The Blocks of North Bridge Road

A friend of mine used to live around here. 

We haven't seen each other for a while.

Not because we had a fight or anything like that. 

Just that we move in different circles and have different lifestyles and so don't get to hang out together as much as we used to do.

There'll come a day where we'll meet for a coffee once again. 

And maybe I'll ask her to meet at this 'hood which she knows so well. 

There might be neighbors she wants to see. 

There might be neighbors she doesn't want to see. 

I don't know. 

She told me one time that there were many elderly living in her 'hood. 

She wasn't wrong. 

When I went there on this particular afternoon there were indeed a good number of senior citizens hanging about. 

Some of them looked like they had come downstairs for a short walk around the basketball court. 

Others looked like they were going to the shops or to the coffee shop for an early evening meal. 

There were those who sat on the seats under the trees. 

There were those who sat at one corner of the activity hall watching schoolkids throw hoops in the court. 

And there were those who wheeled themselves down to a corner of the void deck to read the newspaper and bask in the late afternoon breeze. 

This estate, built on the fringes of town sometime around the 70s (I think), has to be one of those estates that I say provides the outsider fairly interesting views. 

It isn't a neighborhood like some of the other housing estates are. 

There isn't a dedicated bus interchange like what Bukit Merah, Tampines and Woodlands have. 

There isn't a dedicated MRT station like what Jurong East, Ang Mo Kio, Redhill and Choa Chu Kang have. 

They don't even have a town center nor a supermarket nor a library or even a swimming pool that they can call their own. 

To look at it strictly, it really is just a couple of blocks rising up from the banks of the Rochor River, starting from one end of North Bridge Road towards Jalan Sultan, stretching southwards towards present day Beach Road.

It's strange how I've always walked through this estate to get to Golden Mile Complex on Beach Road or to Jalan Sultan on the other side, but I've never really gone into this estate nor have I ever gone up to take a look at the views.

They're a compact set of blocks- built fairly close together to each other so much so that you can literally look out your window into the home of your neighbor in the block opposite- and their corridors are a single long enclosed stretch with one lift landing in the middle, one lift landing at the end, and doors on either side.

To walk through their corridors from one end to the other is to walk from bright light to cool dim light to very dim light to cool dim light to bright light again. You get one day's worth of light just by walking up and down the corridors.

 

To some, dwelling in spaces like this might seem like a severe, even uncomfortable, lack of privacy.

But we are a small country- and prior to these high rise flats- we were already living in close knit communities in houses side by side. 

It is possible that close-quarter living can breed a sense of unity, togetherness and neighborliness. 

It is also possible that one can easily enter the realm of dispute, disagreement, conflict and busy-bodies. 

But in the cocoon of the single door and the neat little windows, in the appearance of uniformity, there is the presence of privacy and the expression of individualism. 

Just as no two families are the same, likewise, no two houses were the same.

There might have been similarities- many flats were bathed in similar hues of golden afternoon light- but no two homes were exactly the same. 

One thing I've noticed about blocks with smaller units is how the corridors become a part of their own living patterns, and their own choice of lifestyle.

At some staircase landings one might find tables and chairs arranged nicely and neatly for family or neighborly gatherings. 

At other staircase landings there might be a bicycle, a market trolley or even a well-watered plant or two. 

Some residents placed their televisions right next to the door. 

Others placed theirs against the wall close to the window. 

There were residents who had their beds right next to the main door. 

But there were those who placed them right under the window. 

Everyone arranged their furniture differently. 

At one house the (foldable) dining table might be right outside the low wall of the kitchen right in front of the main door. 

At another, in the same spot there might be a comfortable chair. 

There were residents whose homes had the basics of furniture to make room for their wheelchairs. 

But there were residents whose furniture included cushions and towels and fabrics of colorful kinds. 

At one home the walls were painted a bright green.

At another a karaoke set filled the space next to the front door. 

Here and there were the sounds of living. 

Here and there were the sights of life and living as persons moved around. 

There were residents who had their doors wide open. 

