations, I am hit by an intense clenching in the chest. It surprises me that the feeling is so intense, this nostalgia for some precious thing, now past, mixed with the fear of losing this experience forever with this departure. And yet, it would be positively criminal, I think, to care less than this for what has preceded today.

Thank you all, then, for your well-wishes, your help, your teaching and your patience. And know that I will remember all this.

*

I will try to write once more, before departing, but on the off-chance that errands and real-life farewells crowd out the time to record, let me leave some details:

My new mailing address is now on my Facebook profile. I will be at Termina One from 3pm onwards. I will probably not be back until July next year. And at latest, I will write again, come Sunday night in New York.

Bluesky

Yesterday night, went down to Bukit Timah to this cute little joint called Bar Bar Black Sheep, an establishment with good background music tastefully reduced in volume to be ambient without demanding the attention of patrons, and with Stella, Hoegaarden and something else on tap at remarkably low prices (for Singapore standards, at least). Got together with quite a few of the dudes from the secondary school days, and spent the evening laughing over old stories and new scandals. It was a really refreshing feeling, to once again feel at ease enough to range over topics of conversation that are at once inspired, and at other times lewd. It takes a specially acute form of engagement to participate in such conversations that jump from the philosophical to the profane with such speed and dexterity. And it takes a certain special faith in the friendships around the table, a chronic willingness to take nothing personally, to sustain one in such conversations.

Do people usually have conversations like this? I would like to think so, but the eclectic combination of personalities among these people seem to indicate that this form of synergy is less common than it should be. The sheer uniqueness of the circumstances that brought us together and kept us together defies chance itself to reproduce them in another group - and I say this with a feeling of regret rather than elitism. In other words, though I hope that I will find friends of like minds and hearts in the future, I cannot avoid the apparent conclusion that I will never again make friends who are like these. I hope this conclusion is wrong; but I cannot avoid making it.

And certainly, I will miss this kind of conversing - the good-natured sparring, the teasing that would be seen as vicious except through the lens of our shared past, the stark contrast between the sophistication of the points made and the language used to make them. I will miss the artistry, the easy camaraderie, the uncanny spontaneity. And these conversations will join a long list of other memorable encounters, over the years, along rivers, on long walks, near the seaside, over dinners, over drinks, over books, in the midst of both anxiety and celebration, on the eve of departures, and on the cusp of reunions. I remember these encounters, and they sustain the hope that more of the same kind will come in the next few years.

*

Today, I reckon, was the last of the full-day outings of this season, and it was a spectacular day, a bluesky day that was so clear that it stuns one into stopping to stare at the sky. It was a sky that inspires poetry, that empowers the imagination with a sense of deep wonder. And in this city of small spaces, a sky like that liberates one's spirit by being so wide, so open.

Went back to school for one last time, and it was good to be able to see old colleagues and my old classes again. It does remind me of those days, days filled with conjuring lessons out of thin air, days spent griping over grades, days spent in awe of work that made me feel redundant, and thankfully so. Days which I still count as the most worthwhile days of this year so far. And it was good to see that everyone was still carrying on fine, from the teachers to the students. It is comforting to see that the transition from my lessons to those of a real teacher has taken place without hitches; and, I find myself once again drawing an inordinate amount of solace from the fact that I have been easily replaced. It feels to me like my job has finally been completed in full.

And after meeting as many people as I could, went down to URA to complete some paperwork. Picked up a hefty sum of money in the form of a bank draft, meant to tide me through the first four months in New York, and handed over some accounts to be reimbursed. That part was straightforward enough. Also clarified some conditions imposed upon my programme in Columbia, and have discovered, somewhat to my dismay, that my options are in fact more limited than I thought. It turns out that, really, the best perspective with which to approach my university course is really as vocational training for the job that's waiting for me in 2012. So long, then, fanciful plans to take random courses in film or Spanish. It was a tad disappointing - it still is, I think - to realise that in effect, I had to approach this course as an employee rather than as a student. But, after all, I figure that it really was a job that I signed up for when I signed the deed, and this revelation is not an injustice to work against but a set of circumstances to work within. After all, if my bottom line for these 3.5 years is for the time to be spent enrichingly, it is better to spend the time working with the system rather than rebelling against it. That part may come in later.

