Post-Europe thoughts

I've heard that one invariably ends up feeling a little disappointed when one revisits a memorable destination, so it was not without apprehension that I embarked on my second trip to Europe, a journey intended in great part to address my sense of regret at being unable to properly take in the Scottish highlands due to a lack of time the first time I was there.

It is true the immense excitement I felt at being surrounded by the sights and sounds of London or Lucerne the last time was absent.

But, free from an anxiety to take in as much as I could that I experienced back then, I felt that I was able to soak in more of the sights this time.

And it's not only the magnificent ruins of the Tintern Abbey, the bright lights of the Eiffel Tower or the snow-capped peaks of the Jungfrau region that I remember fondly; the people I encountered along the way left an impression too.

The Chinese student we met in Bath who hopes to settle down in Britain with his family, the mildly eccentric David who runs the guesthouse in Windermere, the humorous and ever helpful Scott who saved us a long walk to the bus station in Fort William, the waitress who went out of her way at a restaurant in Berne where we had our first taste of cheese fondue and even the friendly and cute waiter at a cafe along Paris' Champs Elysees.

Then of course, there's my inimitable travel companion C, whom I sent to check out the shower each time we entered a foreign bathroom and without whose valuable map-reading skills I would be hopelessly lost. We had our fair share of disagreements and flare-ups along the way, but I'd like to think we're shaping up to become the best travel mates ever.

Still, without a doubt, what I most relish is being able to say with satisfaction that yes, I conquered Ben Nevis - Britain's tallest mountain, albeit in about eight hours. And yes, Isle of Skye is so much more than Kyleakin or the Skye Bridge.

For my friend X

Perhaps it's appropriate that I pen this now, just when I'm about to embark on a trip to Europe once more.

I just read something an old friend, X, wrote in an e-mail to me. Europe, he said, is not just a piece of geography. It is a place in his heart. I was moved when I saw these words. Indeed, Europe is a magical and special place. It's a place where unique bonds are forged and unforgettable memories are made. It was in Europe, after all, that Y got to know her present husband. And it was in Europe that I felt a certain connection with X.

I tried hard to keep this connection alive and to build on it when we returned from Europe. But perhaps I tried too hard. We drifted apart instead. We did keep in touch, but he was just not there with me when I experienced the most tumultuous period of my life, when there was so much going on in my life. I met a very special bunch of people that year - my Honours classmates - and they really changed my life and opened up new perspectives for me. Much of my thinking now, I believe in retrospect, was shaped during that period. Perhaps X was undergoing his own set of life-changing experiences then too, because I don't think our friendship was ever the same after that.

When both of us became conscious of that and tried to renew our friendship, it just didn't feel the same. Perhaps we were just bogged down by too much old baggage from our shared experiences - maybe we were trying too hard to regain old feelings instead of getting to know each other anew. But then, how does one begin to get to know from scratch someone one thought one knew very well? Easier said than done, I think.

I truly do wish to retain this friendship - but at the same time, I don't want to try too hard. Not because I'm lazy, but because I don't think friendship should be a chore. What I dread is having to make a conscious effort to keep each other updated conscientiously, fervently hoping that something will fall into place somewhere once again. That's an exaggeration no doubt, but that fear is always lurking somewhere at the back of my mind.

So I'll try my best but X, don't be too hard on me. But then, I know you won't get upset with me - we're old friends after all.

Harry Potter (controlled) mania

The world has been gripped by Harry Potter fever over the last week as the final instalment in the series was released.

I've never considered myself a die-hard fan, but I dutifully placed my order for the Deathly Hallows just days before its release. On the day the book hit the shelves, I didn't rush down to Borders first thing in the morning even though I had to work later in the day. But what I did do was to make a special trip down to the store during dinner time to collect my order - something that didn't pass without comment from C, who wondered why I couldn't wait another day to pick up the book.

In the days that followed, I didn't cut myself off from civilisation or sacrifice my sleep time (or at least, not much of it), but I did make it a point not to schedule any appointments, and used whatever time I could find to read the book, even bringing it to the office so that I could sneak in one or two chapters after my work was done for the day, until I finally completed the 600-plus pages on the 5th day after my purchase.

For non-fans like C, I probably count as some sort of obsessed fan, but I'm positive that in the eyes of the hardcore fans, what I did was hardly worth mentioning. They would in all likelihood have shut themselves up somewhere and devoured the book in a day or less.

So where does that leave me? I guess I would consider my symptoms some form of controlled mania. I wouldn't call it the full-blown kind for two reasons. First, of course, I didn't go with the flow entirely. Second, I was fully conscious of the decision I made to allow myself to take up the Harry Potter "project".

