Roma

'We are in a painted room, rising from a new world. Here, there are no mirrors, only eyes. Only a trunkful of vinyl & the clicking of hearts in the insides of ears. In the course of the night the world has already changed remarkably & yet you & I have remained almost exactly the same which is sad but also very beautiful. You open your mouth & taste the edges of the day that is yet to come, so warm & so bare. This is the space we have come to inhabit or the space love inhabits or the space the idea of love inhabits. All around us, words settle like flecks of dark chocolate. I say, it's this part I enjoy most, the morning arguments about nothing at all. Is it only the conversation you like? Well no, but I like it best. Like the fizz that spills over a tall glass of root beer. You laugh. So stick out your tongue. Morning peeks through, & then floods. One cannot help but feel walled in, familiar as the shadows that lie on the floor may be, or however lovely the comfort offered by hollowed bed cocoons may be, because after all a room is a room is a room & a room must have walls. You are usually a person filled with light, very much of zeal but today you have gone to seed. Lie down and talk to me, you plead but already your eyes are like dark caves & once again you are alone in sleep. So I leave. Outside, the city throbs and I try very hard to be in the same vein, weaving through oceans of people & its smells; buildings sweating with toil & the crisp metallic tang of pavement stones. I ache for something else altogether. Nature, maybe. Anywhere away from here. In this crowd, I can't help thinking: If I cried out now, would anyone stop? Would anyone hear me? Perhaps I should have stayed with you. You, who are so young, not quite ripe, not a boy but certainly not a man yet. Now we will be children together, that is what you said when we met, when I was still not yet sewn into the fabric of this landscape. The tender flesh of the inside of a tomato, a song made out of milk & honey, racing profiles & patterns across a darkened room, intoxicated by liquor & the promises of a night forgotten before it can be created. Skin & a lock of hair... could you carry me off to an unfamiliar room? I wonder if I would ever again have the opportunity to fall in love with a stranger. Universes & fragments... Suddenly I want you here with me very, very badly. Mi amado, de alguna manera nuestras formas encajan...

Even when I walk the streets alone, I wear your love like a soft scarf.

The darkening sky will soon sweep the light away. Tonight we will go out & take in, inhale this territory still so foreign to me. Perhaps you will take me dancing after, or for a music show in a clandestine loft only we & a few know of, where the air is stale but the sound is fresh. When the bass kicks in, perhaps the crowd might surge with the exhilaration that lasts only for a span of a song. Perhaps, when we fall back onto the sheets together & ride the soft velvet waves back into dream, the city will feel more like home.'

Summer camp

'Whitewashed minds. Delicate old men with nondescript faces. And all these people. So tired, you had to lie flat on your stomach & bury your face in grass but it was alright because you were young & beautiful. I was there too. I opened my eyes & saw only green & for a few minutes or hours or days, my world only existed in one magnificent colour, how I wished it was turquoise instead but then you said we are miles from the sea & the only blue I ever wanted was in eyes. Take me seriously, because the lights are fading & time is wasting away & it all comes down to this: I will love you if you let me. If you love me, let me know.'

(October 2012)

Everything looks different in rain

Like life, I am unhinged, as large
In an apartment high above
with streaked windows like doors
This dream becomes solid as
the ground I stand on
Lick my fingers clean of an unconscious song


Shadows lengthen & shorten
till stars are punched out in the sky
hands against hands
and so we go
on ships that sail only across bedspreads
Maps.


Joyful,
so we are joyful together,
lovers will be the same forever.

Paris, 1899

A continuation from here. 

Take time & imagine

A landscape, like hands, warm

& a plane melting into clouds

silently & beautifully as we watch

from down below,

Rose.

Imagine

A scene, like a film, unfolding

enfolding, embracing

tasting like mulled wine, in my mouth

on an autumn day

Cold tongues licking cold ice-creams

A divot, in the glass, in the kaleidoscope, in eyes

Colours aflame

Don't look,

see.

