Skirt Intentions

I really like long skirts, and I have been meaning since the beginning of the year to take what cloth I bought on Arab Street to a tailor and have them make me a few high-waisted skirts according to the above pattern. The cut is so flattering, and I know what works on my frame, and I have every intention looking like I wish and wearing what I want, whatever stares may come my way. Isn't the skirt just darling?

Half Poem

I found this half-finished poem among my documents.

When will we walk the mountains,

stride the plains in brisk and steady rhythm,

hum as we cross borders, break the trails,

and

And what? I will never know! My train of thought has no end station; it is a frustrating, ghostly ride, a neverending journey that simply passes station after station after station. I am a rusting machine, grinding slowly to a stop, and I am having a hard time completing my

Othello

I watched Othello in the park the other night. It is that great annual production by the Singapore Repertory Theatre, and I took the eighth graders to it, and they enjoyed it to varying degrees, mostly divided along lines of understanding. As for the experience itself, I could say that Iago was fantastic (he was) and Desdemona was less than convincing (she was) and that the staging was magnificent (a very well thought-out martial theme with infrared goggles and helicopters and satellites), but the most important thing of all was that I met Lim Yu Beng!

Who, you ask? Was he in the production? No, but that's not important. I saw him once before, months ago at Serene Centre in Bukit Timah. He was walking past and I had buillt up courage to shake his hand. He came closer, I stood up, and...he passed me by.

Rejected! Like the miserable wretch I am!

Little did I know my disappointment would be reversed. During Othello, I needed to find a restroom, and I was climbing the dark stairs  up to Fort Canning when a man pulls out a penlight and clicks it on, shining a light unto my path and a lamp unto my feet. "It's up the stairs to the right."
I stare at him for what must have been an uncomfortable amount of time. It's hard to tell in the dark, but could it be? I finally take a step forward and hold out my hand. "Are you Lim Yu Beng?"
"Yes?" He takes my hand tentatively, unsure.
"I grew up in Singapore," I gush. "I used to watch you on Triple Nine!"
I forget what he did, but in my mind I'd like to think he laughed.
"And you did that pen thing!" I try to recover smoothly and nod at the stairs. "Up the stairs to the right, right?" (Man, I'm good.)
"Yes."
"Thank you!"

Ladies and gentlemen, I--Sanna "the Almighty" Gabriel, first-year teacher--have shaken the hand of Lim Yu Beng, Singaporean television and stage actor of my childhood years. My life's purpose is fulfilled. Consequently, my faith in chance encounters has also been restored. I completely expect to run into Tom Hiddleston on the train in London (we'll discuss Shakespeare), and why not Kenneth Branagh while I'm at it.

See ya!

Here I am, in high form, shrugging off the world off with my devil-may-care attitude; I flick my hand back as if to say I'm-outta-here. And so I am, very soon, provided school ends or I lose my mind completely. Either one should  get me off campus.
"You use a lot of sticky notes," Kelly tells me today as she shows me her late homework.
I look at my desk, and she is right. I have no brain anymore. I keep losing track, forgetting things I shouldn't, and the only thought that keeps me upright is that this will all soon be over. I am not alone in this.

Dancers

My brother and his wife were featured on the front page of a newspaper. I do not know what they are doing or wherefore they are doing it, but that someone should take a picture of them whilst they did does not surprise me in the least. Perhaps when I have investigated the matter further I can give you more details.

Done and Seen

I took a walk down one of the abandoned railroads in Singapore. It runs by my house, and though it is but a relic, a small piece of its former glory, I find its physical presence a comfort and a reminder of days long gone. 

Walked to the stone quarry 

Jana slept over on my couch after we had met up for a writing day, and because my living room is excessively bright in the mornings, she kept the sun at bay by putting a pillow on her head. I think. As to how effective such measures are, I cannot say. 

Birthday Ice Cream

I have been writing, ladies and gentlemen, but not here. I have neglected the upkeep of my blog for school work and a novel and even a short story (I'm terrible at writing those, and I quite surprised myself). Therefore, I will be catching you up on all I have seen and done, and if any of you are thus offended by old news, it would be in your best interest to look away.

No birthday is complete without a birthday turban.

For my birthday, the the Rebel Shang and her demurely-named sister Judith went out for a birthday lunch, which first included a burger meal at The Burger Shack, which is an extension of the Island Creamery shop in Bukit Timah. Their burgers were delicious and non-greasy, and if you are on the hunt for a good burger, I would highly recommend it. It is located in the building (the name escapes me) to the left of Coronation Plaza, should you stand facing Coronation.

After this we traipsed over to the Island Creamery, a snug shop in Serene Center, next to the Bukit Timah entrance of the Botanical Gardens. If it's your birthday, you get a free scoop of ice cream (I didn't know this at the time and was only happily surprised at the fortunate coincidence). I remember when the Island Creamery first opened its doors, back when we still lived in a charmingly dilapidated College Green with a roof that leaked in the stairwell during heavy rains.  The Island Creamery is based off an excellent winning concept--they make their own ice cream fresh every day and in a variety of local flavours, which include Kahlua Latte, Teh Tarik, Durian, Coconut Swirl, Pineapple Tart, Horlicks, Cookies and Cream, Soursop Pomegranat Sorbet, etc. European ice cream shops are a dime a dozen (to borrow the American colloquialism), and I am not much impressed with their flavours, but here the creators embraced Singaporean favorites and turned them into something perfectly, naturally Singaporean.

By the counter there is a photo printing station, where you can print a picture of yourself enjoying the bounties of the Island Creamery, and it is, of course, expected that you stick your picture to the wall with all the others. So we did.

Shanghai putting up the picture.

Immortalized forever.