Magical, luminous things
I have flown across an ocean this week. This still sounds surreal to say. The last time I was overseas was around this time in 2020, a few weeks before the circuit breaker began. But here I am, back in Singapore, after having spent the last month and a half in Melbourne, my favourite city.
I could talk about sandy beaches, clear waters, star-lit skies, picturesque views, the copious amounts of coffee I’ve consumed, but it is the small moments of daily life that have really nourished me. Eating cherry tomatoes, silverbeets, and zucchinis harvested from my sister’s garden. Sifting mulch from soil, planting spinach seeds. Cooking chap chye for the first time just because I missed it. Waking up to the sounds of whipbirds out in the country in New South Wales, and watching a wooly wagtail shimmy its feathers as it greeted me on my uncle's veranda.
Living in stasis for the past two years has trained me to imbue ordinary things with magic and luminosity. And I’d like to think that in turn, magical, luminous things find me. On the plane ride back to Singapore on Saturday, we cruised through a sunset. As I watched a darkened landscape fleetingly lit only by blue and orange hues on the horizon, I thought, life is wondrous, we’ll be okay. Even if only for a moment.
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