It's not always the case where I find myself completely lost for words when attempting to write an article.
Yet here I am, attempting to write this for the umpteenth time, not because I have nothing to say, but because I do have a fair bit to say but don't know where, or how to start.
Should I begin from the picture itself?
Should I say that this was a picture that I found in Miss Brown's personal collection and I'd initially thought of cropping it all the way right because I didn't want to feature the person standing in the middle of the frame, but changed my mind afterward?
I don't know when exactly this picture was taken- there's no date- but that's her son right there, and this- very likely- a family excursion.
There was a time when everybody went to Sentosa Island whenever they wanted a break from day to day life.
And there was a time when the only way to get to Sentosa Island was by ferry across the water.
We don't do that anymore.
We don't have to do that anymore.
There're more ways to get to Sentosa Island these days.
It is for that reason perhaps that this picture becomes remarkably precious and special.
For not only does it capture life, living and memories, it also captures heritage in a single picture, a single frame.
Here it isn't just that her son is standing in the middle of the ferry cabin next to the support pole.
It is the fact that she's (unexpectedly) captured his surroundings in nostalgic detail as well.
What's remarkable about this picture is that even though it's just a regular, normal photograph of a regular, normal scene, it has the ability to awaken long-lost memories of just about anyone who has been on the ferry there.
I should know.
It awakened mine.
Took me a bit of a while- it's been so many years- but I remember trying to keep my balance in the cabin whilst boarding, or when attempting to disembark.
There was the bop of the cabin floor below my feet as the ferry floated on the waves, and the man on the dock looping the rope in his hands.
I remember peering out of the window as the island across the water drifted further and further away from me.
And I remember trying to open the window so I could feel more of the breeze.
Sometimes the the aisle and corner seats were taken, leaving you with only a single seat in between.
But because rules determined that you had to remain seated during the ride, so I spent those journeys squashed with strangers on either side.
I didn't like.
There weren't that many rides but I think there was a time I sat on the seat nearest the door, and so spent the entire ride with my head turned awkwardly towards the window behind because I didn't like looking at the rest of the passengers seated in front, facing me.
I don't remember much else about the ferry.
If I do, it's all very vague and distant and I'm not sure if I'm talking about this ferry, or other ferries which I've taken.
There aren't many memories I have of the Sentosa ferry.
Maybe because I didn't get to go to the island very often at that point in time.
Most of us didn't
If we did, it was a big thing, it was a carefully planned, carefully prepared excursion which would occupy the span of a few days.
Which is why this picture is significant.
Because that's what- I think- Miss Brown would have done.
That's what her family would have done.
And all that discussion, all that preparation, all that anticipation, climaxed in this one memorable photograph- of her son- on the Sentosa ferry- going there- perhaps- on that day, on that hour, in that year.