Once, we walked a little further out Marina South Park than we were supposed to, and ended up right under the Pan-Island Expressway. From where we stood, we could see the river streaming by the bridge supports and some old junk abandoned on the sand under one side of the bridge.
Before us was a wild deserted stretch of grass and lallang, across the river from the Esplanade, and we traversed that to the other end where we could see the port and cranes across the sea. It was a cloudy day and the Esplanade, grey and sombre, looked as if it was sleeping.
One night on our way home, my brother and I even saw a paraselene, or moondog, in the sky. I was once told by a friend who had taken astronomy classes that we are not able to see the North Star from where we are on the globe. What I learned that night was that we might not be able to see Polaris from Singapore, but our night skies do have their gems. The pearly lunar halo was beautiful.
Another thing Jan and I often did was to chase sunsets. I would do my research on the internet, then we would go and scout for the best and strangest perches to view sunsets from. My brother and I would hike to the most desolate spots, and I would use my compass to find out which direction we should face.
We would see the traditional egg-yolk sunsets. Then there were times the sun would hide behind clouds, setting the sky ablaze with kaleidoscopic colours. Streams of orange, gold, blue, violet and grey would waltz across the sky.
The pre-sunsets I loved best, which Jan and I would view through sunglasses, were the coppery golden ones with small cloud clusters in their way, their outlines spectacularly illumined. The rays would, at times, shine through the clouds, making them look like a wrap of cotton wool trying in vain to conceal a hoard of the brightest pirate treasures.
I suppose every cloud has more than just a silver lining.
Sunset views over water can be quite wondrous things to behold. I honestly would never have thought I should have been able to see the likes of it here.
One sunset Jan and I caught at Bedok Reservoir made the water look as if Midas had been swimming in it. The clouds were a glossy cream that had been smeared across the amber sky, like a vast expanse of mother-of-pearl. The few people who had been milling around the park stopped what they were doing and gazed upwards as well, as though we were all in one giant amphitheatre.
The 4th Step
My brother and I once witnessed what I called an “etching of embers in the sky” at Punggol Beach.
It was right after a storm. The sky was a dense quilt of textured blue-grey cloth. Out of nowhere, thin red-lined letters slowly began to appear in the thick grey clouds, as though they were being inscribed with a giant flaming quill. The hidden fiery sunset continued etching them out over twenty minutes or so. They were certainly not any letters from the Roman alphabet, but they spoke their own beautiful language.
Another day, at about four in the afternoon, we saw a green, blue and purple oyster in the eastern skies of Singapore. It had been suspended in a bright clear sky; a sphere-like mass of blue-tinted white, nestled in a bed of odd pearly colours. I looked up and instantly thought to myself, “That looks like a green, blue and purple oyster.”
As time passed, I became more aware of the shifting of the clouds whenever I was outdoors. I am no meteorologist but I became competently able to predict the sort of sunset heralded by the afternoon sky.
On our sunwalks, Jan and I read mysteries in the sand and dirt, wondered at dark trees, stood on empty beaches. We listened to the wind sing and howl the coming of thunderstorms, watched massive aerial armies of clouds steadily advancing towards us. I remember once as a storm approached and dark clouds raced to cover the sunset, the sky was seared in two, part gold, part stormy silver.
The 5th Step
I would bring Jan on boat rides to and from islands. He loves boats and ferries, and is lark-happy riding them through sea winds and churning, foaming waters.
We would gallivant atop islands and gaze at neighbouring ones from afar. We saw a giant on one occasion. Clouds had emerged from between two islands across the sea from where we were, a dense entity of fog and smoke, rising slowly to stand between them.
The 6th Step
The first time I brought my brother for a boat ride was on one to Pulau Ubin. It was a dark and glummy day. There were chinks and cracks in the clouds through which rays of pale orange light speared the earth and sea.
Looking back, I probably should have had better planned the outing, but these sunwalks of ours were always spontaneous affairs. The best bit of preparation I had, besides packing our umbrellas, was bringing along an old and outdated map.
It was the first time Jan had been on a bumboat; he was delighted and kept his eyes on the horizon as we sped towards the cluster of islands.
Of course, upon reaching the island we soon got lost. I knew we could simply follow the perimeter of the island back to the jetty, but we did not want to go back. My brother was not yet ready to call it a day and the sunwalk was not over. We are two stubborn siblings.
But our sunwalk was soon no longer one, as it began to rain. The wind blew a tempest, a thunderstorm descended and we ran for
