I don’t attend enough to seeing the small beauties around me everyday. Having moved around so much in the last 4 years, foreign beauties are a cinch to parse. They’re novel and unfamiliar. The little delights of home? Impossible. They don’t call it domestic blindness for nothing.
Yesterday I met an old schoolmate at the Old Airport Road Hawker Center – an apparent foodie institution of the country’s east (I didn’t know of its existence until a few weeks ago, when I met yet another old friend there for the first time). After lunch we walked across the road to Dakota Crescent estate – see yesterday’s post – sat at the shaded playground, and talked for a long time. Then clambered around the old flats like a pair of naughty kids, on the tail of naughty actual kids.
There was just enough time to watch the light on remnants, and enough quiet to bear the gladness of sharing it with someone who also had a long and disconnected history with this the city.