People in graceful waves

These houses must be made of paper, I'm sure

Buildings transform into

shades,

& well

There are a hundred ways to look at the city

but I like my view the best of all.

By the river

the birds cry out,

& the river begins to sing.

________________________________________________

A lot of the time, for me, poetry comes out of a single moment of intense emotion & flows out as if it were seamless dialogue between people. The greatest instance of this happening was in Paris last year, on a three-week-long backpacking trip with two dear friends. I remember we were sitting on the left side of the River Seine, taking photographs & savouring salted caramel & vanilla ice-creams that we had bought with the last of our money. Paris, in all its romanticism & sepia tones & language with its elegant twists & turns, is an inspiration in itself. I remember that it was very cold & the wind was very harsh (even though it was summer) & we were all laughing at the irony of eating ice-cream in such freezing weather, & the very posh & reserved Parisians were looking crossly at us but we didn't care & laughed anyway, & it was all very beautiful & at that moment I started making leaps into my notebook & scribbled masses of words, lines, stanzas. It was just a pity, to not capture that single moment in time on paper, if you know what I mean. I sent it home on a postcard to my family the very next day.

There's a lot that goes into the process of writing poetry, the conscious or unconscious aspect of it all, that's become very interesting to me. Over the course of this semester, I've realised that writers basically fall into two groups: those who sit down & dedicate a portion of their day to writing & mulling over ideas, carefully constructing poems over a duration & creating masterpieces & inspired projects. While I respect these people very much, it's an attitude that I can never hope to emulate because as said before, most of the time, inspiration for me comes from an image or an atmosphere, & transforms itself into a poem or a song. To be honest, it sometimes feels like I'm cheating, like I have snatched the line from thin air & made it my own...

Fade out

Imagine

A scene, like hands, warm.

& a plane melting into clouds

silently & beautifully as we watch

from below

cold tongues licking cold ice-creams

a divot, in the glass, in the kaleidoscope, in eyes

colours aflame

Buildings transform into

shades

& well,

there are a hundred ways to look at the city

but I like my view the best of all

Paris

July 2011

The European Experience & What's Left.

Oh Ladurée macaron house, oh the Spanish Steps. Oh the museums, the long walks by the River Seine, juicy frankfurters and frothy beer, the wearing of scarves and coats and beanies and boots in chilly weather.

This is what's left of you; postcards from far away, and a million memories.

The European Experience: Part 10

Flea Markets, Bric-à-brac & Knick Knacks

Paris

A world-renown burlesque theater at the foot of a hill, a famous church atop, and stretches and stretches of flea markets nestled behind it. Besides visiting Shakespeare&Company and Laduree Macaroon House, the flea markets of Saint-Ouen behind Sacré-Cœur Basilica stand out the most in my mind.

It was another one of those wandering days; we walked and walked and walked, just soaking in the atmosphere so quintessentially Parisian. No matter, that that day was an uphill trek. We caught our breath outside the church, munched on some savoury crêpes and tuna baguettes for lunch, and listened to breezy live jazz music. The only event that marred the morning was when we were harassed consistently by a horde of African immigrants who wanted to make tourist fare by selling coloured friendship bands. It was rather aggressive, and though Jen & Luki managed to resist the hungry mob, I paid €3 for a sliver of thread (and he had the cheek to ask for €10, mind you!).

After the interlude at Sacré-Cœur, we walked further up in the direction of Saint-Ouen for about an hour, stopping at tiny chocolate pâtisseries and boulangeries. Drifting aimlessly through the tiny street inlets full of beautiful slanted houses and cobbled stone pavement, I didn't realize the gradual change in surroundings. Suddenly, it seemed, we had stepped into the heart of Porte de Clignancourt.

