a no Pollen glasses ride

I'm always on the lookout for clear-lens glasses or spectacles or sunglasses.

Because there're the contact lenses I wear, and when you're biking, having a tiny speck of dust in the eye can mean more than a visit to the optometrist. It can mean life and death. How do you pay attention when one eye is tearing irritably and you've got to maintain your balance and keep to your line and watch out for traffic and watch out for potholes and keep your legs moving all at the same time? 

It's not like I've been cycling with my eyes exposed all this while. I've got a pair of sunglasses and I do have a pair of clear-lens glasses, but they're probably more for fashion and style than eye protection gear, so I'm always looking out for better- and more affordable- options.

This one time, I was in Daiso and as usual, wandering around, because that's what you do in Daiso, and then I found myself in the gardening section. It's a section that I don't usually go- I don't garden- so you can say it was more than a coincidence that I saw, hanging on a shelf, this pair of big pollen glasses. Neither can it be more than a coincidence that at once, I figured out that if they were compact enough to protect one from the tiniest pollen particles, they would be compact enough to protect one from the dust of the road.    

So I bought them.

I've tried them, and they work.

They work well when you're biking on the road with all the cars zooming past you, throwing all kinds of stuff into your face with their tailwinds. They work  well when you're perspiring with the exercise and your lashes end up trapping tiny, tiny, naked-to-the-visible eye particles of dirt.

They work well on a day like this when I've forgotten my eye drops because they're in my bike bag and my bike bag happens to be locked in a room and today I don't have the key. Because there's no use harping on what's there or not there. It's either you want to ride, or you don't. I do. So I get another messenger bag, throw the essentials inside, and off I go.

It was a good ride- despite the fact that it was a short one. We went towards the barrage, came out onto the Shoppes and turned into Raffles City. Storm clouds were hovering in the skies, but since the rains hadn't come down yet, we chose to push on.

And of course, by the time we reached SMU, a mere 2 minutes away on bike, the rains came, and which we had to wait out, together with two visitors from Korea who were touring Downtown by rented bamboo bicycles and were also, like us, patiently waiting out the rain.

soaky Boots

It can be quite fun when you DO think about it long after it's over.

You don't think about it when you're in it though. You just get through it. And it's only at the end, when your clothes are soaked right through, when you're taking squishy steps in every move you make, when your hair's wet, your bike's wet and your bike trousers are weighing you down... that you look back at what just happened and you realize that, oh yeah, that WAS fun.

We'd had a foreboding of sorts whilst going along East Coast Park where the breezy winds and smoky smells of barbecued meat wafted through the air. You could see that the skies weren't sunny and bright... but it was in the horizon, and anyway, if we were to look at the darkening skies and decide that we'd forgo the ride for 20 minutes of rain, then it would be no use at all, and after all, since we could help it, well, why think about stopping? 
 

So we continued, and of course, the skies grew darker as we went along.

At the furthermost end of East Coast Park on this bridge near the chalets, and here I had to stop because of this police car which had, for whatever reason, parked itself right outside a gate, squeezing itself into the narrow space and leaving no biker any room to maneuver whatsoever.

At the area after the bridge where there was this lovey-dovey young couple who were on separate bikes but riding so romantically slow next to each other that I  had to slow down and dodge them because there was just enough room for two bikes and their giggles and smiles hogged up all the space.

That foreboding turned a little more serious along that road with all the trucks trundling past to build the new airports, a little more still as we went past the Tanah Merah Canal (for lack of better name!) and a little, little more still on the Changi Coastal Road.

It turned serious enough for us to come to a decision midway through dinner. There was going to a prolonged thunderstorm at our final destination- the weatherman had forecasted- and if we were going to go there, we would absolutely land ourselves in the heart of it, so recklessness aside, let's turn back, we said, but let's take another route. Who knows, we agreed, we might just be able to avoid the lightning and thunder and rain.  

