I have to recommend this phone.

It's my dream come true. And it's super cheap to boot.
$168 w singtel contract.
It has ALL the functions i want.

Ya la. This entry will sound like an advertisement, and I wish I was paid to do this but no.

Seriously, if you're on a budget like me, do consider this. I do believe it stretches the dollar I'm abt to spend on it.
Can't wait.

I had never really known you,
but I realized that the one you were before,
had changed into somebody for whom
I wouldn't mind to put the kettle on.

- I don't know what I can save you from, Kings of Convenience

***

I didn't know if you wanted to
But I came to pick you up
You didn't even hesitate
And now you and me are on our way
I think I've bought everything we need
Don't look back, don't think of the
Other places you should've been
It's a good thing that you came along with me

- Gold in the air of summer, Kings of Convenience

I am a very compulsive listener. :)

How To Be a Poet
(to remind myself)
by Wendell Berry

Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
There are only sacred places
And desecrated places.

Never mind my timing (Revelers from the free Mayday concert should by now be bringing their sense of contentment home) - i'm the only one who minds anyway - but I am just going to quote from my fav song from their latest album 后青春期的诗, namely 如煙. (copied and pasted some traditional chinese from the net, too lazy):

有沒有那麼一首詩篇　找不到句點　
青春永遠定居在　我們的歲月
男孩和女孩都有吉他和舞鞋　
笑忘人間的苦痛　只有甜美

有沒有那麼一個明天　重頭活一遍　
讓我再次感受曾　揮霍的昨天
無論生存或生活　我都不浪費　不讓故事這麼的後悔

有誰能聽見　我不要告別
我坐在床前　看著指尖　已經如煙

The lethal combination of poetry with guitar with youth just does me in.

***

I can't describe the incident in a way that doesn't make me seem silly but here goes. At the Jurong East MRT Interchange where there are 3 platforms. I saw a guy at the outermost platform taking photographs of the sunset. And I just kept looking at the guy. First instinct tells me that being 花痴 as I am, I probably got smitten just because the guy appreciates the sky. And through it all I only saw his back. On retrospect however, I could just be obsessed because I am envious of him. Of his position, when nothing came between him and the wide span of landscape. Symbolically he's living on the edge while me, I shrink a comfortable distance away from experiences that would require initiative and courage (just everyday courage, not those of heroes).

At the National Museum of Singapore (open hse - free entry till 4th Jan)

You Reading This, Be Ready
by William Stafford

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life –

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

***

"According to the novelist John Gardner, there are just two kinds of stories in literature: you go on a journey, or a stranger arrives in your world."

Christmas 1963

by Joseph Enzweiler

Because we wanted much that year
and had little. Because the winter phone
for days stayed silent that would call
our father back to work, and he
kept silent too with our mother,
fearfully proud before us.

Because I was young that morning
in gray light untouched on the rug
and our gifts were so few, propped
along the furniture, for a second
my heart fell, then saw how large
they made the spaces between them

to take the place of less. Because
the curtained sun rose brightly
on our discarded paper and the things
themselves, these forty years,
have grown too small to see, the emptiness
measured out remains the gift,

fills the whole room now, that whole year
out across the snowy lawn. Because
a drop of shame burned quietly
in the province of love. Because
we had little that year
and were given much.