The Rain, The Sea, The Smoke

It rained the whole night last night. The lightening was threatening to sever the boundless sky as the raindrops as big as yellow beans rolled down the roof like overweight three-year-olds sliding down the slide. I was awakened to the incessant thudding of the rain and the howling and roaring of the angry sky, looking out of the window panes smeared with water which blurred my vision.

Faraway, the yellowish-orange light of a church was unwaveringly glowing, illustrating the giant cross erected on top of the roof, yellowish-white against the bluish-black sky, sombre and grave. Yesterday was Sunday, the day when congregates gathered there and sang the hymns, said the prayers and gave out well wishes, when one's soul was cleansed and one's sin was forgiven. And then it was raining, raining heavily and non-stop, lightening striking between the poles and thunder growling inside the walls.

And we were going to the sea, to see the waves and to barbeque at the seaside, to listen to the rymthm of the sea moaning and to share a rainy afternoon together.

Here we goes. The rain dampened my mood but did not wean me off my longing. Undeterred by the downpour which sustained till this morning, the plan went as decided and the air was fresher. The location was East Coast Park, a place well-known to me but by some unfathomable reason, I had never set my foot on it. In the afternoon, two buses transported us along AYE towards East Coast Park.

After being here for one year, I still do not know why that sense of freshness towards this land never flutters. It was understandable for my juniors to get excited and go into the snapshot craze when the beautiful Marina Bay and Singapore Flyer were unfolded in front of them, along with countless skyscrapers erecting like bamboo shoots out of ground, forming the marvellous skyline of this "city of opportunity". But it seemed unreasonable that I, too familiar with the landscape to marvel and sigh, still let the novelty burn inside me and keep it aflame when once again faced with those magnificent scenes. So, I held a secret joy and suppressed elation as the bus slithered along the expressway, past the Fullerton Hotel, OCBC Building, the Cavena Bridge and the Theatre on the Bay. Soon afterwards, we arrived at the park and for my first time, I touched the solid sand on the solid sand beach.

As if responding to a spell, the rain stopped and the sinking sun tainted the horizon with soothing orange. We could not wait to explore and run amok on the beach, leaving a trail of small footprints which were soon washed away by the waves lashing onto the shore. Some barefooted Jing Dezhen girls began to build sand castles as T and W "played the sea" with us. We walked into it, kicked it, stepped on it, and felt it. We felt its coarseness as sands hit our ankles and hid in between our toes, we felt its grandness as the sound of the tide resonating with the call of the sea, and we felt its beauty as the waves rushing to the shore with white bubbles scattering on the sand. Oozz...the ephemeral beauty being repeated once and once again...

The BBQ began as the day grew dark. After finishing my cheese sausage, I took the stickers and tongs and became an assistant. With only the knowledge of cooking fishballs and hams, I faced the challenge of preparing more hard-to-cook food like whole chicken wings, sausages and PORK.

"Do you want medium rare, medium well or well-done?" You might hear this at Jack's Place. But if you apply the same question to the PORK, a grave mistake is done. For no pork can be eaten medium well, all must be well done. Mrs Wong told us the hidden peril of eating uncooked pork meat and we stared each other in shock and half-belief, transfixed at the fact that the man eating uncooked meat got a giant worm in his brainial artery.

Maybe this was not the most appalling part, because it may easily be taken as that kind of bedtime story aimed at scaring young children off their unhygienic habits. But the smoke spiraling upon the mesh soon began to torture me. I was about to be suffocated when some kind-hearted juniors came into rescue and frantically fanned the fresh air into my respiratory system. Occasionally, the smoke would become too thick to be fended away that my tears were driven out as if I was crying, but I found it somewhat comical instead of embarrassing. The smoke continued to spiral as the scintillating scent of the food began to tempt our olfactory nerves. I did not succumb to its appeal though, because the mere smelling of the food made me full!

We ran wild until the day went completely dark, and faraway on the shore, argon and neon lights were brightening up the "sleepless city". Away from the noice of the merry crowds, the silent sea was churning over and over, waves hitting jagged rocked and rolling back reluctantly. Against the breeze, we began to hum the familiar tune, "listen, the sea is weeping..."