Remembering Eugene Tang

 Dear Eugene, 

Remembering the wonderful time we had as classmates and our adventure in Tasmania. You will always be in my heart. Rest in peace, my dearest friend. 

Invertebrates of Singapore Rain Forest

The invertebrates came before us and made the world as it is today. They surround us everywhere and outnumber us exponentially beyond comprehension. On land and in the sea, they will still be around when human race vanquish. Below are just some examples of invertebrates living in our rain forest, for example MacRitchie. Our failure to recognize their ecological services extended to us via the dynamism of a healthy intact rain forest for which they are in part responsible will certainly lead us to our ruin.

Red-hearted Beetles



Trilobite - Nature's Peter Pan - young forever!



Ant-mimicking Spider

Cyana - an Arctiine moth pupa - Nature's first conservatory!

Moth

Round pink millipede

Giant flat millipede

Long-necked longhorn beetle

Atopos - a carnivorous slug

See my Youtube video: Forget Not Our Living Rain Forest

New Painting: Autumn Has Come to Oxford

Title: Tammy's in Love

Intuitively it came as I paint. I found myself whistling a-whistling a tune of my youth. Tammy... and she is still so much in love. Her heart reflects the soft beauty of early autumn and she fills my own heart all so joyfully.

Painting of Sentier Littoral de Gigaro

A new painting for my sister.

Sentier Littoral de Gigaro

Chek Jawa Days

Chek Jawa days are just full.

Remember that windy and sultry day? I led you by the hand through the woods. You appeared hesitant at first. I had your hand in mine, and gave you a squeeze to tell you I was near. Two lonely figures we were, in a tunnel of trees and shrubs, walking upon the soft and winding trail. It might rain, they said, but I was undaunted.

The sea was near. We stopped momentarily to look up at the rustling of the leaves and felt the breeze in our faces. ‘That’s the wind’, I said. ‘And that’s the sea too!’ I added in jubilation.

No sooner, the glaring shimmer of the sea broke through the gaps in the woods like a chandelier of lights caught in the wind. We quicken our steps and gingerly picked our way among the rocks and boulders on the rugged shore.

And there you were, bubbling with excitement. You took fancy in almost every piece of broken corals and pebbles. If only you could see the twinkle in your own eyes and the quiet joy in a father’s heart. For a moment in time, I felt immortality and that we could walk on and on till time eternal.

Did you not feel the desolate vastness of the sandflat beneath our feet and the sky above our heads? Would you remember the warmth of a father’s care when I pulled your socks off so that you could stand in the pools left by the receding sea?

You ran around pointing out all the starfishes you could find and asked in the most natural way if you
could keep one in the fish tank at home. I laughed. It better they stay in the sea, I said. You held one for
a moment in your small palm and then let it go. Time could only be counted in sea anemones, sponges
and fishes trapped in the pools. We were a hundred meters out and there were starfishes everywhere.

Two hours passed within a breath and the rumble of the darkening sky signal our return to shore. As
usual, you tired easily, and asked to be piggybacked. Why not, I said. There will be a time when you will
grow up and I will not be able to do so again.

As soon as we were back to the rocky outcrop, it began to drizzle. We took shelter under the canopy of the seashore nutmeg and got our raincoats on. The sea rose steadily and covered the meadow of sea grasses like the drawing of the curtain to signal the end of a show. It was time to go.

I look back in fond memory how two of us retraced our path along the forested shoreline under the rain. We took off our caps just for the fun of it. The moistened trunks and roots looked so enriched in tone over the smooth boulders. Even the pebbles became alive in livid colors.

The rain also brought the birds back into the tiny forested home. We too are going home. Every creature, big or small, has a home to return to. With you in my hand, I bade a final farewell to the families of starfishes that had finally returned to the swollen sea.

I wrote this, my dear son, so that this memory will stay with you forever. I hope you will grow up to feel the same as I do for the home that we share with all these wonderful creatures. I hope you too can experience this unique place with your own child and carry on for yourself the immortality I felt when I was there with you.

I am dedicating this memory to you and hope you will discover for yourself that the true sense of being is being with nature.

Love,

Dad

That Trees Do Cry

That Trees Do Cry

It could not have been less obvious. Even the foreign workers working nearby would have realised
something was amiss. A building that was closed and of little significance to them whatsoever, and yet, there was this constant stream of people - individuals, couples and families - that trickled in like wandering spirits, lingering about quietly in as much as a whisper, drifting in and out of the silent stairways, and loitering before bolted doors and unlit windows.

Hitherto they took their cameras out now and again to steal a shot here and there without getting in
each other's way. The respectful silence that permeated the air betrayed the mutual understanding that each one has for the privy of the other's need to be alone to dwell in his or her own timeless place of memorable fondness and youth.

I brought my 10 year old son along just to relive the little moments that we once had here. I vividly
remember one rare breakfast of sandwiches and coffee in the cafe by the fountain in the inner
courtyard five years ago. I couldn't remember what we chatted about, but I remember we had a
magazine and he was reading something aloud to me. I remember feeling very proud as the elderly lady at the next table beamed an approving smile at the proficiency of this young reader.

However the strongest piece of thread that binds me still to this place can be found on the parapet of the main stairways. Here it was, and still is in my eyes, the memorable resting place that me and my siblings sat with Enid Blyton's books in our hands. We loved this spot and would sit here for a while before adjourning home.

I had wanted so much to share this feeling with my son. That I did sitting there with him for a while and we had pictures taken for good measure. However, what happened next, swept me off my feet in the most enchanting way.

'Daddy... look! A slide.' I looked up and saw him sliding down the smooth terra cotta tiles. 'That was
exactly what I and my brother and sisters did too,' I smiled.

Never in my wildest dream that out of my babe's mouth comes a distant voice from my past and so miraculous a gift of vision that only he, my son, could ever have presented me so dearly.

We left shortly after and walked slowly round to the side of the red-brick building for one last time.
Surprisingly, there were still some books lining the window sill inside. They looked forlorn and sad against the algae-stainted pane, leaning out as if to take a last glimpse of us old faithfuls.

It seemed goodbyes were hard even from the inside too. Long gone were the noises of the children and the incessant steps that greeted the arrival and departure of the library visitors. Anguish draped heavy like a burial cloth.

As I walked to my favourite Sea Beam tree at the end-corner of the building, I wondered if I, amongst the thousands of old faithfuls, had done enough to help conserve this place of our youth.

A carpet of tiny flowers greeted me under the Sea Beam tree. Some fell on my head. As I stooped to pick
up some, I found a dying caterpillar lying motionless amongst the fallen flowers. It must have fallen from the high canopy too.

I looked up to see my son who by then was riding happily about in the carpark on his scooter. Will he and his generation ever know that trees do cry when a caterpillar dies? I sincerely hope so, and understand why dad and others alike are so sad today.

- Joseph Lai, 3 April 2004

In its place - a gaping hole of an entrance to the 350m Fort Canning Tunnel. A very short tunnel for a cherished place of memories and growing up for Singapore Merdeka Generation especially.