But as all things go, you can strategize all you want, you can measure all the probabilities, you can calculate and calibrate as carefully as you can so as to avoid as many sticky situations possible but somehow, SOMEHOW you'll find yourself in the thick of it anyway.

With nowhere else to hide but to go straight through the sludge.  
 

Okay, there was no mud for me, but heck, there was a lot of rain. Plenty of it, I'm telling you, and it alllll came down whilst I was braked at this large traffic intersection with three fields on either side of me somewhere in the neighborhood of Tampines.

 

What I'm saying is that I was in the middle of NOWHERE, with no immediate shelter in my line of sight, when three little unassuming drops of rain turned into a massive downpour.

But it's no use yelling at the skies, so I zipped across the road when the lights turned green, tried edging into the nearest bus stop, but said bus stop was just as full with everyone in there dodging the downpour, and so I couldn't get in, and with the next nearest shelter another stretch away, I did the next best thing.

Braked, blocked the wind so that the bike wouldn't fall, opened the bag, pulled out the parka case, shook out the parka, unzipped it, tossed it on, zipped it up, threw phone and earphones and sweets and music player and tissue paper into the bag sitting inside the bag, shot the hood up, got back onto the bike and onwards to the second intersection where I was supposed to find the next shelter.

Which I would have fount faster had I not gotten lost (things happen!) but hey, I found it anyway. :)

Another bus stop, a very empty one this time, so happily I hopped in, shook out as much water as possible from the bag- forget about the boots- and sat there catching my breath, waiting for the rain to pass, together with a very adorable white cat who, unlike the rain-sloshed human beside her, was comfortably tucked up, all snug, warm, and dry.

of Scribbles and Crumbles

i need a word.

Any word.

I just need a word that I can set it down on a piece of paper and tell myself that at least, to the very least, that I've got something.

Sadly, i don't. 

I look through every single piece of paper that i have and i think, and think, and think, but nothing's coming out of my poor muddled brain. What makes it worse is that I know it is impossible. There has to be a story somewhere (even if i don't really know where). it can't be that there's absolutely no where to begin with, not when there's so much worth saying (even if i don't know how to start saying it).

The dilemma I'm facing in the brain is nothing short of something that goes like this:
 

do you start this way? 

do you start that way? 

do you go subliminal? 

do you go raw? 

do you work backwards? 

do you work forwards? 

do you work real time? 

who speaks? 

There's no answer as yet. But hey, I can't give up, can I, and so I just do the brainstorming s*** and let the random stuff collapse onto my pen and let them leave a trail of scribbles and crumbles and I know I'll think about them afterward but meanwhile I'm just letting the thoughts fly in multiple directions and when I relook, reconsider and reload afterward, hopefully there'll something more definite this time.

I live by Hope. 

workhorse Bikes

 We'd finished the circuit in a typical dilly-dallying style of biking- don't rush, don't speed, don't be bothered about pace. We settled our direction- west, it was going to be- and headed out.

 

To the end of the park and onto a road, past the Jln Batu housing estate we went and then along the big river that eventually winds into the Marina Bay and then we passed by a large garden and then the area around the newly renovated and rejuvenated National Stadium and finally, the Marina Barrage, which to me, always looks like to be a gigantic river with bougainvillea on either side.

 

We made an OJ stop, and then dinner.. which, by the way, was a mere couple of hours after a fulfilling lunch of ayam goreng with rosy pink bandung, cheese fries, skin and all.

 

It was enroute back that I came up behind him, this cyclist from China. He was pedaling steadily; no braking, no sudden stops, just chugging along smoothly towards his destination. I wondered if i should overtake, and then I decided not to.

(Not then anyway.)

After all, there's this thing about workhorse bikes. 

They might be creaking and rusty. They might look dusty with some of their gears off perhaps, but boy, do they keep a good steady pace. The riders themselves might wear no aerodynamic gear that sticks to you like a second skin, but regular clothes like jeans, cargo pants, work boots and anything else, but they break no sweat pedaling at all.

