Feeling too sparse to parse anything too long, so here’s some itinerant thoughts, springing from the recent heat:
When you take the MRT to work, it’s quite clear that Singapore is under a dry spell. From the fleeting vantage point of the train, you can see fields of dried-up grass, bleached blonde, stripped clear of moisture. Rainforests, deprived of the thing from which they derive their name.
Today, as I left the office, a fog of carbon particles greyed the world, an acrid smell hung in the air: blowback from yet another fire, presumably. And “bush fire” sidles its way into the common Singaporean lexicon.
Words. I flipped through a copy of Asterix and the Magic Carpet in Popular bookstore this week. I suppose the random forces that pushed me to the book decided to go for something apposite: the story of an Eastern land, parched, awaiting Cacofonix, the ill-voiced bard, to bring upon rain by killing the clouds loudly with his song.
Song: Martha and the Vandellas, “(Our Love is Like a) Heatwave”. Well then will you lovebirds with your Valentine’s Day stuff please be quiet please? Still, at least we’re not in SoCal “if it’s yellow, it’s mellow, if it’s brown, flush it down” territory. These are the tropics, and a hard rain’s gonna fall soon.
But monsoon season is over. Boy, is it over.
Tangential link: Army friend Zhang Wenjie prays for rain.