one of our early road to singapore walks, in march 2015. wrote this soon after the walk. punggol apparently means “hurling sticks at the branches of fruit trees to bring them down to the ground” in malay. it also may refer to a wholesale market for fruits and vegetables. i had never heard of this area in the northeast of singapore till one day someone spoke of the wonderful seafood you get out there. a couple of years later, i…
the house was beautiful. through the trees and the railings, beyond the shrubs and plants in the garden, i could see intricate white plaster work on grey. pillars, walls, portico… i couldn’t get a look at the entire house, but whatever was visible had such an air of a gracious time. it was so very pretty. i’d never seen something like it, the white work was fine and intricate, elegant on the grey background. looked like someone took great care…
a feeling i guess doesn’t lie. nor does grass gently rolling down the slope; nor do flowers by silent stones, nor stones standing in rows, saying things that i hope i heard. there was a watchfulness about the sky… as if it wanted to know something. for some reason, i wanted to go to the war cemetery at kranji around remembrance day this year. i say for some reason because i’ve never been too aware of the second world war…
style. you really are born with it. i stared at the building sitting elegant and gorgeous on a plot of land most unremarkable with deserted paths and green patches all around, barbed wire fences, not a soul in sight. behind it rose the towers and skyscrapers of a modern city, in front of it was the brand new indoor stadium with its gleaming retractable roof and other swish things. yet, all i could see and what was making me grin…