Popped into the office to look for old colleagues who made my seven weeks at URA so pleasant. It felt great to be back there too; and I was reminded yet again that, after all, there are good pe€ople working in this organisation, and no matter how tough the system in the organisation may be, good coworkers tend to make everything worthwhile in the end. And among all the nice things that you can get out of working life, good colleagues must rank among the most important.

After that, took a bus down to Borders in Orchard to meet up with Mrs. N and Mr. L, two old teachers, the latter of which has been studying for his doctorate in Stanford for the last two years, and as a result I had not seen him since...well, since graduating from CHS. But this was one of those perspective-shaping teachers, one of the breed of real "O Captain, my Captain"s upon which the Dead Poets' Society was based. And now, after my stint relief teaching at CHS, and his stint as a (postgraduate, but nevertheless...) student in Stanford, we could talk about a lot more things, and the three of us had a therapeutic session expounding on the scandals in staffroom politics, the direction of education in general and the antics that we used to get up to in class. Years ago, our classroom interactions had already been remarkably...cutting-edge, I guess. But now, after these years of experience on all sides, we could approach one another with even more common ground, and it was a pleasant surprise to discover how easily all this fell into place.

And, over the course of the day, a strange idea occurred to me. What with so many people sending the customary well-wishes, enquiring inquisitively about life over there, and reminiscing about salad days, I am starting to feel as if I am expected to enjoy myself there - in the sense that it is a requirement that I must fulfill on their behalf. In other words, it is my responsibility to like it there, and to come back laden with remarkable stories and experiences. I know that all this is at least partially attributable to social convention, and that it is presumptious to think that it means something more. And yet, it does bring out one important point, I think: insofar as enjoyment in a set of circumstances can be generated by force of will, it will be positively criminal not to do everything in one's power to enjoy it.

And Then

...and so, now that departure is within sight, I am going through my last week here at home, with the acute awareness that I am probably visiting all these places, doing all these things, seeing all these people, for the last time in a year. It still strikes me as incredible, this impending and total shift in environment, the most fundamental shift in the assumptions that make everyday life possible since enlistment. It is something unimaginable, unthinkable: and so, in the empty black void into which the experience of the next year will go, I now fill with fanciful ideas from what I read and what I see, vicariously. And I have grown used to these fantasy images of what college life is like, of what life in New York is like, and to contemplate that the fantasies will transmute into reality soon is still something incredible to me. The inertia of familiarity and habit tugs strongly at me.

But anyway - for all those who are concerned, I am returning to Chinese High tomorrow from ten onwards, one last time in my old school before going to my new school. I am also returning to URA later that afternoon to complete some administrative tasks, and perhaps to pop in at the Physical Planning office for a while. And though my flight is scheduled to depart on Saturday only at 6.30pm, my intention is to go through the glass gates at Terminal 1 by 4.30pm, partly because I want to get this whole process of relocation started as soon as possible, but also because I want to take this rare chance to explore T3 before I go.

Add to this the daily excursions for meals with old friends, scattered packing, and preparatory reading for next week (yep, we aren't even official students yet and the school's already given us homework), and you have a general impression of how these final days will play out. Of course, everything is still steeped in the acute awareness brought on by a feeling of finality - and yet, it seems rather underwhelming for the final pre-departure week, if you list it out like that. Maybe it would be more poetic, more artistically fitting, if I were to spend every day wandering the streets of this well-loved city, torn between my wanderlust and a nascent homesickness, enthralled and heartbroken equally by the prospect of departure.