Forget the scenic walks down the River Seine or the thick bohemian air of the Latin Quarter; we have left that side of Paris. Saint Ouen at first glance, is an unruly mass of people, crowded underpasses, and the odd filthy KFC fast food joint standing at street corners. It is the poorer and more real side to the famous city, with large negro families doing their weekly shopping or African immigrants hawking their fake branded goods at roadsides. It is an eye-opener, to say the least, and as we trawled through the noisy crowds it occurs to me that even Paris, in all its elusive magic and grandeur, has its darker sides too.

After getting past the thick band of people, we enter the firsts of the flea markets, which is reminiscent of Singaporean, ah hem, 'pasar malams'. Cheap clothes, boxes of €5 ballet flats and tee-shirt shops. It's not to say that you can't find a couple of treasures (African costume jewelry and bars of lavender-scented Provençal soap, to name a few), but it's the stuff behind all of the fleas we are after; the hectares of Bric-à-brac and antique shops.

It is in places like these where one can get lost, for it's impossible to tell where one stretch of shops end and another begins. They weave into each other like cobwebs, and you can wander into the inner labyrinths of this sprawl, slowly becoming unaware of where you are. The shops are filled with everything, from elaborately gold-leafed teacups to a beautiful leather suitcase nearly encrusted with dust. I remember most clearly, a shop dedicated entirely to the keeping of vintage postcards, photographs and miscellaneous memorabilia, with an almost delicate old man sorting thousands of sheets into small pigeon holes. Double-storey markets like the Marché Vernaison and Marché Antica hold huge collections of art, furniture and 60s records. There you will find the serious furniture and antique item shoppers, and beoccasionally frightened by eccentric shopkeepers who sell eccentric things like (and I kid you not) an elderly couple that sold every kind of 'vintage' farming gear possible. Why miss the chance to own your very own pair of vintage cutting shears, I say!

We didn't buy much from Les Puces due to their exorbitant prices: only a few knick-knacks to bring home and remember Paris by. Still, it isn't the things you bring back, I believe, but the full-hearted experiences and the stories. Saint Ouen, unlike many faux boutiques out there today, is the true definition of the word 'vintage' and has an untouched and unmatchable classiness, even in its forgotten back alleys.

The European Experience: Part 9

Street Musicians
Almost Everywhere

One of the things I miss most about Europe: the buskers that fill the air with their myriad of transient music. In Paris; the cool liquid sound of a saxophone and the twinkling of keys. In Rome; brightly-coloured children dancing around an accordion-playing gypsy woman. In Amsterdam; a duo of classical guitars and a Bob Marley look-a-like playing several ethnic instruments at once.

It is enchanting, and an adventure to walk down the streets and listen to the soundtrack of each city. How I wish we had that culture here! We have a long way to go in that aspect

The European Experience: Part 8

L'archetto & Antica Taverna
Rome

'I can't stand people that do not take food seriously.'

Oscar Wilde

And I do take my food very seriously indeed. As much as we may think massive cups of strawberry gelato are enough to sate our hunger, it isn't. After walking twenty kilometers worth of uneven cobbled pavement, which is approximately the distance from our hostel to Vatican City and back, there's nothing better than a piping hot plate of Italian food.

Stefano, our wrinkled and portly guide told us of a cafe not far from the Trevi fountain that served over a hundred kinds of spaghetti called L'Archetto. Apparently, locals frequented the restaurant because of its fantastically-reasonable prices and authentic cuisine, dining alfresco and downing liberal amounts of red wine as the night passed. We shared a table with a friendly middle-aged Australian couple who had been on the tour with us, and took an impossibly long time just poring over the menu and deciding what to order. Stefano was not kidding about variety.

I finally decided on the house' namesake specialty after an eternity, consisting of sun-dried tomatoes, bacon, mushrooms, flakes of tuna and chilli oil. It was quite literally, a gastronomic party in my mouth. Polished everything up, and ended the meal with some sparkling water and of course, the inevitable gelato.

