Sigh. Once in a while, I'll look at the photos stuck on my walls and my mind might just disappear. Back and back and back. Back to the time when I was in England, when we didn't fight as often, when we didn't have as many arguments, when there was actually time for the entire family to go for short walks, when.....when.....when there was more laughter than tears.

If England was heaven then Singapore is hell. Maybe I'm being too harsh here, maybe. But if I start making comparisons, it becomes pretty hard to stop. There were less tests, more time to enjoy our childhood. I don't suppose any of you happened to see the papers the other day? Parents are worried that if their precious little pumpkins go to a playschool that places its emphasis on games and creativity, 'my darling baby will have problems adjusting in Primary One!' They want a playschool that teaches their children the times tables, addition, subtraction, the alphabets, spelling......why do you think it's called playschool in the first place? Perhaps it's because your child is supposed to enjoy himself there?

I feel sorry for children of this generation. At least I managed to spend my childhood in a place that encouraged the exploration of your own talents and habits.

I know this may sound like maudlin, but, really, I loved the grey buildings, the cobbled, uneven streets where I happened to keep falling during the years that I learnt to walk. The huge parks they had, acres of flat land, meadows, trees. The various days of remembrance or celebration, where the people truly came together to commemorate this event or that event, the minutes of silence, all the little chapels and famous cathedrals, that wonderful road map that my parents could never fathom....

I remember walking down the streets every Saturday, to go to this fish and chip stall run by a man from Hong Kong. His chips were fantastic, and they were like family to us. We would chat to his eighteen year old son and eat our dinner at the same time. The cod he made was always very tasty, apparently, someone delivered it to him everyday at five in the morning....then there were his chips with ketchup or barbecue sauce, his 'mushy' peas.....that huge Jewish shop up the street that sold kosher meat..on Sundays we would go to Water Margin, a Cantonese resturant. We would have a chinese meal, then my mother would cross the road to buy some cheesecake. That shop's cheesecake was truly wonderful, and they made entire platters of it!

Oh yes, the people there! Whenever we passed people, be it morning, afternoon or night, we often recieved a greeting or a nod headed in our direction. I see that sort of thing so rarely in Singapore that it makes me rather sad. You had no idea how good it feels when someone gives you a greeting in the day, and in Singapore, when my father did that, all he got was strange stares, as if they thought he was a little crazy. It's a different culture I guess.

Your grey streets of cobbled stone,

wet spots dancing where the streetlamp lands,

strange beauty in the tall dark houses,

winding stairwells and oaken doors.

a true meshing of spirit and togetherness,

outspoken, versatile, cheery people,

cups of tea, plates of fish and chips;

while mulling over war and football.

like scattered sweets over a large cake,

friendly folk, different yet same.

last - next