Campbell Lane, 1:39 pm

In Feeling of the moment, Place description, Writing on 2017/10/06 at 16:22

I’m in the most amazing market I have ever seen. The entire street is full of stalls, crammed so tightly together it’s impossible to know where one ends and the next one begins. In the the middle of the stalls is a narrow passage that is so full of people, both locals and tourists, that you can hardly turn around without bumping in to anyone. Nearly every vendor in the market is selling things for the upcoming Deepavali festival. There are entire walls covered in garlands of artifical flowers; there are tables laden with boxes of fireworks; and from the canvas roof hang thousands upon thousands of strings of jewelry: long rows of pearls interspersed with gilded pieces of metal, rings bells, leaves and all manner of other shapes; glass beads in bright colors, ruby red and emerald green, framed in gold; brightly colored hemispheres like little umbrellas inlaid with pieces of mirror glass that sparkle in the light. These decorative, bejewled strings hang so low they almost touch the top of your head and if you stop to look up for a moment they are right in front of your nose; there’s so much that it’s almost overwhelming, I find it hard to describe it in a way that does it justice. This kind of extravagance, all gold and pearls, is not my style at all, but I can’t help but be amazed at the sheer amount.


Fort Canning Hill, 4:16 pm

In Place description, Writing on 2017/10/05 at 10:31

Even with the lens of my camera set to the widest setting, a photograph cannot do justice to the tree in front of me. I’ve seen big trees before, ones that are much taller than average and ones whose trunk is so thick it would take ten people, their arms wide open touching finger tip to finger tip, to reach around it, but nothing like this. This is gigantic in every way. The trunk is thick and tall with knots and bulges here and there, forming a stout base that stands halfway down a slope and extends upwards, towering above the plateau I’m standing on. The branches, each as long and as thick as your average tree, fan out from the trunk, splitting and branching off at intervals to form a huge network of wooden limbs. On top of the branches rests a massive canopy of green leaves that throws its shade over a large portion of the hill side. I stand in awe, trying to think of the proper way to describe something as simple as a tree yet made complex by sheer size.

Meihouman waterfall 2:36 pm

In Place description, Poetic prose, Writing on 2017/10/01 at 15:47

It’s the type of waterfall you might read about in an adventure novel or see in an Indiana Jones movie; the stream goes tumbling over the edge some twenty or thirty meters above the valley, twisting and turning in the air then hitting a large rock at the bottom, sending plumes of spray high into the air. The sound is like that of torrential rain or a faucet opened at maximum, the rush as the water falls through the air and the deep booming when it hits the bottom. The day is still yet here at the fall the rush of the water causes a cool breeze to blow.  The spray is caught by the breeze and spreads out like a thin mist, creating a kind of natural air condition for us as we sit here on a large boulder looking up at the fall. The sun catches in the mist, forming a rainbow that hangs in the air above the pool of clear blue water and dark boulders. I let my gaze wander upwards along the smooth wet cliff face, only a few cracks running across its surface, to green canopy above and the blue sky in the gap over the river. The water that comes tumbling over the edge flows and billows in the breeze, like a cloud of smoke on a windy day, the movement is almost mesmerizing. I remain seated on my boulder for a few minutes, a feeling of contentment inside me.