Urbanization Over Preservation?

When we finally settled on our current home after countless viewings of many other properties in the west, the pretty much all-round panoramic views from our 19th floor unit were definitely a deciding factor.

Agreed, there were other factors that attracted us to this place - it was affordable, close to amenities (NTUC is just a short walk away, and so is a kopitiam), bright and windy, reasonably quiet and, very importantly, an indescribable "ummph!" associated with it. But the views from the master bedroom and the children's room are really sceneries to be cherished.

The windows open to a cloud of various shades of green, not exactly a very common sight in urbanised Singapore. I wouldn't exactly label the view breathtaking, but perhaps restful, calming, refreshing, a little mysterious and at times, something to boast about. I remember a real estate consultant telling us once that if wanted such a place, we'd have to find our own island and build a house upon it.

Now, if you look at the second picture, and somewhere towards the bottom of it, you'll see that construction for something has begun. This picture was taken on a Sunday, so it does not feature the workers with their hard blue hats diligently ploughing away at possibly the neighbourhood’s last forested region. I have no idea yet, what is to become of this area, but I wouldn't be too surprised if our beloved foliage gave way to a few more blocks of concrete.

At the end of the day, I would HAVE to be understanding. Living in a city-state like Singapore, we are after all quite accustomed to the outcomes of urbanization.

But still…I do feel a tinge of sadness.

Get Tough with the Little Things

I snapped this photo when I was in London last November. You can see the Piccadilly lions in the far background. Students had been protesting against a hike in University fees or a reduction in the budget for education or something like that. The police were all over the place. Streets were cordoned off and traffic was diverted. But tourists were still allowed to roam freely. "They're kids," a police officer replied when we had asked him if it was safe to pass through. "They can't do anything." As long as the demonstration didn't turn violent, the police remained relatively well, passive. We heard on the news that even teachers and university professors had taken the day off to participate in the march.

              

A few days before, I had spent some time at a high-achieving school just a four-hour drive away in the beautiful county of Lincolnshire. That school is not only well-known for its excellent performance in the national exams, but also for its high standards of discipline. Chewing gum and the use of handphones are banned on school grounds. Students were constantly instructed to tuck their shirts in, pull their leggings up, keep their volumes down, stop rocking their chairs, take their heads off the table, etc. I'm sure a few of my ex-pupils would find this quite familiar. What struck me more about this approach was that every teacher seemed to be "speaking the same language" when standing up for the rules of the school. From the young and trendy, to the old and distinguished, they were all equally firm.

         

"We go hard on the small things, so we never have to deal with the bigger things," one of them explained to me when she spotted me cringe. "So, in this school, you never hear of fights, chairs getting thrown, or teachers getting shouted at."

Halfway up the Stairs

Ashlyn likes to sing (Thanks to Lisa). Recently, while walking her home from the doctor’s, I heard her sing the most beautiful song. I decided to google bits of the song I could make out. This is what I figured was the song:

HALFWAY DOWN THE STAIRS

Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top.
So this is the stair where I always stop.

Halfway up the stairs isn't up and isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head.
It isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.
Halfway down the stairs is a stair where I sit.

There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top.
So this is the stair where I always stop.