It's been a long time since I last got caught up in any activity or project. Those days when I obsessed over NKOTB, or built my thesis from scratch are over. But I do miss the rush that comes from actively pursuing some project, getting caught up in the heat of things, especially if it comes without the self-conscious reflexivity that can be such a dampener.

I can't help noticing the farcicality of it all, but the least I can do is to attempt to deceive myself into pretending that it matters and taking it seriously - hence the controlled nature of my Harry Potter mania.

And just for the record - I enjoyed myself.

A day in the life of a model

I'm sure many brides get all excited about their bridal shoot, but I was not one of them. I didn't bother to check out potential locations for the outdoor shoot. I didn't lug along bags of clothes, shoes, accessories or cute knick-knacks. I didn't even have my manicure and pedicure. In short, you could say I was rather blase about it.

But I have to admit that I was a little apprehensive on the day itself. After all, I didn't have a photogenic face, unlike my sister, or a great smile, like C. Luckily, I have a good photographer -Y was funny, reassuring and encouraging.

Gradually, I gained in confidence and began to revel in the novelty of the experience as I tried to follow Y's instructions - sit up straight, shoulders relaxed; occupy your hands; don't tilt your face too high or too low etc. After all, it's not every day that one gets to lead the life of a model. In fact, there were even moments when I nearly forgot myself and could say I almost knew what it was like to be a model.

Posing in front of the camera is fun, but it can get tiring after a while, especially if it involves trying to look cool or loving under hot and humid conditions. Still, I enjoyed every bit of the shoot. Indeed, thanks to this valuable experience, I've corrected some of the misconceptions that I had and gained newfound respect for the work that models do. 10 poses in 10 seconds, anyone?

The search is over

Yes, I've found a photographer for my wedding day. When every single photographer I emailed replied to say he was already booked for the day, I became so fed-up I decided to call instead. And I hit the jackpot on my first try - E was still available!

We met, and he revealed that someone had sort of "booked" him for our date but never got back to him after that, probably because she had found someone else.

And it turns out that he's a Catholic too. Well, it may not mean anything to anyone else, but I saw that as a sign from God that He's been looking out for us. Don't get me wrong - I didn't sign up with E for religious reasons; I truly think his skills are good. But things happen for a reason. Though E wasn't my first choice, I believe there is a reason why God "saved" him for us. And I shall leave it at that.

Elusive search for a wedding day photographer

I don't even remember the last time I've been rejected so many times. Practically every photographer I've approached - the good and the not-so-fantastic - has claimed to be unavailable on my wedding day. Indeed, I've come a long way since the time I said to C that it doesn't matter even if we don't engage a photographer to cover our wedding. In my defence, I was thinking of those photographs of the contrived and cringe-worthy "pose-and-say cheese" variety then, which I still believe I can well do without.

But I've since come to the realisation that I do wish to have something with which to remember the most important day of my life, when I say "I do" to the man I love in front of the God I love. I want to have something that I'd enjoy taking out every now and then, something that will take me back to those memories every time I look at it, so what better than photographs?

Videos won't cut it for me - they say far too much, leaving nothing to the imagination. I'm looking for something that will evoke that special day, not masquerade as that special day. I don't need to have every scene of that day replayed in every minute detail for me; what I want instead is for my mind to be allowed to take flight and indulge in the process of recollection - an activity which could very well be as pleasurable as the contents of that recollection themselves.

So the search continues. But when God closes a door, He opens a window. So I'll keep the faith.

An unexpected act of kindness

A few days ago, I boarded the bus only to find that my ez-link card was out of cash and I was out of coins. The fare was $1.10, so I took out my $2 note and started looking around for someone I could ask for change.

The nearest passenger - an old Chinese woman - shook her head at me before I could even finish asking my question. So I approached the passenger sitting behind her - a Malay woman with three or four kids in tow. She took out her wallet, emptied out her coins, then asked me how much I needed for my fare. "$1.10," I told her, thinking that she wanted to know which denominations to give to me. Instead, she gave me $1.10 exactly. I looked at her almost in bewilderment, but she just said simply, "It's ok." Only then did it dawn on me - she was giving me the $1.10 for my fare! I was quite stunned; I don't even remember the last time I was at the receiving end of an act of kindness from a complete stranger. I thanked her profusely and proceeded to pay my fare.

When I turned round to find a seat, I was greeted by a middle-aged Chinese man and woman who simultaneously offered me change for the $2 note that I was still clutching. I accepted change from the woman, then returned the money to the Malay woman, but I could not help feeling a little disappointed.

No, it's not that I didn't want to return the money to the Malay woman, but I just felt that by so doing, I had somehow diminished the magnitude of her kind act in some way. That act of kindness from one fellow human being to another was unconditional and undiscriminating - something precious and valuable in an increasingly selfish and materialistic world.