To the question “Where shall we go?”, we finally had an answer. “Now here’s a perfect view!” “Yes,” I said. “It is always changing.” It is as if change is the only thing that guarantees beauty. Rather, it is that change makes beauty uncertain. It is from the uncertainty that encourages anticipation. We begin to beautify the prediction, the possibility, the better. Uncertainty fertilises the imagination. I watch the cars pass by; each a different sound. You called them “vehicles” and had, with that word, encapsulated cars, motorcycles, bicycles, vans, lorries, trucks, busses. You always see details. We sat and talked about truth, and read a poem by Emily Dickinson. Sharing and reading poetry does happen in the 21st century, to individuals living in Singapore, to two twenty-three-year-olds with bags heavy with a laptop each, to a man and a woman sharing sensibilities identical to that of men and women centuries before us. We were, amongst other ineffable sensations, silly, silent, and musing.
Grow old with me, I said many seasons ago. But, after today, I correct it and say, “You go ahead. I’ll walk slow.”