Permanence

It's the year 2009. I've just returned to London, after eating my way through 3 glorious weeks in Singapore. I had all the food I missed, played with Gawain, lazed with family, met all the friends that mattered. Countdown was at Tuvo at the National Museum, I attended a wedding and a wake, and managed to get a tan. It always amazes me how one can make new friends when least expected, and friends you thought you knew well abruptly posture in ways that disappoint.

When I was 18 I would repeat my name endlessly to myself, especially whilst walking to school. I used it as a mantra against all forms of self-doubt, something that was at the time so necessary and pressing. 10 years on, I no longer do this, having settled snugly into the mould of identity. I'm closer than ever now to who I want to be, and I must believe that not too much has eroded away through this constant and inexorable pairing down.

I took many photos this trip back, mainly of the little scenes I will miss during the stay away from home. The Chinese New Year stalls, emblazened in red and gold, the bird cages in the blocks of Clementi, the river and its webbed pylons over Clarke Quay, sun and clouds streaming past the roofs of flats in Bukit Batok, the midnight hawker centre at Holland Village. But my favourite is this: the monk waiting for the train, probably thinking about the most mundane of things but looking for all the world as if he were meditating upon a lotus dais. There is still such a gulf between reality and dreams, and I think that in this regard some things never change.