There were residents who had their doors slightly ajar. 

And there were residents who had their doors closed entire.

In a space like this, everyone has their own perspective of noise, of quiet and of privacy.

It is one you learn to respect. 

It is one you learn to accept, and understand.

One thing that fascinated me about this place were the views. 

Three blocks I visited, three different views I got. 

One block gave me the close up view of her neighboring blocks just opposite, together with the sight of Kallang River peeking through the blocks situated across from her. 

On the other end of the same side, she gave me more close ups of the blocks in front, as well as the view of Beach Road and Millennia Walk in the horizon. 

It's controversial perhaps (it might be the view of a visitor) but I found the geometry of the housing blocks- their structure, their nearness to where I was- strangely unique and beautiful.

From the other block- the one facing Jalan Sultan and the entire length of North Bridge Road- I got a very clear view of Beach Road, where between the high-rises I could see the tip of Marina Bay Sands, and the hotel tower of Swissotel somewhere in the middle. 

The view here was decidedly urban. 

To my left was the Golden Mile Complex and Golden Mile Tower. In front of me were the point blocks from the neighboring 'hood (actually the same 'hood but on different streets) and right below, between the trees of the car park- the Golden Mile Food Center- with her Army Market, and her interesting foods.  

I'd been impressed by the views from the high-rise corridors of these two. 

But nothing- NOTHING- prepared me for what I saw when I got to the top floor of the third block I visited on this particular afternoon.

To my left and right on either side were corridors dim, dark and cool. 

Yet, stretched out in front of me, beyond the safety of concrete landing and metal railing, was this wide expanse of light, space, and scenery. 

It stunned me. 

I had not known that from this block you could see all the way past the Kallang River to the National Stadium to the blocks of Geylang Bahru, Old Airport Road, Aljunied and the east coast. 

Neither had I known that the view stretched all the way northwards past the industrial areas of Kallang towards Bendemeer, Towner, the opposite banks of the Kallang River, and perhaps parts of Macpherson and Potong Pasir. 

I'd gasped.

There was all this light! 

There was all this space!

Where everything was laid out so beautifully like a carpet, in a surprising juxtaposition of modernity and development and heritage, reflecting the shifts of space and time. 

It was a hopeful view. 

But also, a contemplative one. 

I've always been of the thought that our surroundings influence who we are, what we are, and how we see ourselves. It doesn't matter how exclusive or inclusive our neighborhoods are. It doesn't matter even how we live. But the place we come back to, the view we come back to (if we have a view at all)- they influence us, and eventually, whether we stay there long or short or not at all, they define us. 

I don't know how the views from the blocks in this 'hood would have defined, or influenced those who live there. 

Maybe some decide that they shall be content to watch the world in front of their windows change whilst they remain put. 

Maybe some decide that they have a rightful place to belong in this world beyond their walls and work hard to be a significant part of it. 

And maybe some decide that there's no use heading out to the world beyond but safer to remain where they are and hopefully become a place where those out there can return. 

We won't know. 

We won't know how us who live amongst these walls see ourselves. 

Especially since society tends to define for us who we are. 

We have come to a stage where many of us can actually express to society who, and what we really are. 

But it is a growth journey and before that we have to first reach a decision that it is us who is responsible for the life that we possess; that it is us to love and define for ourselves who we can be, and who we genuinely see ourselves to be. 

I will not be wandering about this estate for a while. 

There's nothing more- for the time being- that I think I ought to see. 

But one day I hope to come back here with my friend again. 

I'd like to ask her to bring me around.

I'd like to ask her to tell me stories of the neighbors she once knew. 

And I'd like to ask if she often went upstairs to look at the view that I (somehow) on this one afternoon managed to see.  

Birthday Kuehs and Bus Driver's Kopi

The Parent and I celebrated The Birthdays a couple of weeks ago.

Our plans were impromptu. 

We met, we discussed, we whittled down the choices to either fried spring chicken from this stall in this one coffee shop, or zichar from this other stall in this other coffee shop. 

The zichar won. 

