Writing about Evenings and Lights in Singapore

Writing about Dusk in Singapore

I like watching Singapore light up, little by little, like a shy Oriental bride adorning herself, tremulous, slow, graceful. Night takes its time descending here, but when it does, it does so abruptly, and then the yellow, blue, green lights that had glimmered in the last pale light of dusk are suddenly resplendent. The banks of the tiny river are dotted with lights that fall on the miniscule ripples, little pools of light in a continuous flow of darkness.

I also find this is a city-state fanatic about jogging, young or old, in dry or drizzle. They are there, breathing hard as they pass me while I recline on the cushions.The hotel has tossed a few wooden chairs inside a glass-covered portico on the waterfront, over which the building looms: I can’t see its top when I look up.

I sip at my iced lemon tea, and consider things, try to resolve in my head a knotty project I am struggling with, and find that my brains have become sluggish along with my body. A light breeze breaks out on the river momentarily relieving the tropical, sultry warmth, and I cannot find my last train of thought. I give myself up to watching all these health-concious people whipping past me at a run.

I have swooshed up the lift now, along with a dotty old man who could not figure out how to swipe his card on the lift, and was very relieved when I offered to do it for him.

From my room I can see the traffic jams, all crossings marked by blinking red lights as toy cars glide to a pause. I am afraid of heights, but this view from the room through glass across an entire wall persuades me that living in a highrise apartment may not be such a bad idea after all. In a few months I will be househunting here, and I shall keep that last bit in mind.