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JAN TERESZCZENKO-RAPORTY |
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e-mail adres do Jana teko@shaw.ca
ŚWIAT WIDZIANY OCZYMA JANA TERESZCZENKO Autobiografia
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JAN TEKO W PROGRAMIE POLSKIEGO RADIA 13 MAJA 2012
WIECZOR AUTORSKI W WARSZAWSKIM TEATRZE "KAMIENICA"
GALERIA JANA TEKO
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JANEK TERESZCZENKO NA SINGAPURZE RAPORTY
RAPORT NR.5 12 SIERPNIA 2007 Czesc Tam,
W zalaczeniu, w pieciu kawalkach jest moja ostatnia wypocina, QUINTUPTYK - BOAT QUAY (Nadbrzeze Lodzi...), W SINGAPURZE. Te piec kawalkow pasuje jeden do drugiego w kolejnosci numerow. Ale najpierw przeprosiny i ostrzezenie: Jeslibyscie mieli trudnosci z otwarciem tych zalaczonych fajli, dajcie znac... Rowniez, na odwyrtke, jesli macie super-kompa, i mozecie otworzyc znacznie wieksze fajle, dalcie mi znac rowniez, a wtedy wysle Wam caly Quintuptyk w jednym kawalku. Ostrzegam jednak, jest BARDZO DUZY...! No wlasnie... Jest mi niezmiernie milo podzielic sie z Wami Tam, w tej niewymiernej przestrzeni komputerowej e-nebuli, moim produktem tzw. Sztuki, aktualnie wlasnie skonczona przeze mnie aqua-koloratura w pieciu czesciach, slynnej Singapurskiej Boat Quay, polkilometrowej prawie, niezwykle widokowo slynnej i czesto fotografowanej panoramy nadbrzeza, obecnie barowo-restauracyjnego szalenstwa, co to nie wolno go pominac za nastepnej Waszej wizyty w tym miescie-panstwie. Zajelo ok. 50-60 godzin na skonczenie tego projektu, ale rezultat nie wyglada wcale tak zle. Oczywiscie osadzicie sami, a w miedzyczasie, wesolej zabawy... A teraz kilka slow o Boat Quay. Bylo w tradycji starochinskiej w Singapurze, ze handlarze, rzemieslnicy i inni pracowali, produkowali, handlowali, skladowali i generalnie zbijali fortuny na parterze swoich domow, mieszkajac na ogol na pietrach tzw. 'shop houses' (domow-sklepow...). Singpurskie nadbrzeze oczywiscie opieralo sie glownie na handlu z morza, gdzie tysiace przeronego kalibru lodzi zarzucalo kotwice albo cumowalo tuz obok nadbrzeznych 'shop houses' stwarzajac wspanialy balagan halasu, smrodu, kotlowiska lodzi, no i oczywiscie smietniska... (co prawda nie widzialem, ale domyslam sie z opowiadan i starych fotografii...). I bylo to oczywiscie wspaniale i kolorowe. Ale... Ojcowie tego Miasta-Panstwa widac doszli do wniosku - i to calkiem nie tak dawno - ze nalezy skonczyc z tym 'balaganem' raz na zawsze, zamieniajac to cale nadbrzeze na raczej wyporzadkowana, ale nie mniej widokowo interesujaca dzielnice, nazwana, O...! wlasnie, 'Boat Quay', przeznaczona glownie na wysoko-cenne fetowania milionow turystow (Singapurianie zasadniczo nie jadaja na Boat Quay...), odwiedzajacych Singapure dziennie. Glownym daniem na Boat Quay jest oczywiscie 'krab w czarnym pieprzu', wybierany z akwarium...Zaganiacze na chodniku nie pozostawiaja zadnego przechodnia w spokoju wciagajac do kolejnych knajp, stad 'krab w pieprzu' jest nieunikniony, zakrapiany 'Singapore Sling' (ktory to cocktail jest rownie paskudny w smaku, jak jakie lekarstwo, i rownie nieunikniony...) I tak to leci... Wypucowany, wysztafirowany Boat Quay jest nie mniej atrakcyjnym miejscem i absolutnie nie do ominiecia w czasie odwiedzin w Singapurze. Front panoramy tego zjawiska jest niestety oddalony jednak od obserwatora o jakie 300 m szerokoscia zatoki w tym miejscu, co powoduje, ze detale tego 'zjawiska' sa nieco dla obserwatora zamglone, ale z kamera zoom i technologia video dostepnymi dzis dla 'artystow' tego pokroju co ja, udalo sie stworzyc baze do okreslenia caloksztaltu obrazu. No, i - spowiadam sie... - nie obeszlo sie bez fotografii w tym projekcie. Ale to co Wam niniejszym ofiarowujenie nie jest "fotografia"... O, nie...! Jest to niewatpliwe "dzielo sztuki", ktore oto, ni mniej ni wiecej, posylam Wam ku radosci no i i wiadomosci... Jakies komentarze, uwagi, krytyki...? Prosze, mowcie glosniej bo cos nic nie slysze...!
Tarrrah...!