Over at the coffee shop we had to make another decision whether to eat there or do a takeaway. 

We did a takeaway. 

Because there was this space near our block that was windy and spacious and which we could sit and eat and chat without the distraction of staff and other customers moving to and fro.

So we got our food, marched back to the space near our block and did this urban style of a supper picnic, laying out brochures as placemats, opening up the boxes and taking out the tissues. 

Great decision- the 'hood was quiet- there were no distractions- and from where we sat, we could see the lights in the bedrooms and the kitchens of the blocks opposite.

First thing we ate was the salted fish rice. 

Very delicious, nicely salted, not very oily- and in such a portion we did not expect until we dug deep into the box and realized just how high of a mountain each of us got. 

Along with the fried rice we had the oyster omelet.

That, too, was good.  

You know how there are times when you get omelets with tiny oysters or which are really dry? 

This one was neither. 

Big- very well fried- and with lots of huge oysters tucked beneath the fluffy egg, we had a marvelous time hunting about the egg for the oysters and counting how many we'd eaten so that we could split them evenly. 

(The Parent got an extra one) 

After all this, there was still the box of black bean noodles. 

This, we kept for last. 

The dish reminded me of jajangmyun- which I think it might have been- except that this was the wet version with lots of gravy cooked Chinese wok hei style. 

It was a good recommendation. 

You got the flavor of the black beans, the noodles were thick and smooth, and their texture slurped up well with the rich, black gravy.

We hung about the area a little while more, crossed over to the late night grocery store near the town center, then went over to the canteen at the bus interchange to have mugs of (what I call) bus drivers' kopi. 

Strong, sweet, stimulating, with a generous dose of condensed milk, this has to be one of the best kopis ever. I always get very awake after this kick of caffeine.

There're days where we have it with youtiao or hum chim pang or steamed tapioca cake or even a plate of fried kuay teow. 

Today however we had it with kuehs- specially bought- from Kim Choo Kueh Chang- in lieu of birthday cake- and which I had been carefully carrying around.

The Parent chose the yellow one, I took the red one, and we both got a green one each. To our surprise having two glutinous rice kuehs at so early an hour made us feel somewhat full. 

Looking at these pictures now I'm truly thankful. 

Because it isn't about the meal, it isn't about where we had the meal, and it isn't about why we had the meal at this hour. 

It was just us- Parent and Child- being together- celebrating an occasion together. 

It was just us- being who we were and doing what we were doing- together. 

That's really all that matters to me. 

Prawns! Prawns! Prawns!

So seldom it is that I have prawns (of any style) that it came quite a surprise when one day I looked through my pictures and found that I had, rather unknowingly, eaten my way through three different meals featuring prawns prepared three different ways on three successive times. 

The first one had been eaten at a cafe in the basement of 313 Somerset on Orchard Road. 

The second one had been eaten at a restaurant in another basement of another mall next to Bideford Road. 

And the third one had been eaten at a cafe on the second floor of Far East Plaza over on Scotts Road.

Maybe it has something to do with being in the vicinity of Orchard Road, but I was quite amused, seeing how I don't go for soup prawn mee very much, I have no idea where the good prawn mee stalls are, and prawns are not the first thing that come to mind when ordering zichar at the coffee shop. 

But, pictures don't lie.

There were the humongous fried prawns laid over a plate of Pad Thai glass noodles  sprinkled generously with fried onions and bits of cereal. 

There were the prawns stir-fried wok hei style arranged on top of a plate of seafood white bee hoon drenched in a milky white sea of gravy. 

Then there was a soup of prawns and shrimp (and other ingredients) boiled many, many times over into an orangey rich broth. 

I can't say which of all three was the best- each to their own- but I will say that the prawns on my Pad Thai gave me quite a surprise.

I had not expected them to be this big. 

I had also not expected them to come unshelled. 

But because they were good and they made the dish look so full and so satisfying, I decided dining etiquette be thrown to the wind and I ate them using my hands instead. 

I couldn't eat the half-shelled prawns of my seafood white bee hoon the same way though. 