Don't expect good service from the local waiters though. Stefano had told us that if we chose to eat at places which were relatively unknown to tourists (and places which the Romans frequent), waiters would often be brusque and bad-tempered, and impatient to boot! It doesn't help that tipping isn't mandatory in the city of Rome. The second place we ate at called Antica Taverna (an even more clandestine place along a tiny intersection which we stumbled upon) had similar 'service'; recommendations were done in a bored monotone and extracting a friendly smile was an impossible feat. For us, it didn't matter much, as we managed to eat like kings and fill our belly with excellent Italian cuisine for a good price!

Being the um, adventurous people that we are, we returned to these two places TWICE to gorge ourselves on the pasta and beef goulash and fresh bread. Good food is, well, good food! Hopefully, we didn't disappoint Mr. Wilde with repeated meals.

The European Experience: Part 7

A City of War
Berlin

'You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire;
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank.'

The Song of Despair
Pablo Neruda

There is something about Berlin that strikes a stray chord in the hearts of all who visit. The political and historical air emanating from every street corner is almost overpowering; the city's attractions, though numerous, hover around the notion of war & death. After four days, the air of suppression inevitably starts to sink in, for it's hard to walk fifty feet without stumbling into some sort of war memorial or monument. From the holocaust memorial (Part 3) to the crumbling facade of the Berlin Wall, everything about that place screams of Germany's dark past.

That's not say we didn't have an ounce of fun in Berlin though! A couple of currywursts and hot tea are wonderful accompaniments as you walk the streets, soaking in the sights and sounds of the metropolis. The gaps between the roads of concrete will open up into beautiful scenes if you let it. The museum island, for one, is rich in modern art culture with its absolutely resplendent large, open plains. The massive squares of the opera house, universities and Brandenburg Gate are alive with its locals and German youth decked out from head-to-toe in slightly ill-fitting military garb, taking snapshots with eager tourists.

Another thing that was a real bonus was our wonderful NewEuropeTour guide, Eva, who lead us through the city with much passion and charisma. Besides that, Eva also showed us that despite the (sometimes) horrific history of Berlin, it is what millions of people call home and a place she loves deeply. Although the urban sprawl of Berlin may take some getting used to, its rich history and culture is not something to be missed.

The European Experience: Part 6

Tour De Eiffel
Paris

A quintessential part of Paris' cityscape, a landmark, a glowing wonder. Much has been said about its beauty, but never enough.

We sat on the steps of the Palais d' Chaillot, sandwiched between the luminescent sunset and the rusty-red monument, and simply watched. At 10pm midway though sunset, the Eiffel Tower burst into gold flames and the horde of tourists clapped and hooted enthusiastically, repeating the cycle once every hour. The silent lulls in between were spent writing postcards home and sipping chilled drinks. The night air, however, was punctured by a ragtag bunch of Filipino musicians, eager to make a living out of spare change by doing terrible John Lennon covers. Where were all the saxophonists and violinists in Paris that night? A little Édith Piaf would have been good enough.

Who could imagine Parisians detested the La Tour Eiffel a century ago? Apparently in Paris, the saying goes that 'If you build something, don't expect anyone to like it for the next twenty years'.

So, there's still a chance, dearest Louvre pyramid!

The European Experience: Part 5

Klosterhof
Frankfurt

For a major city in Germany, Frankfurt doesn't seem much as compared to the urban sprawl of Berlin, or the cultural hotpot that is Hamburg. The streets were quiet during rush hour, and the tourist attractions amounted to nothing more than a few stately cathedrals and a couple of museums. So when you're in this town for no more than two afternoons, the best thing to do is in fact, eat.

