Hmm

I went to two concerts - one band, one choir - at the Esplanade Concert Hall this week, both in the evenings, both performed by students. I like such concerts because they're cheap, and I don't exactly like the pure, abstract sounds of pure, abstract classical pieces played by professional bands. These amateur performances tend to have a good mix of classical pieces and more popular pieces, so they suit me better. The Esplanade has a free concert series at the end of every month too, and I always enjoyed those performances in part because you could clearly see that both the performers and audience were enjoying themselves.

There were lots of students in those two concerts I went to. Some were in uniform, others more smartly dressed. Some milled about solemnly, an air of haughtiness around them; others glided around and shouted and giggled with their friends animatedly. Both sorts reminded me of my own childhood. I was seated in the 5th row in the choir performance, close enough to see the thick makeup put on by some of the female performers. I'd wondered if that was of their own accord or if the teachers had set certain guidelines. As I sat there in the front and the multiple layers of choir music enveloped me I thought that this was how the arts should be like - affordable, attended to by people from all walks of life, and the performance both sophisticated and light-hearted at the same time.

I took to a relatively long jog late last night. A few blocks of vacant flats had sprouted in my neighborhood, and they reminded me of the time a friend drove me and another to the end of Punggol Road and pointed to some blocks of dark, unoccupied flats, on a field opposite some brightly lit, occupied flats. He'd said then that the scene, when last he was there, reminded him of a post-apocalyptic world, because you could see the harsh, white lights from the occupied area shining onto the rows and rows of dark windows and dark spaces of the unoccupied flats. There was not a soul to be seen on either side, and the whole scene looked remarkably eerie.

I jogged past my own area of vacant flats, their dark windows and dark spaces gaping toothlessly at me. In time they would be occupied, and the scene would be less mesmerizing, less perfect. Who wants to look upon rows and rows of lit and occupied flats in the deep deadness of the night?

  

Toa Payoh Library recently refurbished its top storey. It looks nice, but the noisy kids have remained.