There was just too much gravy. 

But it wasn't too hard to deshell them with fork and spoon, they went well with the bee hoon, and I had a great time munching on the cuttlefish, eating up the generous portion of lettuce, and slurping up the gravy. 

I might go back to the same cafe next time for the very same dish. 

Or I might make a trip all the way up to Sembawang to try the well known one. 

I'll go back to Le Shrimp Ramen for the orangey rich broth though. 

This one's really good. 

Warm on the palate, rounded on the tongue, this is a broth that you can have when you want something soupy, or when you don't have much of an appetite. 

This is a broth that goes well with ramen or rice, and which you can have with meat dumplings, gigantic prawns and soft mushy comforting leaves of lettuce on those days when you don't feel like having ramen or rice entirely at all. 

Sushi Express

Conveyor belt sushi places aren't a new thing in this country. 

We've had them for quite a while- twenty years thereabouts, perhaps- stamped firmly into the memories of our (younger) days.

But, even as the concept is familiar to us, it's still a marvelous thing, I find, when new conveyor belt sushi places start popping up here and there all over town.

I visited this place called Sushi Express not too long ago.

Where exactly the outlet was, I cannot remember. 

It might have been somewhere in the east. 

It might also have been somewhere in the west. 

I don't know.

I remember the place more than I remember at where. :)

Sushi Express is one of those places that doesn't let you forget their vibe. In fact, they've seared their vibe so deep that the name of their place will pop up when you're in town, when you and your dining partner have varying levels of appetite or when you can't decide what you want to eat. 

It's very welcoming to have a place bright, lively and fun where you feel encouraged, no, motivated, to keep pulling plates off the belt because you're (still) hungry, the food passing by in front of you looks good, and your favorite item is just coming up the line.

One of the things I'll go for when I'm here is the salmon.

Not just the salmon nigiri, but also the Aburi salmon nigiri, the caramelized salmon nigiri, and the grilled salmon belly nigiri. 

They're quite popular- the caramelized nigiri and the grilled salmon belly nigiri. I should know- the plates had all been pulled off by other diners by the time the sushi got to me who was seated at the end of the line. 

I had to order direct from the servers. 

Doesn't matter, however, these nigiris are unique, and they're good.

Another sushi that I've come to like, and will order, is the hana maki. 

This sushi didn't use to be on the menus very much, but casual sushi diners seem to have fallen in love with this ball of rice wrapped snugly between two slices of salmon sashimi topped with mayonnaise and a spread of roe, because I don't just see it on the belt here in Sushi Express. (or in other places) but at the supermarket counters too.  

With an order of mostly salmon, someone told me that I was missing out on the rest of the menu. In a way, yes, that could be true- but life is such where I don't always have to have the tamagoyaki nigiri or the crab sticks nigiri or the shrimp or the cheese abalone. Neither is it such that I have to have the tuna salad gunkan, the crab salad gunkan, the miso soup or the seaweed salad gunkan all at one go. 

Sometimes I go for the salmon sashimi. 

Sometimes I go for the cheese masago gunkan.

It varies. 

There are times when I go for the corn salad gunkan simply because I like the color, I like how I can eat it kernel by kernel, and I like how it reminds me of school days when my friend and I would sit on the staircase in the main block and snack on pieces of either corn salad or egg mayonnaise sushi bought from the school's convenience store. 

I may not have a plate of everything on the menu here, but I don't feel like I've shortchanged myself or that I've missed out on anything.

Especially since I do make room for the sweet stuff too. 

Maybe one day there'll be more variety on the dessert menu, but it's good for me, for now. 

After all, the desserts here are impossible to resist- because how can you say no to at least a plate or two when in the midst of your main meal, they keep sending plates of cute little mochis, bouncy mango puddings, blueberry cheesecakes, chocolate cakes, fresh cream puffs and even the (seasonal) swiss rolls right in front of you? 

Tanglin Halt Two

My original plan had been to complete the visit to Tanglin Hat within a day, but, having not known just how large the estate was, I'd completely underestimated the time, and so it was that I found myself back at Commonwealth MRT the very next day. 

