@alexstrohl: Overcast evening in the Fjords of Norway. The more I think about weather, the more I realize I'm constantly chasing cloudy/stormy weather. Nature comes to life under the rain.
i wrote this a while (a month??) ago, with the view that it should be revised somehow, but i saw the above instagram post this morning so it caught my heart, given my love for 6am mornings and tropical thunderstorms and london fog and all:
a half hour before i was due to leave the office that wednesday, the clouds unleashed the torrents of rain it had been holding onto the whole day. the skies blackened as if on cue, and i scrambled to secure an umbrella and to find myself home. the indescriptness of the cars and motors going by and the rains from infinities past temporarily blurred any notions of time i might have held, and for that moment i may have seen singapore as how it used to be. under the sun every other place looks angry and too new. you see the buildings and the problems, but the rain pummels down to soften the edges – the neon lights shine brighter and the complaints hushed. it doesn’t seem to rain so heavily at night most times in singapore, so it is always the rarety of rain, (especially when i am not under the shelter of home or school) that makes me think myself into the past – it is harder to do so where there is too much sun, because it is so usual and so everyday. when we think of history, we hardly factor in the rains and winds. history is only painted in the binaries of night and day, and forget about the rainy days where people are crossing puddles to find shelter, or where raindrops hit their face and drench their feet. when it rains, it brings me a little closer to history, and the people who have tasted the rains that had fallen on my skin and my hairs, the surroundings disappear and it is all human.
i was thinking about timing -- who i was before, who i am now. and how much of the phrase 'wrong timing' seems to have come into play for me. but -- maybe it isn't wrong timing. suddenly i remembered how i look at people as phases: accept that they come and go, and if you're lucky you find people who are the longest phases. so maybe it isn't wrong timing as it is the right timings for such a short time. because what i've ever lamented as falling into the bucket of 'wrong timing' could only seem so right then -- now, the culmination of me that encompasses all these missed chances will never be right for them again. which will always be a refreshing thought, that as we all move forward, regrets don't retain the same shapes anymore. no more mourning, no more melancholy, but a silent sweet reminisce and a hope for the future that will always turn out alright, i guess.