How To Look
How did that happen?
...was what I whispered to myself on my way back to Japan after my first solo trip to Singapore.
Besides finding out they don’t sell chewing gum anywhere in the country, I learned a lot of things on that vacation, about both traveling and myself.
There were a lot of weird occurrences all the way to somehow making a spontaneous pitstop in Bali, but I want to share an anecdote from the start of my trip. It has stuck with me for the past six years and influences how I go about creating today.
When I was in Singapore, I *for some reason* decided to stay at the YMCA. The nostalgia of the famous song most likely influenced my decision, but between you and me — it wasn’t the most pleasant of stays. On my first night, I found a whole bunch of hair stuck to the sheets among other fabulous surprises, like getting woken up by a real-life gypsy who toppled into her bed at 2:00 in the morning.
While the sleep wasn’t the best, I did manage to get bang for my buck at the breakfast buffet the following morning. I created a mini food mountain and sat down at the plastic yard chair set up on the patio. It was wet from the light shower in the morning, which got taken care of by my poor jeans.
As I happily chomped down on my banana and yogurt, I noticed a man sitting with an older woman a couple of plastic tables down.
I guessed he was in his late 40s. He sat up straight and had the presence of an eagle stuck in human form, on the lookout and hovering above it all. Sitting next to him was a cute little grandma, crouched over at his side like a loyal sidekick. A very curious scene indeed.
I locked eyes with the man and instantly noticed his icy blues that communicated way beyond the simple hello that started our conversation.
After some casual chit-chat that we threw back and forth over the tables, he asked if I would like to join them for breakfast. I enthusiastically accepted, giddy, and happy to meet a fellow traveler.
After exchanging more sentences, I discovered he was from Germany and traveling to and fro with his mother, who couldn’t speak English, for her birthday.
We got to talking about culture and the food of Singapore when he finally asked me why I decided to come.
I thought about it for a bit and realized that I had no clue. Besides the list I got from the steward on the airplane, I knew next to nothing of the country or what to do.
He noticed I seemed to be lacking a few puzzle pieces and suggested we all go explore the city together. Later that evening, we met at the lobby and set off into the city.
We started off with a dinner of curry paired with watermelon juice to fuel our wandering. He sipped it down like a proper connoisseur, legs crossed and pinky pointed. His mom, who still couldn’t speak English, looked like a frightened mouse that was not used to the stimulation around her. She did seem used to playing follow the leader with her son, however. It was either keep up or be left behind.
After eating, we painted the town red and walked for hours through China Town, Clarke Quay, and Little India. We explored shops, got a midnight massage, took photos of streets like all good tourists do. By 11:00 or so, we hit a gorgeous mosque in the middle of the city. As if he attended it to be a part of the tour, he pointed to the entrance and said, “Here we are”.
I didn’t expect the place to be so full and bustling because it was the middle of the night. I instantly took in the shimmering walls, colors of the evening, extravagant clothes of the worshipers paired with the sweet scent of burning incense. Everything I looked at heightened my senses.
It was then that he led me to the middle of the chaos and told me to stand and observe. And just like that, he left.
So there I was, in the middle of a mosque… in the middle of the night…just staring. I took note of the beautiful art on the walls, a depiction of stories I had no idea about.
I noticed the smoke from the candles, lifting the prayers of everyone to the heavens. I watched the people sitting on the floor with their families feasting and enjoying the evening air.
I felt as if I was wearing an invisible cloak — nobody seemed to care that I was there.
After the twenty-minute mark, I came out of the trance and started to wonder(with a tinge of panic) if he would come back for me.
Thankfully, he did return.
As we made our way back to the YMCA, he asked what I had found. I started to go into detail about the experience. He listened to my rant with a happy grin on his face, reticent and nodding along. When we arrived back at the hotel, we gave our hugs, said our goodbyes, and see you soon’s.
I returned to my room and plopped on the bed, exhausted from all the wandering. My mind replayed all the beautiful scenes of the evening as I slowly fell asleep.
I never saw him again, but six years later I still think about this evening. Whether I am in nature, a cafe’ or the office, I drift off and find myself in that same headspace as I was in that mosque:
Look at things. Don’t judge. Think about the colors, what do they mean? Dissect them. Put what you’re seeing to words, then lose the words completely. What you don’t understand? Trace the scratches on the walls with your eyes. Look at your surroundings, give it more of your attention. Give it meaning. Give it a little more love.
A little more…
When I’m working on a painting, this is something that I think about. I find that what I give attention to is what I give my love to, and that is exactly what I hope to give to my practice: Always, a little more love.
German man, if you’re reading this — I’m sorry I forgot your name — but I can’t thank you enough for giving me my very first lesson on how to look.