But then again, this is an idealised version of events, borne out of the ame sources that gave me those fanciful ideas of New York and Columbia. That would b a goodbye fit for a biographic film, a regular tear-jerker. That option is not open to me; rather, I have the long goodbye, a leave-taking from this place that is characterised by slow walks and open eyes, a feeling of amazement and amusement at the incidental things that this city throws at me. Does it make sense that this way of leaving means more to me, precisely because it doesn't mean anything to the place I am leaving? Singapore will continue to exist after I am gone; and somehow I find myself taking a surprising amount of solace from that.

I guess it's also the same idea with old friendships and connections: the biggest solace is not from a showy and cathartic farewell, but from the assurance that the old friendships and connections will still persist even when we are all gone. Then, there is no loss in departing. Then, departing loses its preeminent fearsomeness. A good goodbye, then, is not so much about saying a proper goodbye, but more about laying the foundations for the next reunion. Rather than being a resolution to what has happened up to that point, a goodbye is thus a resolution to meet again in the future: an act of faith, and an expression of confidence in the relationship that has led up to this, and what is to come.

This, then, I think, is the meaning behind the last send-off of this season for me, as we went down to the airport to send Y's junior G on her way to the Olympics (the lucky git!). Standing in the expansive, cool space in Terminal 3, looking at the plasma screens with their magic-word names that are really incantations to transport you in a flight of fantasy, and seeing a flight to New York - not mine - and the flight that some of my other friends will be on to go to Paris, I suddenly had this image of what Saturday would be like. Not an end, but the beginnings of a beginning. Not the capstone that is the finishing touch on an era of friendships that is fading away, but the foundations for the continuation of that era.

*

...and this departure seems to me to also be a mind-boggling trip through time. Two years ago, when my people started to depart for their studies, strewn across continents and oceans, I had had the feeling of having been left behind, stuck on a dead end, on a path through NS that was tangential to where I wanted to go. Since then, that path had become better integrated into the greater scheme of things, or at least I would like to think so. But now, finally on the eve of my own departure, I realise that some people have changed over the last two years, having faced experiences that I cannot even begin to imagine in an environment that defies my conceptualisation. And so, to some extent, this departure is now an attempt to finally catch up with these people, to make up for time that has been spent elsewhere.

And reading the introductions of my fellow CUE (that's the community-service programme that is letting me go to New York a week earlier) participants, I also have an eerie sense of having to step back in time as well. These people are young, mostly younger than me (whereas in 6SIR I was among the youngest in the unit). It is folly to fault them for being younger, and yet I cannot help but notice the difference in perspectives and attitudes. The proliferation of exclamation marks and onomatopaeia in their self-introductions; the urgency and even impatience that I read in their short paragraphs and sentences; the rambling content that speaks of the beguiling spontaneity of their lives, the exploding richness of every event that baffles someone who tries to record it sequentially. The breathlessness of being on the very cusp of life, on the very forefront of their endeavours. The youthful self-satisfaction at the impression of having accomplished all this by one's own strength. The faith in a sense of entitlement that is impressive in its intensity, and yet disturbing in its narrowness.

It does worry me that I feel that I have outgrown all this. It seems like a sign that I will have trouble getting fully involved in all the happenings in undergraduate life, that I will far too easily dismiss perfectly understandable indulgences as frivolous and childish. And it is clear that this is a problem with my own perspective, rather than with their approach to life. Thankfully, though, since the problem lies in myself, it makes it more likely that I can solve this myself. Nevertheless, I have no real idea of how to even begin to correct this defect in my perspective. And time is running out.

T-Minus

International affairs suddenly started brewing over the weekend. First, Georgia is invaded by Russia, and I find myself following this story with a sort of dreadful fascination, unavoidably imagining myself as one of those Georgian infantrymen retreating from the ridiculously overpowered Russian invasion force. This is one lasting side-effect of the Army period: now I can read battlefields technically, rather than only vicariously, and therefore "artistically". I can begin to comprehend the mechanics of warfare; I imagine it is like discovering exactly how a poison shuts down a human body, and finding yourself perversely intrigued by the process. And one wonders, as one watches the Georgian president plainitively appealing (even begging) for a ceasefire with the Russians, what it would be like if Singapore was on the receiving end of an invasion.

