Taking Wing (Mar25 update)

Rather a sight this young woman out on the paving by Block 7. On the return from supper it was nearing 9. Some fun with a drone was the initial thought. Chinese female of that age, alone at that hour, amusing herself with those infernal killing machines? They did love innovation here, anything for new frontiers, frictionless whatnot. Truth to tell, there had not been any deployment of those particular contraptions here, whether for amusement or anything else… Well, ten odd years ago on the shores of Bedok Reservoir a group of young men had been encountered sporting with something that we struggled to identify at the time. When approached here at the Haig the lass became startled, alarmed in fact and began moving off to the sheltered walkway. Oh! No! Lassie. An elderly pair had stopped a few meters off, ready to offer aid. From the courtyard of the house a paper plane was eventually sighted. Anything other would not have drawn the observer back. It was doubtful the woman had noticed the first pass, so engrossed was she. Slowly she paused in her retreat and the old fogeys got themselves off. Instructions online had guided the gal, but something was wrong here. The plane she had created was supposed to boomerang-like circle a little way out and duly return to her. Not the simple version that shot out in a straight line 10-12 meters, before nose-diving to the ground. The more complex other, with a particular wing fold, would make a short half circle, then without much loss of altitude, obediently return to hand. At school some of the boys had mastered the art. The lady’s attempt was inadequate somehow, hardly in fact able to launch on the air at all. Some little wind associated with this NW monsoon was giving trouble too. Friday mid-eve and getting on. Presumably the woman lived in one of the blocks, or else the landed properties on our side. There was no one in her orbit who had taken a fancy in this aeronautical interest. No dog or cat had been brought along for company. Doubtful there were children at home. It was impossible for the scribe to offer real fellowship, much less perform meaningful rescue; the stars were mis-aligned. (There were never any visible in Singaporean night skies; the lack was impossible to gauge properly.) Here was only the usual resort next morning, falling far short and negligible of course; in some ways like a mention in prayer. In early teens one had fairly worn oneself out bedside at night attempting to recall all who were in need of succour—the household, neighbours, the teacher in the hospital. The German lady in the Vernon Street post office was recalled in this context, for some particular struggle now forgotten. In his late-70s Zainuddin reported the very same problem currently for his good self.