A car so dear

To own a car in Singapore
would be so very fine.
For to get across this fair Isle
is a marathon in time.

The public transport fare's so dear,

the ERP's sublime.

To know that while you're stuck in traffic
you were trying to avoid,

at least you wouldn't have to pay
the peak-hour rate

(now it's all the time)
of stalling in the cab
(you called? that's an extra $5) - 

lao ban, it's only double the old price.

To refrain from texting on commute,
while waiting in the jam,
to know that you're not on a train
(where you'd bestandingsquashedoneithersidebreathing
someone else's carbon-dioxide)
or a bus at going-home time.

To own a car in Singapore - 

A! Fine it seems to me!

The public transport fare's so dear,

the COE's sublime.

To pay an extra $100k,
what a boon it must be,
to rent a car priced a tenth of that -
ten years? Why, it's only half your salary.

Mis-Sings

All the missing pieces
are marked by empty time.
And empty kinds of places
make for empty frame of mind.

My mind is full of fullness -
of time and times gone by
lacing all the streets I wandered
with laughter and with love.

An isle of memories remains -
a-head I wonder on
the streets that have been laundered
dry of memorabilia.

This place is waiting to be filled,
I know this in my head.
But in the streets of far away,
my heart is dis-placed instead.
And empty kinds of places
make for empty frame of mind.

It's a bittersweet symphony

It's funny how we all have preoccupations with our scars and wounds. We've all poked, picked at and scratched our scabs, or rubbed our bruises (or at least thought about it), and even though there's a kind of pain that comes with that, it's not the unpleasant kind. Even wounds that have healed completely, leaving scars or keloids, feel somehow odd to the touch.

Every one in a while a song will hit you in an odd place like that. I recently lost all my music library after taking my computer for repairs, and a friend of mine was kind enough to supplement my loss with his albums. So I found out how much I liked yet another Singaporean artist, Olivia Ong.

Olivia is only 4 years older than me, which makes me realise just how old I am!

Sweet Memories

by Seiko Matsuda, also sung by Olivia Ong, lyrics by Miss er

なつかしい痛みだわ ずっと前に忘れていた
でもあなたを見たとき 時間だけ後もどりしたの
幸福？と聞かないで うそをつくのは上手じゃない
友だちならいるけど あんなには燃えあがれなくて

失った夢だけが　美しく見えるのは何故かしら
過ぎ去った優しさも今は 甘い記憶 sweet memories

Don't kiss me baby we can never be
So don't add more pain
Please don't hurt me again
I have spent so many nights
Thinking of you longing for your touch
I have once loved you so much

あの頃は若過ぎて いたずらに傷つけあった二人
色褪せた哀しみも今は 遠い記憶 sweet memories

Translation

by Moo

natsukashii itamidawa
(it's a pain that lied in my memory)
zutto mae ni wasureteita
(that I did not remember for a long time)
demo anata wo mita toki
(But when I saw you)
jikan dake atomodori shita no
(only the time went backward)

"Shiawase?" to kikanaide
(Don't ask me, "happy?" )
usowo tsuku nowa jouzujanai
(I am not good at telling a lie)
tomodachi nara irukedo
(Although I have friends)
anna niwa moeagarenakute
(I could not have that much passion)

ushinatta yume dakega
utsukushiku mieru nowanaze kashira
(I wonder why only the lost dreams look beautiful)
sugisatta yasashisa mo ima wa
amai kioku
(sweet memories)

Sweet memories

Don't kiss me baby we can never be
So don't add more pain
Please don't hurt me again
I have spent so many nights
Thinking of you longing for your touch
I have once loved you so much

anokoro wa wakasugite
(We were too young back then)
itazura ni kizu tsukeatta futari
(Two of us hurt each other in vain)
iro aseta kanashimi mo ima wa
tooi kioku
(The faded sadness is already a memory of long time ago)
Sweet memories

I miss my piano.

Orchard road, 10PM

Walk along Orchard Road at ten o' clock at night. Music with a heavy beat that pounds your heart plays, and the inky blackness of the night is warded off by numerous fluorescent lights from the stalls that are still set up at this time of night. One of them is a cariacature artist's booth, and even at this time of night, there are still people queueing up for his services. At the moment, a fat lady in an overly-tight red tank is being drawn. Just like in the daytime, you can smell smoke everywhere. In the night, though, it's a more powerful stench - an acrid mixture of smoke, sweat and booze. It's not hard to see why some might find it compelling though.

At ten o' clock at night, giant ang mohs roam the streets with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, and equally tall, leggy Asians wearing stilettos tower over you effortlessly. Standing at a respectable height of 1.65m, it feels strange to be the shortest one in the crowd - you feel small, and insignificant.

By ten o' clock, all the shops in all the shopping centres are closed, or closing, and everyone is forced into the streets. Mothers holding ever so tightly onto whingeing boys. Last minute shopaholics holding fast to their paper bags, bludgeoning their way through the crowd, on to their next 'last' buy. All of a sudden, over sound of the heavy music and loud talking, the honk of the rubbish-man is heard. His pedalled vehicle is empty, but somehow, he still manages to leave a trail of some glistening liquid on the road. Perhaps it's from the doubtful looking broom turned on its end. You walk past more ang mohs and try to steer clear from the ones stumbling around in a kind of drunken song and dance routine, and a couple more wannabe sexy Asians, who are short and dumpy, but wearing mini-skirts and over-large hoop earrings. In the distance you can hear the sharp sounds skateboads connecting with roads as skaterboys are still trying to perfect that last jump or turn.

As you make it to the safety of the car park, you wonder why you've never seen this side of Singapore before.