At 6am, after a 20-hour flight and transit, we had dropped off our luggage at the hostel and had to wonder around town till 3pm's check-in. Talk about jet lag. We found this lovely cafe along Weißfrauenstraße, after exploring the archeological museum which is on the same street. Besides serving it's own house beer (a cloudy, slightly bitter, unfiltered brew), they serve a really mean spicy beef goulash and salmon rosti. The staff are an odd mix of eccentric people, friendly and very likable. They also taught us that tomato juice is nothing without a few shots of tobasco sauce, something that came in useful in the later parts of the trip. Klosterhof's prices are wallet-friendly and the alfresco-style dining; under grape vines and the warm sun, is really quite lovely :) Needless to say, we returned to the restaurant just before our departure.

Salivating already? I'd let the pictures do the rest of the talking.

The European Experience: Part 4

Three bikes, a harbor & the Seaside
Volendam

It had been two days of tricking rain, with temperatures dipping to a chilly 11 degrees Celsius. Holland, or at the very least Amsterdam, was proving to be quite the disappointment. It didn't help that after the grandeur of beautiful Paris, all we had seen of the 'City of Tolerance' were its infamous coffeeshops and bored prostitutes standing behind shop windows, waving angrily at tourists like us. After taking a half-hour bus ride to the outskirts of Amsterdam to the countryside, the drab weather only worsened.

The next day though, after lots of prayer and God's grace, the skies finally cleared up and we spent a glorious day exploring the better side of Holland, minus the magic mushrooms and pimps. We rented bikes from the Hotel and cycled down narrow dirt lanes, which curved around miles and miles of green pasture and tiny inlets of water. It was lovely, especially after we had spent the past two and a half weeks navigating our way through crowded cities (not to say it wasn't fun, but still, you get sick of the bustling crowds.)

Maybe it was the fact that as city kids, everything seemed fascinating about small towns. Even seeing a sheep, or a homely-looking windmill along the cycling path was exciting! Although the main town was crowded with tourists, it was still nice walking along the beach, licking milky ice creams.

I'd have to say the best part of our countryside sojourn though, was sitting at the edge of the ship dock and wearing our Ship Captain caps, and having fish&chips and mussels for lunch. It was a good and relaxing way to end the trip, with an afternoon spent frolicking around the countryside. This, over dreary Amsterdam and its erotic museums any day.

The European Experience: Part 3

The Anne Frank HouseAmsterdam

The Jewish Memorial
Berlin

'Dear Father! I am saying goodbye to you before I die. We would so love to live, but they won't let us and we will die. I am so scared of this death, because the small children are thrown alive into this pit. Goodbye forever. I kiss you tenderly. Your J.'

31st July 1942

Note written by a young child to her father

I am sitting here in bed, thinking of words to describe the feeling I first had whilst exploring the Secret Annex and while visiting the Jewish memorial. The truth is... I can't. I can only say that being able to feel a fraction of what these Jewish people must have felt at that time, the fear and the persecution, was a profound and intense experience. Learning of the generosity of people like Victor Kugler & the other helpers, the maturity of a young girl, reading stories and anecdotes from victims of WW2... It's something that can't be put into words.

In the movie Schindler's List, a Jewish woman being transported to a concentration camp sums up her emotions and humankind's insatiable hunger for life by saying 'One day alive is still a day more'. To be able to go out and feel the sunshine on your face (no matter how humid and scorching Singapore heat is) becomes special. Having a simple meal, being able to read books or go anywhere you want... all of these experiences becomes privileges. It reminded me of the importance of learning from our past to prevent us from making mistakes in the future, and of being grateful for even the smallest of things :)

The European Experience: Part 2

Frigidarium & assorted gelato places
Rome

Needless to say, at a reasonable price of two Euros a cone, gelato became a big part of our staple diet in Rome, along with plates of hearty pasta & pizza. I dare say we ate it everyday; even twice on some. Hey, it was hot!

Thanks to our friendly hotel concierge's tourist tip, we walked across Central Rome to find the so-called, 'secretly' best gelato the city, Frigidarium! Located along Via del Governo Vecchio (which is one of Rome's many tiny, cobbled streets), we found a quaint Gelateria at the corner of an intersection, right next to a family-run pizza place and an Irish bar.

