Restlessness and Cupid

After a long, restless night spent battling with the air conditioner for a happy medium between sweat-drenched and bone-dry, I announced at 5am to the mostly inanimate objects in my room that I was no longer interested in sleeping.

Instead, I got up and did something I rarely do. I went for a walk – or perhaps more accurately, a recreational walk.

I’ve lived in Singapore for close to a year now, though in some ways I’ve hardly lived here a day. Work, work, work; the pile of virtual paperwork never seems to end.

But today will be different.

Sort of…

I grabbed my headphones and took a dawn stroll down to Marina Bay, aka the closest thing to Sydney Harbour in these parts.

It was a peaceful morning with dimly lit skies. The cool sea breeze was serenading a few keen photographers, there to capture the most iconic structure in Singapore, which I’ve affectionately labelled ‘the big boat in the sky’.

Grabbing a quaint little spot overlooking the water, I bestowed upon myself the rare luxury of ejecting from the seat of reality for a couple of hours.

I took a trip back through the ages, back to a very different time and place. Back to the scene of a night-dweller, a creature enslaved by some strange, volatile creative forces. A creature that harboured few concerns and even less responsibility.

I went back to a place where truth was told in melodies, desires sounded out through syncopation. And the pictures were in the lyrics.

I revisited my entire Jaden catalogue; back well before the ‘Jaden’ most people know and think of today.

I got hooked back into a couple of my old favourites, in particular the amusement park themed ‘Spun’, which seemed to strike a certain chord with the ever-stationary Singapore Flyer in my distant line of sight.

My words don’t often come from the heart, but from time to time the blank canvas brings out the deep-seated anti-romantic in me.

And as I walked home with a wry smile on my face, I reminisced of the days of thongs and singlets, harmonies and calluses, entertaining the hidden inner love-cynic that few people will ever meet; except for when he escapes occasionally during song.