196/365

it’s hard to know what you deserve.
what has been earned.
what’s a right?
hard to recognise decadence
and extravagance.
a nice lunch.
time by a pool.
happy hour drinks and cheese.
a walk through an outdoor art exhibit at dusk.
a safe clean city.
a loving family.
a delicious dinner.
shower. bathrobe. hotel room bed.

it’s hard to know what you deserve.
gratitude before entitlement
seems the way to go.

112/365

it’s a good day
when in the end
you smell like smoke
and have marshmallow goo
in your beard,
and dirt beneath
your fingers,
and a thin film
of perspiration
covers your body,
and you watch kids
hold a rooster
for the first time,
and when you’re sitting
around a fire
and the moon
is brighter than
it should be,
and the fire holds
the kids like a magnet
as they laugh and shout
stupid jokes,
each one vying
for attention,
and you jump in
with your lame humor
laced with sarcasm
and wisdom,
and you eat fruit
and take photos
of droplets,
and you breathe
and you breathe

and
you
breathe.

The Scab

I don’t want too many of these posts to be about politics. There is only so much we can take, so even after the events of Chicago, Cleveland and St. Louis, I will choose to write about something other than you know who tonight.

Although I will say that I am having a very hard time distinguishing between anger and sadness these days. Article after article and video after video fall like granite through my Facebook feed, and I am lost as to which new emoticon to present that accurately represents my emotions.

It feels like a blend of anger, sadness, shame, pity, frustration, fear and loathing, but ultimately I think all of these emotions can be summed up as hate. This campaign is making me hate, and this is why it is so dangerous.

Having said that I hope that I have enough faith in humanity, peace, love and understanding. Perhaps this is the darkness before the dawn and America has started the healing process by ripping off the scab.

…

It is a beautiful early afternoon and the clouds are a rainbow of white and black and different shades of grey. We are all on bikes and the sun is gently toasting my skin. Kaia is up ahead lost in her thoughts, while Mairin and Skye are just behind me.

East Coast Park is crowded with campers and picnickers. The BBQ pits are strewn with balloons and the smoke of cooking meat. People are covered in sand and water and the calm lethargy of a well spent Sunday. There are large groups of expats, Muslims, Indians and Chinese. Couples and families. Athletes and loafers. A diverse range of people, peacefully enjoying the sun and the sand. Say what you will about race relations in Singapore, but on a day like today at East Coast Park, you cannot help but fall in love with what our human family can look like if we just chill the hell out and do our own thing.

We bike passed the crowds and stop at the restaurant with the pool out front, for a quick stop to eat and a dip. Just as quickly as we stopped we are back on the road, headed to Kallang Wave for some Lazy River fun. The ride is hot and hard- probably over twenty kilometers in total, but we all ride in our own silence and occasional conversations. The girls are not complaining, as this is what we do- we ride our bikes and enjoy the air and the strain on our legs.

We swim a bit and float in the sun at the Lazy River. Rain clouds are threatening, but the air is thick with heat and the water feels perfect. Still wet in swim suits, we are back on our bikes and head back to East Coast park. Large dark clouds are right behind us, stirring up the wind and a soft splash of drizzle. A quick stop at Starbucks for some donuts, fruit and smoothies.

Toward the end, Skye is tired, but peddling. We are home and showered and napping and playing games on iPads. We earned it. Bed time comes fast and easy, as our sun drenched blood shot eyes welcome the quiet solitude of sleep. We will dream about the graceful beauty of a day spent on a bicycle. I know that John, Roderick, Chris and Andrew will understand what I mean.

…

Read an article today about how parents in France can be sued by their kids if the parents post pictures of the kids on social media. I have also seen several articles about kids who are upset about their parents sharing photos of the kids online. As many of you know, I have been sharing photos of both my kids since they were born. I think they both have an ultrasound photo online somewhere.

I have lots of thoughts about the issue, but it is too soon for me to comment at length. I am letting it stew. I think I would like to make a video and ask Kaia what she thinks. I need to actually show her what is out there, explain why I put it there, show her some of the reactions and see what she says.

New Strings

I was told to go down to Coleman Street in Singapore if I wanted to buy a new guitar. It has been a few years since I bought a new instrument, and while my fingers may be a bit more dexterous, and I may be able to jump slight more lithely from chord to chord, my knowledge of guitars and woods and sound is still very amateur. I had no idea what I was looking for. I was hoping that a guitar would feel right in my arms and sing to me. Very romantic I know.