The riders look like they'd lose to you, gear and all, in a biking competition. They look like they'll be slower than you because of all the plastic bags of groceries dangling from the handlebars and the sack of rice bound to the rack behind their seat.

But don't bother overtaking them.

Especially if there're traffic lights ahead of you.

You'll end up looking kind of silly, having sprinted ahead, thinking that you'll be in the lead, only to find yourself stuck at the traffic light and them turning up nice and steady beside you, even successfully overtaking you.

You'll end up doing weird shoutouts like "从你背后跟着你比较安全啦!" which make you cringe in complete embarrassment afterward and you'll be so glad that you're never seeing that person ever again. 

 

 

 

 

hotdesking for a Day

There was a trend awhile back, and for once, it has nothing to do with consumables or beliefs. It's a trend that shakes up the very foundation of how we conduct our business, how we perceive business, and how we perceive ourselves in this entire economy of human resources.

It's a little banal, frankly, and it can seem rather immaterial when we're talking serious s***, but when you sit and think about it, it can be more than simply a difference of desk, or place.

I like the concept of hotdesking. It gives a sense of being everywhere and anywhere and getting inspired by your surroundings, and since I'm familiar with workstations, such a desk is pretty cool to try. 

Which I am, for the day. 

I'm on the 19th floor of Hotel Jen Orchard Gateway, perched on a stool at the bar counter (with power sockets underneath!) looking out over one of the most unrivalled views along the Orchard belt. It's a panoramic view- two sides all around. From here I see Marina Bay Sands, her deck jutting out from the triple towers beneath, like Noah's Ark atop Mt. Ararat. From there I see Bideford Road  and the road next to Paragon that leads to the entrance of the CTE Tunnel, and right next to the entrance, separated by a narrow strip of landscaped greenery is the exit of the same Tunnel, and which both kind of look pretty gaping even from here.

I look down. The cars are really tiny from all the way up here, like little toys. I can't see the pedestrians. They're so little, like.. ants.

I look back up. In the near distance I see Mandarin Orchard with its distinctive roof and the pagoda-shaped Marriott Singapore further back. There's the blue glassed building of Wisma, and the twin towers of Ngee Ann City. Out far towards the horizon there stand more tall buildings, condominiums, offices, skyscrapers, housing board flats and there's some sort of construction going on the north side.

So I'm sitting here, drinking in all this, and I realize that perspectives really do change when the element of space and surroundings is adjusted. Knowing that the world has suddenly expanded, that it has suddenly, in the span of a couple of minutes, expanded from an enclosed 360 degree space to all this, it changes you. It's as if the world on the ground and the world up here don't exist within the same stratosphere. It's as if the world, as i see it, has suddenly developed layers- one layer on the ground, one layer up here.

Yet, do my views change? How am I inspired gazing at all this as I type? Do I alter my perspectives, my vision, my influence on what I do simply because I'm not seated at a desk with a telephone in front of me and a bulletin board surrounded by drawers and cabinets for all the paperwork? What is it in it for me, I wonder? Will I make decisions that are more macro rather than myopic now that I'm high up here?

And here's another thought, albeit a funny odd one. You know how workstations define our work personalities? So, now that we're roaming everywhere, and we're expected to maintain consistency everywhere, do we lose our individual work personalities that we've crafted over the years, since technically hotdesking gives us influences and inspirations from so many different facets of life? And, does that mean that the DESK itself no longer represents the element of hierarchy? Does it mean that rosewood desks and walnut desks and typical office furniture are a thing of the past and hold no more representation?

One more thing: Who gets saddled with the paperwork then?

It's more of an open-ended question with an open-ended answer, I suppose,,, given the fact that we all need paperwork of some sort...

But for now, it's more of the culture.
The culture that defines you who are professionally (at least)
The culture that makes you wanna join the rest of the gang...
Even if it be for a short, short while. :)