And second, there is the opening of the Olympics. Wasn't at home to catch it, and thus missed what I hear was an absolutely spectacular show. And, accompanying it, was an outpouring of Asian nationalism so intense that it was rather shocking to me. Singaporeans, who had always been told to be Singaporean first and to identify with their ethnicity second, seemed inordinately proud of the Chinese accomplishment; even historical enmities between China and Vietnam, Korea and Japan were put aside as Asia gazed at Beijing lit up by citywide fireworks. It certainly has signified that China is definitely on the rise on the world stage, and I guess it is natural for anyone who is an audience to such a spectacle to want to be a supporter of its producer, rather than an opponent to it. But really, what right has the rest of Asia to be proud of the Chinese spectacular? Most of them did not add their efforts to the show, and China did not take up the Olympics as a representative of Asia (as far as I know - though I may be wrong about the Olympics not holding some sort of Chinese Pan-Asian aspirations). It is as valid as claiming a reward by birthright; it strikes me as a very feudal sort of thinking.

On the same ticket, the criticisms of China's policies that are tacked on to the end of Western coverage of China's Olympics seems to me to be equally artificial; the criticisms strike me as having the somewhat tired air of an obligation being carried out, as if the West, by default, has to find fault with China just because they cannot claim some sort of kinship with the Chinese achievement. The coverage at times strikes me as rather disappointing (as if we cannot remember by ourselves China's Tibetan issue and Sudanese involvement, but must rely on the media to keep these in the public consciousness), or presumptious (as if the endless reminders will actually contribute to any concrete improvement on any of the issues). Basically, credit should be given where credit is due; and both the Asian attempt to claim affinity with the Chinese achievement and the Western tendency to belittle it deny the Chinese that due credit for achieving something special on the 8th of August.

*

But anyway, closer to home, watched the National Day Parade last night with extended family, who had gathered for the sort of party that we usually do not see at my place until Christmas. I have to say that the parade was a tad of a let-down, not least because everyone was comparing it to the Beijing extravaganza, and pointing out the inadequacies at Marina Bay. Also, approaching it as I did with the awareness that I was departing in a week's time, I had also approached it with the expectation of something more memorable.

Generally, the parade did not deliver on that front- is it just me or are National Day Parades becoming even more painfully self-conscious as the years go by? Close-ups of performers show expressions that seem to cry out mutely: "What am I doing out here, dressed as a rainbow-hued cockatoo in the middle of the rain?" On the screen was not so much nationalist fervour as existentialist angst at being forced to be part of an absurdist performance that seems to be carried out more due to obligation than passion. This is, of course, not to slight the very real dedication that the participants put into the performance once they came to terms with the fact that they were involved in it, for better or worse, and that they'd better make it for the better, lest all their time is wasted. There should be no question of the kind of technical skill that can be mobilised from these people regardless of their philosopical standpoint; there is a kind of professional resignation and detachment that is heartwarming in itself too. But I do think that, as Singaporean society matures and comes to contemplate what position it wants to occupy in the wider world, it is inevitable that it should look at these yearly extravaganzas self-reflexively, and wonder whether such behaviour is becoming of a society that wants to show itself as cosmopolitan, complex and free.

Well, nevertheless, I have to say I was rather amused at the way everyone was so sharp about pointing out the flaws and shortfalls in the parade. There is a sort of genuine sincerity in the Singaporean style of complaining, the barb of the very real perceptiveness tempered by a natural resignation borne of te default ssumption that the complaining would never make any concrete difference. As such, even the most valid critical observations tend to come wrapped in a disarming sense of triviality, an almost instinctive readiness to indulge a lack of improvement, that tends to portray the complaints as harmless and meant in good fun rather than in earnestness. This is something I think I will miss - this seemingly instinctual ability not to take important remarks seriously. As such, I think perhaps the earnestness of Westerners in their emphasis on freedom of expression, and their tendency to debate everything as if every statement had equal validity, may be rather grating after a while...