I have had a Takamine for several years, and I know very little about this instrument. I know that it is black, which I no longer like; it is twangy and trebley and sounds crooked and rusted. As far as I know, it is none of these things, but the sound feels hallow and old and I knew that I needed a new guitar.  I parked the car and began exploring the various shops of the area, of which there were several.

I am looking for something warm and rich with a full sound. I mostly strum and I want the Em chord to linger and echo and be felt rather than heard. I like to finger pick a bit, so I would like some crisp high tones too. I can spend about $700-$1000. What have you got? 

I had a few hours to kill, and I couldn't help but think how pleasant it was to walk into store after store, sit on one of those tiny stools and be handed guitar after guitar to play. I began to learn that the wood matters. Rosewood, Spruce and Mahogany created fuller sounds. Solid wood is a factor as well. Before embarking on my quest many people told me to look for Taylor guitars, but I wasn't sold on any brand. I just wanted to find the right instrument for me.

I must have been on my fourth or fifth shop when I walked into Maestro Guitars. The place was quiet and felt of wood. A calm and gentle guy came up to me and asked me if I needed help. After giving him my "warm and rich with a full sound," spiel, I noticed that all the guitars were the same brand. A signature M identifying the maker.

After speaking with the salesman, seems too cheap of a name for the guy, I found out that Maestro was indeed some thing different:

Maestro is the only Singaporean brand that handcrafts guitars and ukuleles. Since 2004, we have been providing quality handcrafted guitars and ukuleles to discerning players that are very particular with tone, playability, and craftsmanship. Through the years, we have established a strong presence in Singapore, even drawing crowds from the region just to experience our instrument.

The more time I spent there, the more I realized that my new guitar would be found here. I played a few and they were perfect. I played a several in my price range and a few slightly beyond, and as luck would have it--my favorite was right in the middle and on sale.

Traditional sound fused with the Maestro Signature projection is what the Beta & Omega is all about. Constructed from the ever dependable combination of Spruce and Mahogany, these Full Solid guitars offers the classic sweet and woody Mahogany sound, with good volume, projection, and depth of which Maestro instruments are known for.

The body itself is as light as air and so delicate. Untarnished by lacquers and chintzy decorations it feels from the earth. As if pulled from a tree and strung up and ready to play. The neck is a more solid and the girth fits my hand perfectly. After years of hating the steely sound of my Takamine, this guitar is perfect. I knew after a few chords that it was the guitar for me.

The salesman was super chill and not pushy at all. I couldn't decide if I wanted to add pick-ups, but he said I could take it back later and they can add it. (Do I want pick-ups? I still don't know. If I ever play live, I can just mic it right? Why pick ups? Please sell me in the comments.) The guitar comes with a lifetime guarantee. I felt like I was being inducted into a family. A movement. Upon further research, when I got home and read this message from the founder of the company, I couldn't be more pleased. Not that it matters but the website is a pleasure to navigate as well.

After a day of roaming the streets of Singapore, I found the perfect instrument for me. I could have bought some factory guitar with a well known name, but instead I feel I found the guitar that I know I should have at this point in my life. Who knows, this may be the first of several Maestro guitars that I own.

Bonus, because the guitar was only $700 and a bit under my budget, I also picked up a hand-made starter Ukulele that is a beauty in her own right. Here are my new babies.

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepidteacher

 

I am off to Thailand tomorrow, so you have to wait for recordings in a few days. Although I am taking the Uke with me to learn a few chords and who knows I may record some island tune.

Thanks Maestro. You guys rock.

The Honeymoon Stage

When people tell me they can't (don't) blog because they don't know what to say, or because they don't know where to start, I often flippantly riposte, "Don't worry too much. Just write." How rich that I have been in Singapore a few days, and still awkwardly teetering on the brink of my first post from The Lion City. Can't seem to find a starting point.

Trouble is that I want it to be just right. I want to be in the perfect mood. I've been waiting for the words to spill forth from somewhere inside me and dance into place. The longer I wait, however, they are becoming jumbled and congealing in the parts of my brain that need to be aired out for the summer. It's time to heed my own advice and let the words go.

I am happy. Simple. Right? The days are sunsoaked and everything flashes through bokeh tinted lenses. The days are long and warm and cloudless and melt into one another. It is summertime. It is perfect. I am happy. I can see some of you shaking your heads already--yes I imagine you individually and collectively reading these words--oh here he goes again-- painting the grass on his new side of the fence as green and verdant as we allow. Your accusing tone, may be hushed and whispering, but it is pronounced nonetheless, "He is projecting his needs onto a reality he has constructed to make himself think he is happy, but really he is choosing to ignore elements of Singapore that are similar to Jakarta or Doha, or all the other place he has griped about in the past."

