the intricate workings of our hearts & minds...

I believe a city is largely discovered on foot…

Or rather, one sees more , hears more, realizes more and thus learns more when u walk through the old winding cobblestone streets of a city…

You simply appreciate the smaller things in life, be it from the man who sleeps in the corner of the street each morning on my way to work to the people who accidently bump into you amidst their rush while flashing an cheerful apologetic smile … which leads you thinking of how one can happily bitch about work, home or someone else when the fewer unfortunate out there call ‘the corner on those steps’ home.

I think all of us should be well aware of these facts, and then do more than letting it being a mere passing thought.

The aging scents upon my desk…

A pack of colourful potpourri lies largely undisturbed on my room desk here in London... it has also laid largely undisturbed on my desk back in Singapore long before I came.. lol.

Which you would have made out by now, is a very very old pack of dried things!

In turn, which leads me to think of something else; the way the mind perceives things…

A good friend of mine came over London the last week, and she made a passing remark that in cooking something, she cares a fair bit about the presentation of the things that comes out of her kitchen… while superficially this might not embed much thought, but it provoked somewhat of a thought in me today while I was eating my home-cooked meal.

For pure fun and viewing pleasure today, I added a sprinkle of basil and Italian herbs over my honey marinated chicken before it was destined for the oven. To add a finishing move, the piece of chicken was drenched in a fair bit of freshly squeezed lemon juice, which ultimately gave it a rather zingy aftertaste! It was absolute perfection when I had it out of the oven half an hr later… a nice crispy skin, with a dash of green herbs with a fresh whiff of lemon and tender meat... I think I can start my own restaurant.

The end point here is that I didn’t even had to sink my teeth into it to physically know it tasted good, but the fact that it looked heavenly was already an orgasm.

No, this is not about self-praise, but rather about the way all our puny grey matter tells us about anything.

Very occasionally I pour a new “fresh new display” of potpourri from that stale, and probably scentless, bag of dried things that will seemingly forever grace my tabletop…

My mind is telling me that since it’s a new pot, it’s definitely gonna smell all good and different. One might argue here that I’m deceiving myself, but hey, who’s to say all these’s bad for me when I feel absolutely better and positively high spirited?

And so it does, and so I am.