Heh well, cynicism aside, I do expect that I will continue to watch National Day Parades no matter where I am in the world. After all, there is a more innocent, younger part of me that still delights in the simple pleasures of mass unity, in the instinct-level appeal to a sense of belonging to a larger group. This is the part that enjoys immensely joining in with fellow watchers in "Wah's" of amazement at the fireworks, that hums along when the classic National Day songs are played, that urges me to my feet during the pledge-taking, even as a more cynical part of me tries to disguise this standing up as a bout of stretching. This is the part that knows the meaning behind the simple words: "This is my country; this is my flag. This is my future; this is my life. This is my family; these are my friends."

*

And with that, I enter the last week before departure. August is well and truly here; and it is time to start packing. I made a list today of all the things that I want to pack, and it doesn't seem to amount to much: clothing, footwear, electronics, reads, toiletries, decorative items. I will bring everything that everyone has given me for the trip. And yet, I find that I will quite possibly be able to squeeze everything into the duffel bag that we got in the Army, and that everything may yet come under the 20kg weight limit. What does it mean, when twenty years of living in the same spot only produces a bagful of essential items that must be brought along in a major shifting of domiciles? Isn't it proper to instead be caught up in the painful decision about what to leave behind, rather than wondering about what else is worth bringing along?

Perhaps this is a symptom of cold, unrelenting practicality, which is able to even sacrifice sentimental value to the goal of ultimate efficiency. And, certainly, I've been contemplating this departure for so long that I practically worked out the packing list last year, which frankly would make such agonising over priorities redundant. But I would like to think, rather, that the things that are really of value to me are things that don't take up space in a duffel bag: pictures, memories and, most importantly, the continuation of old relationships in new contexts. It is a recognition, then, that material things are merely symbols of meaning, and if one can keep a firm hold on the meaning that gives the material thing its value, then the thing itself is valueless and thus dispensible.

Anyway, went out for dinner with Y again, finding out that the Katong laksa at Marina Square's food court does a decent impression of the original in Katong. After that, went for the performance at the spanking new outdoor theatre at the Esplanade. We were treated to excellent covers of classic tunes by a band who apparently has been together for "three and a half decades". Certainly, the skill and camaraderie of those well-spent years showed through on the stage. The music was pounding so powerfully that I could feel the hairs on my arms being buffeted by the sound; and the performance did something really rare: it convinced a Singaporean to get up and dance (agogo, no less!).

But tonight was made doubly special for being the first time in almost two years that I've attended a performance at the outdoor theatre, because it has been under refurbishment for that time. It had been my favourite spot on the River; and, looking through the new latticework of light booms and arches at the city skyline at dusk, I am reminded again of what had captured me at that spot, and of all the friends who had shared that spot. And once the new Marina Bay developments are done, the outdoor theatre will have a stunning backdrop of architecture and lights. Already, from that spot, the city looks so cloying and enticing; once the rest of the construction is done, I wonder whether anyone will be able to resist the feeling of standing in the midst of the city on a weekend evening. I admit: I do have high hopes for the area, founded upon a perspective biased by the URA. But I also find myself in the happy position of being able to fully expect those hopes to be fulfilled.

And so, this is the nearly-complete outdoor theatre, with the darkened weekend skyline in the background. And remember, these shots are not so much good pictures of scenes, as they are pictures of good scenes. I only happen to be at the right place at the right time: the rest - the colours, composition and context - are a gift from the city itself.

The Long Goodbye

Spent the last two days in a bout of photography and videography, making records that I expect will come in useful when I need to tide over the cold, gray North American winters that I've heard so much about. Ultimately, the intention is to bring as complete a visual record as possible of all the places in Singapore that are meaningful to me. It is a process of catching up with old connections, tidying up loose ends, rediscovering forgotten links; it is a process of reconciliation. As KHwee rather presciently pointed out before, I find the future's meaning in terms of the past, and in order to give this particular future as solid a foundation as possible, I have partaken in this long goodbye to this city.

