Fort Canning Hill
Went on an impromptu trip to Fort Canning Park this afternoon with Mithi.
Apparently, the still air within the room that we were working in had resulted in us having unexplained throbbing headaches, and so we decided to head off to the nearby attraction for the sake of grabbing some fresh air. (Methinks the SMU building is starting to become condemned with sick building syndrome)
… a park overlooking Orchard Road and set in the heart of the Civic and Cultural District of Singapore, Fort Canning offers … historical, educational, entertainment and cultural experiences … The unique blend of historical relics, lush greenery and expansive lawns has made Fort Canning a hub of cultural and artistic activity.
(Wikipedia article on Fort Canning Park.)
Fort Canning houses several attractions, many of which we have yet to explore. Some examples include a Spice Garden, a Christian cemetery, the Gothic Gates among several others.
Took a couple of snapshots with my lousy camera phone. (A miserable 1.3 megapixels. My already obsolete 4.0 megapixel digital camera is like an angel compared to this.)
There was a particular twin dome structure thingy near the peak of Fort Canning Hill which I was quite mesmerized by, and so we took a couple of snapshots, including one of me standing within the dome (which will not be displayed as the photo turned out all grainy) …
Mithi and the ‘twin dome’ structure. (Don’t really know the proper name for it.)
… only to discover later in the evening from Liz that that structure was no ordinary structure but a tomb.
And to quote her, “there is definitely something down there, underneath it.”
To think that we were posing in front of a tomb all this while and darn, I even stepped into the dome, meaning that I’ve just literally walked over a tomb unknowingly.
Once bitten, twice shy. The next time I see a dome-shaped structure in the middle of nowhere, I’ll know better than to crawl into it. (My curiousity can get the better of me sometimes.)
And ending this entry with my favourite photo captured from the whole walk.
A giant cherry!
Small, blurry, and the colour quality is downright miserable. But hey, I did warn you that my phone camera was baaaaaad.
The next time I head there, I’d arm myself with my trusty digital camera. It’s high time I did some photography at the nearby National Museum too.
Saying hello to my third nephew and welcoming him into this world.
Cousin-in-law gave birth on Wednesday night, but the happy birth announcement was lost in the commotion which took place during the past couple of days - especially after having my grandmother suddenly admitted to hospital for blood transfusions due to internal ulcers - and so, we only managed to have the mini birth ‘celebration’ this evening.
I learnt from my mother this afternoon that the newest addition to the youngest generation is a boy.
“Another boy?!?” I half-whined.
“Ah, yes!” was her reply.
“Darn. I have three cousins who have had kids so far, and all their three offspring are boys. Why can’t we have a girl for a change?” grumbles yours truly.
Mother simply laughs.
“You know? Many a time, we read about how parents in several cities in China end up dumping their children because they didn’t get a boy like they wanted. Whereas within our extended family alone, we have our own mini baby boom and all three of them are boys. Why can’t we share the joy or something?”
Mother (and aunt) was rendered speechless.
Meanwhile, my extended family is now a rather huge one comprising four generations - from my widowed grandmother and several grandaunts all the way down to cousins and their offspring.
All three members of the fourth generation of the Tan Family are boys. And the first member (a.k.a my first nephew) is turning out to be quite a rascal. All we need is for the other two to start following his footsteps and we’ll have The Formiddable Three to turn the whole place topsy turvy. -shudders.
Congratulations to cousin Jacob and his wife, Patricia anyway.
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Oh, and strangely enough - last night I dreamt that Patricia had given birth to quadruplets, and I awoke this morning hoping that it was for real.
And one more thing - after all that euphoria about the arrival of the little one, I’ve just realized that I still do not know the little fella’s name. (And neither does my mom.)
Such a wonderful aunt I am.
My mum and I occasionally have arguments - over the most insignificant things, I daresay. Unfortunately, making a big case out of something minor seems to run in the family’s genes because both of us are just ever so unrelenting in our stands.
Today’s argument was about - the new couch.
Daily readers would already have known that my family and I would be moving into a new apartment come late October or early November, and so interior-designing and furniture hunting are in the works at present. The latest issue we’ve disagreed on was - the couch.
Apparently, my parents liked genuine leather couches.
I, on the other hand - prefered the plaincolor fabric couch that I took a liking to during a particular furniture browsing ‘expedition’ last weekend.
And mind you, a genuine leather couch can cost up to twice that of a fabric couch.
As usual, the superior beings will launch into their usual argument of “Money is no object, and a genuine leather couch looks more classy, so it is a worthy investment!”
Personally, I think leather couches looks gaudy. Old-fashioned, more like it. Plus, they are so unutterly common. And before I start sounding like an elitist, let me conclude that fabric couches are more comfortable and can look gorgerous too, especially since the theme of our new home is more of a modern style.
Leather couches? Urk. Not when you’re residing in a country where it’s permanently hot and sticky.
Imagine the base of your thighs rubbing against the leather on a particularly humid day. You’d find that any movement on that couch will produce a hair-raising squeaky sound that sounds suspiciously like a fart, plus the sensation of stickiness.
Uncomfortable - is the word to describe it all.
Plus, I would feel queasy living in an environment where there is perpetual farting noises coming from the living room. (Brand new leather couches, especially - tend to be verrrrrrrrry squeaky.)
The above argument took place in my mother’s car en route home from school, and lasted a grand total of ten minutes. The verdict, unfortunately, is still dangling up there in mid air.
Argument soon escalated into that of a language issue. I prefered using the word ‘couch’, whereas my mother will normally refer to it as a ’sofa’.
“By the way, it is not a couch. It is a SOFA,” says she.
“Couch and sofa are the same thing,” I retorted.
“No, they’re not,” she argued.
“YES THEY ARE,” I counter-argued.
“NO, THEY’RE NOT!”
It went on for a few seconds until I finally burst out - “WHY THE HECK ARE WE ARGUING OVER WHETHER IT IS CALLED A COUCH OR A SOFA?”
Ah well, quite a noisy household, as you can see.
Oh and something similar but less significant - my mother and I are also arguing over whether to purchase leather or PVC dining room chairs. As usual, she swears by leather, while I was rooting for PVC.
Seriously, I can never understand adults and their yearn for expensive chairs. What the hell for? We’re just going to plonk our butts on them anyway.
- Grumbles.