Like any other gelato store in Italy, the store front hasthin wafer cones stacked on top of each other and tubs of creamy galore: pistachio, kiwi, straciatella, mint, strawberry swirl, peach... and let's not forget their signature namesake Frigidarium flavour, made of a combination of caramel, chocolate and cookies! Lastly, have it your way with either a squirt of fresh cream or a generous Viennese chocolate dip.

Well, it's safe to say that it's impossible to count calories in a city with such excellent ice-cream. Live a little, have a cone! Or two.

;)

The European Experience: Part 1

Shakespeare & Company
Paris

Weave through the masses of Korean tourists, stacks of new-releases & up the narrow stairwell, and you will find the magical world that is Shakespeare & Company. It is all that a literature lover could dream of; translucent in dream-like quality. Ridiculous as it may seem, stepping into this tiny English bookstore in Paris felt like it was the entire reason I was in Europe; the endpoint of the crossing of continents.

There were tiny, handwritten notes everywhere; stuffed in between wood cracks or strung across walls, left by inspired travelers. It is amazing that ordinary people like you and me can leave our mark where revolutionary writers once lived and breathed and wrote: the likes of Fitzgerald, Joyce, Hemingway, Burroughs... the list goes on.

Perhaps one of the most wonderful things about Shakespeare & Co. is the civility it inspires in people. It seems that everyone is able to sense the magic that is happening in this two-level antiquarian bookstore: even young children or usually-noisy teenagers are quelled the minute they enter. It is as if a pin-drop could shatter the beatific atmosphere. Seeing a queer combination of young girls, children and old men sitting in plush chairs and quietly enjoying the dusty tomes of Sylvia Beach's private library... well, it was a lovely sensation trickling down my spine. I could have stayed forever.



So I bought some A.S. Byatt, a Pablo Neruda poetry medley and a French story collection, to name a few: a burden that Luki unfortunately bore all the way back to Singapore. It's not usually a good idea to buy massive novels whilst backpacking across Europe, but for this, you'll have to make an exception :)

Some days you feel like jazz.

Stitched Up - Herbie Hancock & John Mayer
Beyond the Sea - Bobby Darin
Dream A Little Dream - Laura Fygi
Hell No - Sondre Lerche & Regina Spektor
Cheek to Cheek - Fred Astaire
Why I Am - Dave Matthews Band
The Very Thought of You - Ella Fitzgerald
Tout Deucement - Feist
Spain - Chick Corea
Crazy Little Thing Called Love - The Brian Setzer Orchestra
Pointless Nostalgic - Jamie Cullum
The Summer Wind - Frank Sinatra
Fly Me to the Moon - Julie London

______________________________________________

Coming home to an armful of university letters, tuition problems and a thousand responsibilities wasn't the greatest feeling. But well, sometimes, all you need are friends, a couple of movies and great music to make you feel better.

Watermelon man, anyone?

The Fiesta

'My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.'

Pablo Neruda

Desperately, missing Europe.

A roman holiday

It was two days ago and we had seen the Trevi fontana, the Spanish Steps, the bridge of Angels and St Peter's Square. We had a dinner of exquisite pasta, prosciutto pizza & tender beef goulash; polishing off with thin cones of kiwi and strawberry Gelati. Sitting at the very top of the palace steps, I watched the sunset over the beautiful city of Rome, in the silent company of two friends, and wrote postcards to home from faraway.

It was the most amazing feeling. I am grateful, and happy to be here, alive & experiencing.



Ciao Bella !

Location:Via Cernaia,Rome,Italy

What to do with summer

In three weeks, I would have been to five of these major cities (and then some) ! The thought of it is exciting and frightening at the same time. I hope to be able to be present in the beauty of the fleeting moment and of the city as well.

Thank you to God for allowing us to embark on this trip :) See you guys in a few weeks!