Today, went down to the Esplanade to grab a few more videos for an upcoming project. To my surprise, I found that the outdoor theatre, a long-time favourite spot for me, had finally been rebuilt and reopened, after a year of delay. Now, it's a more imposing structure; it seems to have lost some of its elegance in the process of expansion. Nevertheless, it was with warmth in my heart that I regarded the new structure, and now I find myself looking forward to more concerts and performances in the sunset, against the much-loved skyline.

And the skyline this evening was particularly splendid. Usually, I can't rightly find a reason to be on the bayside at sunset, and when I do find the time to go down, I've found that, lately, the weather has not been conducive to spectacular colorations. But this evening was markedly different. There was plenty of cloud cover, but there was also a strong wind, so the clouds were scudding across the sky quickly, and here and there, the wind tore holes in the clouds, so that the slanting sunset rays of the sun could spear through in luminous beams. And, right on time, at seven-oh-seven, the lights of the city started to show through the gathering dusk. You look away from the skyline for a minute, and when you clap eyes on it again, you can notice the change in colours; and the time of day gives way to the time of light.

So, spent a good hour gazing at this familiar sight being transfigured by the shifting light, taking shots with my little camera every now and then. It filled me with wonder, just like it used to, two years ago, when I was writing elsewhere. After all this time, the city still casts such a spell on me. Watching it go through its transitions - so splendidly and yet so unselfconsciously, its beauty merely an incidental byproduct of the many intersecting and hidden purposes of the people who inhabit it and enliven it - watching all this, I find myself once again filled with a sense of deep wonder and contentment. I feel lucky to have been in the right place and at the right time to witness something like this. I feel that where I was and where I needed to be coincided this evening, in an instant of rare clarity of purpose. I feel (and I know this sounds presumptious, but still...) that I and the city were on the same wavelength, carrying out a conversation; or at least, that I could just understand the meaning in what I saw this evening.

And, as far as the long goodbye goes, I feel that tonight's view was the city's own farewell to me; a parting gift, if you will.

Is this a bit too fanciful an interpretation?

*

Speaking of parting...had lunch with YS at Newton Circus on Thursday. Newton Circus, the first venue of the large-scale class reunions from secondary school, before it was reconstructed and became tourist-pricey, was largely closed, it being lunchtime and the tourists still being cooped up in the city. Nonetheless, got my hands on a plate of rather good duck noodles, and another cup of sugar cane juice, thereby fulfilling another pre-departure food craving.

And over lunch, we talked about the States (since she's there this year on exchange, and thus has been one of my primary sources of what life after departure is like), and I slowly came to terms with the fact that this is the last time I'll see her before going off. For the second time in the week, the departure date, so much anticipated and longed for, has loomed as a sort of experiential terminus, a clean break with a present that is already well on its way to becoming part of the past. It still boggles my mind that this year, I am on the other side of the equation, since my earlier departure date puts me before the glass gates at the airport before anyone else I know. It feels strange to have to go around saying proper goodbyes to everyone, to consider whether every meeting may be the last, and to properly tie things up in a setting that is not the airport departure level. I have always regarded people as present up till the moment they step through the departure gates, and to bid farewell over a meal seems premature, somehow.

And it doesn't really matter that, after all, my departure this time round will only be as permanent as their departures in previous years; that is to say, sooner or later, we will meet again, either Stateside or back in Singapore. Although I know others will be going to the States to study as well, the departure date still seems like a blank wall to me, a cutoff point. I think it is because I don't know what the future will hold for me - I can't even begin to guess. As such, whereas previous years have been dominated by the worry that I would be welcoming back people who have changed so much as to become effectively strangers again, this time round, I find myself ironically worrying that I may change so much that I would also find all these old acquaintances as quaint as strangers.

