1st May 2000

Saturday was beautiful. I woke up to clear blue skies and sunlight everywhere, and it was so warm it felt like another world; even the air smelt different : have you noticed that? The air smells different when its warm, richer, fuller, with a faint aftertaste of leaves. I threw on a light jacket (completely unnecessary) and shot out of the house to Covent Garden (which was lit under the glare of the sun!) for a browse around. Called Serling to discover she didn't want her maglite anymore, so I went to John Lewis and bought myself a lint roller. I have been under attack now for some months by an incessant tide of lint, slowly building up on my black trousers and attempting to make me look like a fluffy-limbed Pan, minus the cloven hooves. I've since industriously rolled away about three quarters of the lint off one pair and its taken about a third of the roll.

Went from there to Borders and had a large cold chai, and then I wandered on to the outdoor cafe on Russel Square park and had mushrooms, chips and lamb chops, where I wrote out my best buddy's birthday card which I will forget to post tomorrow. It was still warm and sunny! It stayed that way till 9pm when the sun set. It was simply perfect.

While I was in the park I watched a guy trying to teach his girl how to play cricket. The guy was white and the girl was Chinese, I could tell although she wasn't facing me; not just from the hair colour but something about her body frame; most Chinese girls have a different build from caucasian girls, more willowy? Something about the shoulders? I don't know.

If I was to be critical of her, it would be that she's possibly the world's worst bowler (and batter) I've ever seen. At times I worried for the chap, that he'd lose an eye suddenly or be sued for being a part in some passing old lady's fox terrier's tragic demise. But it made me wonder for a moment what some less "anglicised" Singaporean would think. I remembered another night on IRC when I had joked that I might marry a blonde, and the predominantly Singaporean Chinese crowd (well group, not quite enough people to form a crowd) voiced a general "ewwwwwwww" opinion and asked incredulously "you look at Ang Moh?!?!" Another Chinese guy once said to me "all Ang Moh girls are dirty and unclean." So I wondered what they would have made of the little scene. An SPG no doubt, impressed with all white men and trying to pander to his every wishes by playing a white man's game with him, god knows what else they did. But I looked at them and I saw two kids having fun, just playing. I wouldn't for the life of me be caught dead in that guy's shoes. I fail to see the fun in spending an afternoon chasing down an errant cricket ball when the whole idea is to bat it back at the bowler.(or to stop it hitting the wickets, or something like that) It would have been frustrating to be the girl too, I think, trying so hard to hurl a ball at three little sticks in the ground when she couldn't hit a london bus if she tried. I thought about another friend who's graduated from Oxford and returned to Singapore for good, along with his white girlfriend. What hardships will they face from sheer racist prejudice, I wonder. I thought about P, the Chinese BBC bloke I mentioned and A, the French girl. P isn't the most mature of people, he's rather angsty about his heritage since he was born in South East Asia but grew up in England and sees himself as trapped in no-man's land, although he's ridiculously proud of his English Accent. He mentioned once to me that he wanted a bit of White (censored) before he finally settled down for life wish some Chinese girl. And then I wondered about myself. Throughout JC I had to endure a Chinese teacher ribbing me about my marrying some White girl someday because I'm more conversant in English than I am in Chinese. I couldn't really help that, I grew up in a family that speaks English most of the time, and my grandfather taught English in pre-war Singapore under the British administration. I can still speak a brand of Chinese (and I did last night, in a dream, much to my own surprise) but I'm more comfortable with English. And for that I was teased, although good-naturedly (I know she didn't mean any malice) about my future with the Whites. It used to strike me as ironic, because she was right in a way; when I was very young I used to think White women were more beautiful than oriental women. But then I realised somewhere around 13 that they were... simply because the white women we see in Singapore all grace the covers of magazines, and are all supermodels. It's their job to be beautiful. The Chinese girls all around me were ordinary people. Now that I'm here in london, I see plenty of ordinary white girls everywhere and they're no more, or less beautiful than the Chinese I grew up with. Aside from the fact that most of them are tall-ish. It also struck me as slightly ironic because at the time I was um rather taken by a Chinese girl. There was irony in that as well, since she hadn't grown up in Singapore and had mannerisms and thoughts most un-traditional and I think that's why I liked her so much; I could identify so easily with her. She'd also left the country which was a bit of a bummer. But she was Chinese to look at though, black hair brown eyes, the works. Well except for the height, which she had a lot of and attributed to excessive consumption of milk as a child. Hmm I'm rambling on a bit here aren't I.

The point is that when I look at people, I don't see a colour. I mean, sure I notice if they're blonde and blue eyed or brunette and brown-eyed, but I try to see beyond that, and I see people. I don't see anything different between your blonde nordic goddess and your mini-Singaporean stress-bunny girl. They both have the same wants and needs and selfish or selfless inclincations depending on the individuals. It's the same with pretty and plain people. The cliche about pretty girls being dumb simply doesn't hold water, there's nothing saying your pretty girl or handsome stud can't be sensitive or intelligent and humourous as well, except the media. As far as I know, the genes aren't linked or exclusive. The Lost Domain that I've just finished reading (I've since moved on to Robert Jordan's "the path of daggers" which I'm regretting doing) asked why all owls of different species couldn't share the same night sky. I think it was a profoundly thought-provoking book that most readers will miss the point of entirely.

So if it boiled down to that, yes I might marry a white girl someday, if I "fell" for her. At the moment it's still rather hazy where my allegiances lie, and my "fall-for" rate seems to be one every twenty-four years, and lengthening.

I had a dream three nights ago that I was back in the company of an old female friend I once had. A faithful friend. We were sitting at a table chatting and laughing and it was wonderful. Just like the good old days. I think I asked her "is this a dream?" and I knew the answer was yes, which made me laugh all the more. I remember how much I used to laugh, to really laugh in her company, and I was doing it again then even though it was just a dream. I wanted the dream to last forever, but it didn't, unfortunately. Sometimes when I dream with such clarity and realism I wonder if it means anything. Did you dream the same dream across the sea? It felt so real I could almost reach across the table and touch you. But then I woke. I was glad I had the dream. In the same way I'm glad I've spent my whole holiday not doing a thing - I wasted it! I sat at home or went to the park everyday and I didn't *do* anything intellectual, I didn't read medicine, I didn't go on holiday, I didn't see anything new. But I was happy. And I healed. In the same way that I'm glad Saturday was perfect although every other day of the holiday has been overcast and raining. Today's overcast with a bit of halfhearted sunshine peeking through the usual cloud cover, but it's got nothing on Saturday. But I had my saturday and I think that was a mini miracle in itself.

Weep not for, the memories.