The route I took to enter the estate was a little different this time, where instead of starting from the back of Sheng Siong Supermarket like I'd done the day before, today I went over to the Queensway side and started from there.  

Why, you might ask. 

Simply put, I was curious. 

See, Commonwealth Avenue West (along which the MRT line runs) might be considered a 'new' road in the history of the this town and the towns down the road, but Queensway, however, is not.

Again, it might not always have been called Queensway (that name probably didn't appear until Queenstown Housing Estate was formed) but this route likely existed at a time when there was no housing estate, no MRT line, no shops, no public swimming pool, nothing, except for these towering stable, safe-looking structures rising up impressively from (cleared) forested, hilly ground. 

This is no old road, not when it stretches from the south side of the country (think Portsdown and/or Southern Ridges) all the way to one end of the Central Catchment Area at the Macritchie Reservoir side.

The road fascinated me. 

So I decided to feel how it was like to be accessing the estate from the Queensway side. 

One thing that surprised me was just how close to the Queensway route it was. 

Estates in the 70s and 80s are built in such a way that there's a little distance between your house, and the main road. Even if your blocks faces the avenue, there's always a patch of grass, a pathway, or a drain that you have to cross. 

Here there was none. 

Up a small staircase from the back of the bus stop and right away I was standing (almost) outside the back door of someone's ground floor home. 

It would be perceived as a severe lack of privacy these days but the world then was perhaps a little more communal than they are now. 

Maybe it was meant to be a replica of the kampongs. 

Maybe it was meant to foster togetherness and familiarity. 

I don't know- we can't say for sure what life was really like at that time- but the way the blocks were arranged certainly made me feel like community interaction was a way of life. 

It's not that they were tightly cloistered together or that they were compact. It was just that they were so close knit that you could simply have a conversation with your neighbor on the right and left by simply leaning your head outside the window. 

I have to say that the apartments on the ground floor intrigued me a little. 

They weren't like the typical ground floor apartments I was used to seeing. 

Maybe it was the way the land was laid, but what I'd initially thought was the first floor (with the lift) turned out to be the second floor because behind the letter boxes were a little slope and staircase leading down to the flats on what was really the ground floor. 

Some corridors looked out to the back door of their neighbors in the opposite block. Some corridors faced each other. 

It was very interesting, I thought, what with the way a person lived, where there was little, if no, distinction between your own (private) life, and that which you presented to the world. Where you might have shown one neighbor your formal work clothes, to another you would have shown your comfortable home clothes, your laundry, and the way you lived at home. 

Again, I cannot say for certain that this was how life was like in the years that the residents stayed here. 

It is impossible to compress the life of decades into a single day. 

I found myself wondering how their day to day lives had been like. 

Did they take their daily morning exercise around the blocks before making their way to the shops or to the Tanglin Halt Market and Food Centre?

Did they potter about at home most of the time except to go with family and loved ones to the town center across the road for the hawker center, the cinema, the shopping center, maybe the library? 

Or were they happy to just walk out to the common corridor outside their home to look at the blocks of Stirling Road and Mei Ling Road close by? 

It is now impossible for (late) visitors like me to know. 

And maybe it's also hard for them to say. 

No one wants to talk about the day when they shut the door and walk away from their home for the last time.

No one wants to talk about the neighbors and friends whom they don't know if they'll ever meet again. 

And no one wants to forget the way the sun shines into their home. 

There may come a day where the sun will no longer slant her golden rays upon the walls of a block but instead cast them upon the tinted windows of a much taller housing block. 

There may come a day where we won't get to see the rays of the evening sun glow beautifully along the outside walls of someone's home. 

Or that the trees won't throw their glorious shadows upon the benches and grasses between the pavements of the residents' homes. 

But until that happens- until the day where, like their sisters on Margaret Drive, they become rubble- the sun will continue to rise on the eastern end of their walls, and will continue to cast her gentle, comforting golden light on the backyards and the little gardens once tended by those who dwelled there.