Anyway, all this is rather new to me, and I do find that these de facto sendoffs in everyday environments bother me, on the one hand, because they signify the acknowledgement of and submission to the unknown that is looming ahead of me, and, on the other hand, because they are somewhat embarrassing. After all, the departure isn't really so momentous as I make it out to be in these writings; it can't be. So, on the one hand, I appreciate deeply everyone's well-wishes, and on the other hand, I have no idea how to rightly accept them, or even if I should accept them in this way.

*

And tonight, coming out of a dinner with my uncle's family, there is an all-pervasive feeling of self-consciousness. Running through my usual repertoire of pre-departure topics, laughing about childhood memories, and inviting them to visit in the winter, I couldn't help feeling that, on a certain level, I am conning them into thinking that this departure is more significant than it really is. And, in a certain sense, this sort of feting is a form of distancing as much as it is a form of lauding, in that this may be seen as a social obligation that has to be fulfilled before the social ties can be neatly cauterised.

And tomorrow, the rest of the extended family is gathering, in effect for a large-scale going-away party. I don't know what to make of it, really. I don't think all this is called for, or that I rightly deserve this. It makes me feel bad to compel them to go out of their way like this, and it makes me feel as if I owe it to them to live up to the hype. But I guess all this is really irrational worrying, fundamentally. If anything can survive the trauma of departure, then it would be familial ties. I can't even seriously consider the possibility of becoming estranged from my family, so all this griping is really a form of self-satisfaction of my tendency to think that carefree moments are a prelude to catstophes caused by carelessness.

I wonder, though, how the others are dealing with this - how the others have dealt with this in the past. Was it as cringe-worthy for them, so that when the time to depart came, they ran the gauntlet of friends and family lining the way to the glass gates with suppressed haste, and crossed the immigration line with a sense of nostalgia mixed with a not insignificant amount of relief? Perhaps the key to defusing that discomfort is to remember what it is like to be on the other side of the equation: the longing to accompany the one who is leaving, the wholesome and unresentful envy, the feeling of obligation to make it a special occasion, and the sincere feeling that the social obligation should be transmuted into something memorable through voluntary and additional effort, because the friendship with the one who is leaving warrants it. A good departure is a good catharsis for both sides; it is important to remember this.

*

But for some other people, there is still time to meet again in the remaining seven days before departure. Got C to agree to a food foray into Geylang on Wednesday evening. I was looking for one last taste of a childhood classic, Yong He Tau Huay, and I was pleasantly surprised that it was also a childhood staple for C too. So we set out into the lorongs and five-foot-ways of the notorious food street, discovering to our dismay that the stall had moved, and rediscovering it to our relief further up the road, in an expanded premises.

The beancurd sold at Yong He is simply comfort food, warm and silky, and going well with their homemade you tiao, the beancurd combining with the oily fried dough in a sort of alchemy that summons memories and a deep satisfaction founded on an awareness of returning to a comfortable place. Also introduced her to the other fare at the stall: besides their renowned beancurd, they also sell snacks that I'm told are Taiwanese in origin, though I've never come across them in Taiwan, things like pork floss biscuits and you tiao wrapped in glutinous rice.

And this being the first time that I was eating there without my family, the feeling of returning to childhood was combined with a feeling of growing up, in that we could now seek out these memories ourselves, independent from our families. Spent a long time there talking about plans for the coming year, and Vietnam, and the possibility of meeting, somehow, Stateside. These are conversations that I will miss - conversations that are distinguished by their ease and frankness, that develop organically, founded upon a solid and mutual awareness of where we stand.

Thankfully, though, it is perhaps not yet time to say this summer's goodbye to C, and to other people who I still look forward to meeting in the coming week. This, I think, is what I would like next week to shape up as: meal after fantastic meal, conversation after memorable conversation. The long goodbye to the city is well under way; for my people, though, the goodbyes cannot be as luxurious; but they must be done properly all the same. And I think this is the right way to go about doing it.