A pronouncement now. Case duly decided. Fully resolved.
After five years & eight months in these environs on the equator, finally, finally, an outright winner can be awarded the ultimate prize by this judge and cultural critic.
Delighted. Relieved & charmed. Hours later at the Cyber the grin was still not wiped.
A short, altogether unassuming Chinese amha seated on the bench outside the newly opened Rochor MRT, on Bukit Timah Road, just up from Sim Lim Square. Was it a dye sported? Kicking her feet with some girlish élan, possibly.
No more than a glimpse through the No 23’s window.
Faded yellow hippy tee one would have described it, were that possible in this particular red-spot hot dot location.
Soft tone. With a kind of fairy-wheel or mandala centred in simple, black script. Within that frame some kind of geometric shapes, along with the admonition, the suggestion, deliberately soft-pedalled here.
A woman of some years and experience. Kindly, understanding and compassionate; unmannerly blaring was hardly her style.
FIND A WAY
Grannie gently suggested, for those with eyes to see and mind to comprehend.
There was a way; there was scope and possibility. Even in the midst of this our inheritance, the sweetie seemed to declare.
(Steely heavy form has certainly been spied in different colours and design on these hard streets.)
In this instance a photograph might possibly have served.
Daoist, rather than the more common management conjuration, if this observer has attained any understanding of the lie of this particular land.
When one considers the brands, the logos and colours, the cuts & designs, the corporatising, the turned-up collars, all the heartsore fare that has been pasted upon the retina over this long journey through the streets and lanes of the republic, only by some miracle has the chin remained above the flood-tide.
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