Keng Wah Sung

One of the things I miss the most about being home is having a room to myself, a private space where I can be alone whenever I want to be. Which, as it happens, is usually most of the time. I'm an introvert through and through.


Here at the SG office I share a room with two officemates and while I have no complaints about this arrangement (the room is more than big enough for the three of us, what with a relatively spacious loft, and there's even an extra bed up there), it does mean that I have no such sanctuary. My desk does feel private enough, and there is some sense of ownership and belonging there, but at the same time, it feels 


I found this private space in Keng Wah Sung, a nearby mom-and-pop cafe (kopitiam, I believe, in the local parlance). Along with strong black coffee (kopi o kosong, no milk, no sugar), kaya butter toast, and soft-boiled eggs. No wonder I quickly became a regular.


There's something innately comforting about seeing the same people everyday, even if you don't really talk or interact, even if your lives remain mostly disjoint, or touch only superficially. I go there, I buy coffee and read or write. Sometimes at night I would change my beverage to one or two bottles of Tiger, and sometimes I'd also buy some sticks of satay from the people who set up nearby (only in the evenings). If they didn't close on Sundays, I'd probably be there at least once every damn day!


Needless to say, I'm going to miss that place when we finally move out of this unit that's much too big for us. I could always come visit on weekends, but it won't be the same, I won't have the luxury of just stumbling there from the house, still unwashed and bleary. Ah, well, I don't know whether I should just be happy that, at least so far, I haven't yet been able to really settle in and call this place home (I know, I'm slow, it's been almost a year!). The move, though it's still going to be a big hassle probably, will at least not be as uprooting as it could've been. (Then again, this is a tiny country...)

Singapore, Singapore.

It's really quite strange to think that I've been on this (arguably) First World island for nearly a year now. I've probably grown to take many things for granted, such as the first-rate public transportation system and public infrastructure in general, the almost total absence of crime and the attendant city-dweller fear, and, to get much closer to home, the blazing fast connection to the Internet at the office¹.


The train and bus system here is a real marvel, especially in comparison with the Philippines' own paltry, overcrowded efforts. Combined with an impressive dedication to pedestrian-friendliness and accessibility, I feel as if I could get anywhere I wanted on the island cheaply, safely, and without any hassle. At times it feels almost like the open world of a sandbox game, where you could simply head off and walk in any direction and be sure you could eventually arrive anywhere within your field of view.


But enough one-sided gushing, I'm beginning to feel too much like the Third-World refugee that I am. My intended point was just that, hey, I've been here for a while in this place that encourages wandering around and going to places, and I haven't really stretched my legs that much. Sure, I've walked a couple of times from here to the Orchard Road area and back², and sure, I've walked the Southern Trails, been to Bukit Timah Nature Reserve and the Botanic Gardens, but I don't feel as if I've really come close to the heart³ of this place.


What I mean to say, I suppose, is that I don't feel like I've been making the most of all the opportunities available to me here. Malaysia's just a bus ride away, yet I've never gone there and have only the vaguest intentions to do so. I don't have a curfew to worry about, and I'm free to spend my time however I want⁴.


I think it's long past time I started really exploring this place⁵, and living experiences to tell stories about. (And, no, the visits on weekends to the same cafes⁶ and restaurants don't really count.)


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[1] Not to mention decent access to it almost everywhere else on my phone.
[2] Two hours or so each way. Not the most scenic route, as it's city street after city street, but the feeling of being able to take such a long walk is worth it.
[3] OK, this isn't the place to argue about whether there even is a "heart" to this place that can be found. I know too little about the local culture and can only rely on vague impressions and secondhand hearsay. But it does seem, on that scant evidence, that there is a valid concern as to the existence of a uniquely Singaporean heritage apart from the admittedly-impressive if boring one of order-from-chaos and First-World-from-Third.
[4] Only to an extent of course, I am after all gainfully employed and can't just hare about whenever I want.
[5] On a related note, it's also long past time that I started settling in and just maybe making more of a home in this place, but that deserves to be talked about in its own venue.) I'm young, unattached, and have ample resources to enjoy my life and mold it to what I want it to be.
[6] Oriole Cafe does really have excellent coffee, though!

Typical workday at 25A

I open my eyes. It’s already light outside, but the blinds do a pretty good job of keeping our room dark enough for sleep. My back begins its usual waking-up complaints, but they barely register anymore and are usually taken care of by a few glorious twisting stretches. I slide the blanket off my body, take a deep breath, close my eyes for a moment, and, resisting the mighty “just a few more minutes” urge, get up and out of my single bed.

I walk out the bedroom door, through our small, narrow kitchen, past the dining table, and on to my desk at the far end of the office area. I either make myself a cup of coffee or have our office assistant (I’m not sure what her actual job title is, but she takes care of all the ancillary household and office chores) do it, if she happens to already be in the kitchen anyway. I open a notebook and write for about forty-five minutes to nearly an hour, filling up my six allotted morning pages.

By the end of the session, I’ll usually be feeling more than a little guilty about not checking on and catching up with work yet, but I’ll still hold out for around thirty minutes of checking my own personal news feeds and other online sources, letting the caffeine circulate and wake me up fully. (Here’s a part of my daily routine that could use tightening.)

The office and our entire unit in general is a very quiet place, which is just how we like it. All day long it’s just the low hum of the airconditioning, people typing and clicking, and, sometimes but more often lately, work-related conversation. The television in the living room slash guest room behind me is rarely turned on, even in the weekends, and I can’t even remember the last time anyone touched the Xbox! We don’t often have visitors, and when we do, they’re usually here just to crash on the couch, and are out touristing or taking care of business in the day.

In the afternoon after finishing a few pieces of work, I usually find myself in need of a short break to refresh myself for some more hours of work in the evening. So I’d take my Kindle out to the nearby kopitiam for some coffee (kopi o kosong - black, no sugar), toast, and sometimes two soft-boiled eggs and an hour or so of leisure reading. Most of the people there have little English, but being a regular (he says with a weird sort of pride), I’ve picked up their accents, they’ve probably picked up mine, and we understand each other well enough.

Then it’s back to my desk with (ideally) renewed energy to knock off some more to-do items and build or fix more parts of the Insync client. Productivity usually comes in bursts that sometimes (have to) continue on until late in the night. That’s one thing that’s awesome about working from home -- no need to worry about pesky things like it getting too late to commute back home easily. (Although I suspect it’d still be quite easy to get home here, even late at night, but I digress.)

The day ends whenever I run out of energy and find myself needing to get some sleep. Sometimes I take a second break and have tea or coffee (or occasionally a beer or two and peanuts or satay) at the kopitiam, unwinding a bit before going to bed. I close my eyes, and the cycle repeats in eight hours or so.

***

This has been my routine for the past few weeks, and as far as daily routines go, it’s not a bad one, although there is one glaring omission that’s been bugging me to no end: gym time. Perhaps a month or two previously, I would usually make sure to take about an hour and a half off in the afternoon to work out, either spending about an hour on the treadmill or elliptical while listening to a Pimsleur Japanese lesson, or doing a mixed dumbbell-machine routine with ChannelNews Asia in the background.

(Apart from exercise, I also intend to add an afternoon writing session for working on essays, blog entries like this one, among other creative-writerly items. Thirty minutes or so should be enough, if I prepare materials and draft ideas sufficiently beforehand.)