I hear you. You are probably right, but I am happy. Did I mention the length and temperature of the days?

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepid Flame

Perhaps Singapore is not the perfect place, but at this point in my life, it sure feels like it. I don't want this to be a Jakarta bashing post, because there is a lot about Jakarta I like. It was great for me professionally and there are always lessons to be learned living in a developing country. Perhaps if I was younger and single, I would be singing a different tune, but as a thirty-eight year old father of two, I think it is obvious where it makes sense to raise my girls.   

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepid Flame

Don't get me wrong, I don't want my girls living in an unrealistic world, where they think the world is all perfectly manicured streets and efficient city planning, but at this point in their lives, I want parks and buses and sunny summer day walks. Am I petty for wanting these things for my kids? It sometimes feels like it. Happiness has always been the most awkward emotion for me. I have a difficult time de-tangling guilt from joy. Hard to smile when you feel like the spoiled expatriate roaming the world looking out for his family. What makes it worse is that said expatriate paints himself as some kind of champion for the oppressed. I never feel I deserve to have so much, when others have so little, but then have no qualms about enjoying it all anyway. Joy and guilt are so intertwined. Ahh....and this was going to be a post about happiness and contentment.

So what the hell am I trying to say? Honestly I have no idea. Maybe I should have waited until my thoughts were better sorted, before I started blabbering online. All I know is that every night, I sit at this machine, listen to some tunes, and listen to my mind as it begs to be heard. Most nights it is cheering and singing and smiling. Tonight was no different, but as you can see, once I got started I became side-tracked with the doubting, questioning, and dealing with guilt. I wanted to document this moment of joy as it is happening, but ended up tainting it with the other stuff too. Here is what I know at this moment: It is early June, summer, 2012, I am nearing my thirty-eighth year on this planet, and with all I have seen and done and felt in my life- I am happy.

The colors feel vibrant.

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepid Flame

The water tastes clean and the sun shines.

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepid Flame

Everywhere I look this is what I see.                                            (It is all painted with a golden brush)

Am I writing from the Honeymoon Stage? Of course, but please allow me at least a few days to swallow it all up. There it is- the first report from Singapore!

How do you deal with the guilt of being happy? 

There Is Something...

I miss living in cities. After three years in Doha and now Jakarta, I realize that I love living in cities. The time I spent in NYC and San Francisco was some of the best time of my life. Walking through Singapore tonight I realized that there is a pulse in a city that helps me stay connected and alive. A pulse I never felt in Doha and am having a hard time finding in Jakarta.

This poem was inspired by my walk home down Orchard Road in Singapore today. As I walked home with my family, I heard the story of Danny Santos' photographs in everything I saw:

This photo is by Danny Santos from his site Shooting Strangers. All Rights Reserved

There is something about walking the streets of a city at early evening- the golden light oozes from the sides of buildings like melting honey, searing and sticky, dripping from every angle it touches; piercing shards of blond light burning saffron refract from the windows like psychedelic graph paper, a geometry of weightless luminosity carves a parade of polynomials onto every surface with laser precision, leaving the avenues and tress warm and spent.

There is something about walking the streets of a city at early evening- the forgetfulness of shame and mistakes are cleansed away by the raw optimism of pride. Although we know that everything in the bowels of this conurbation will end up in a land fill and stink of waste, every item of clothing, designer handbag, chocolate éclair or camera battery. Every stroller, high heeled shoe, or trumpet. Every cigarette butt, bottle of champagne, or latest Nike shoe. Every iPad, flier or sex toy will end up as waste, we feel good about the last few moments of dying sunlight.

There is something about walking the streets of a city at early evening- swarms of contented citizens stroll and shuffle, saunter and meander the streets, arm-in-arm, in love and alone, on their way home, to a show, to a dark corner to lose themselves in the eyes of another. With frenzied determination and headphoned ears, they whisper and text into their gadgets, making plans, checking for the hopeful chance of not spending another night alone.

To look up at a half moon as the sun begins to fade over any city in the world is to feel alive and connected. We nod to each other as various mobs intersect, rearrange and merge with each other- we did this. We created this symphony of human triumph. For every terrible injustice, we ignore responsibility for, walking the streets of any city at early evening reminds us that we are human, and this collective existential understanding can be, when appreciated under the right light, a beautiful thing.