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SINGAPURA, 5 FEBRUARY (LUTY) 2006
JAN’S RAPORT SINGAPURA No. 3 & LIST DO WOJTKA,
WOJTKA I DO RYSZARDA (SYMBOLICZNIE)
Basically, this letter is my Third Report (3) from Singapura but it requires two explanations… The first one relates to the motive for its special format and meaning, and an apology that its portion will be, regrettably, in Polish, which may be frustrating for some, but, alas, English is as much frustrating for some others… Well that’s life…
So, the explanation No 1: Back in my high school years, there was four of us: Wojtek Pulaczewski, Wojtek Kroszczynski, Ryszard Zatchej & moi - your humble reporter – incidentally all four BORN THE SAME DAY. Since our schools were segregated then (all boys we…), and since from the 1st grade of Gymnasium (the seventh year…), till the 4th year of Lyceum (the twelfth…) we shared all these six years, day after day, in virtually the same room, it was natural, that a certain bond developed between us four – let’s call ourselves… BROTHERS… For several years now, I took upon myself a duty (an honor rather…), to address my remaining brothers (Richard unfortunately left us prematurely…), with a letter on an occasion of our birthdays (all on 3 February, 1933, to be exact. By the way, I was the senior among the equals, since I came to be at 5:00 am…). In such a letter, I always tried (try…) to summarize what at that very moment was (is…) the most important set of thoughts, on whatever subject it may have been at that time, and ostensibly personal too, and then addressed my Brothers, in expectation of course, of some sort of an answer, n’est pas…? Well, Wojtek Kroszczynski sometimes wrote few words, but the others, NOP…! NOTHING…! Did it discourage me in any way…? NOP either…! So, once again this Report relates to an occasion of our foursome’s birthday, and a great many thoughts that it generated this time… I shall share some of those with youall in the lingua franca, but the Anniversary letter to my Brothers (part of this Report anyway…), will be only in Polish. Sorry Folks…! This is MY Report if you don’t mind, and if you no like it, don rea ee… Aaah…!
Having said that, the explanation No 2, is in fact a Rebuttal to my Report No. 2, which was forwarded to me by my friend, Andrzej Goralczyk, as it was forwarded to him by the one of his (unnamed…) friends. And here it is:
Hi Andrzej.. An interesting (perhaps somewhat idealistic) perception of Singapore. I have been to Singapore many times (maybe 10 or more) but have never lived there. I lived in Kuala Lumpur for a while. Personally, I don't like Singapore very much. I think the negatives outweigh the positives but I must admit, that I don't think many cities in the world can compete with Melbourne and Sydney, so I'm inherently biased! To me, Singapore lacks zest and personality. Sure, it has the Chinese, Indian, Malay and Arab influences and these aspects give the city some texture and flavour, but the Singaporean government (fascists) have strangled cultural creativity and development since the 1950s. Today, homosexuality is illegal in Singapore, and they routinely apply the death sentence to drug traffickers, etc. Singapore is not a model of peace and harmony as much as a totalitarian police state. One only has to look at the working population to realise that it is a very, very sick society. Old, frail people in their 70s and 80s are forced to work in menial, de-humanising jobs such as cleaners/janitors/taxi-drivers when they should be enjoying the fruits of their labours in retirement. They can't afford to sit still! The economic monster consumes all in its way. If you want materialism, look no further than the average Chinese Singaporean. I guarantee you will not find as many stressed out people in one city as in Singapore. Perhaps Hong Kong is comparable - another awful city.
To which I can only add, that he (whoever he is…), is absolutely right… My enthusiastic, as well as his rather somber observation, can be addressed to any place on earth (Melbourne and Sydney, notwithstanding…), but this is not the point… I write as ME, personally, and don’t profess to be absolutely right. My impressions may change with time, but now I call this place (Singapura…!) a “home”, and why…? Keep on reading…!
Yesterday I returned from a week in Indonesia. Indonesia I know a bit, and can even move around Jakarta to some extent (moving around Jakarta is not easy, believe me…), but as my Boeing 737 of Adamair landed in SIN, I breathed easier – finally back home…! Strange, ain’t it…? My home was supposed to be a WAW (at one time…) or a YEG, but why here…? Cause it’s safe… A home is where it’s safe - Mr. Andrzej’s Friend, Whoever you are… - and easy too… SINGAPURA…!
GONG XI FA CAI, the year of a dog, and the office was closed Monday and Tuesday, so this was as good a time as any to take a hop for a week to the old Jakarta, see Linda YaYa and Arif, my Friend, and may be even do a Bali (accent on “i”, please, terima kasih, thank you…!). And so I did… There is now so many Air Lines under the Indonesian flag (incidentally upside down to the one of Polandia…) that, listen to this: Adamair, Lion Air, Batavia Air, and so on, each cheaper than the other, and no less (sorry: no more…) elegant… Where are the times of elegant airlines…?
Upon landing I found Jakarta exactly the same… That is, that if there was a broken sidewalk at some place 11 years ago, it was broken still, I promise you… If there was some dirt at some other place, I guarantee, it was perhaps just a little bit dirtier… Indonesia has an inherent habit to accept a broken something as a given, and to cherish its uselessness nonetheless. Is Indonesia for that not less smiling, not less helpful and friendly…? Probably not, though as Arif explained to me, the economy of the country is in shambles (and it’s visible…), and what follows is a certain sadness observable on the faces of its population. Not less, however, warm as usual was our meeting together, and I rest assured, that in Indonesia once forged a friendship or love, it stays undiminished by the hardships of living, the poverty, the devastation of the environment, or whatever… I remember that when we parted four years ago, Arif cried… It was not surprising then, that when we embraced again at the Food Court of old Pasaraya, at Blok M (Make a note of this “Blok M”, for when you ever visit Jakarta, remember that everything there starts and ends at Blok M…!), he cried again. A lunch Indonesian style in an Indonesian type restaurant, and that between Linda YaYa and her family, all Chinese, and Arif and his wife, both devoted Muslims, being as unique as one may imagine, with ME in the middle… Yet it worked… Things sometimes work quite uniquely anyway, for listen to this…
For when I called Arif about my planed visit, I reminded him that (do you remember…?) back in 2002 we entertained then my BIRTHDAY IN BANDUNG… And it was something of a kind, right…? Then how about a BIRTHDAY IN JAKARTA this time, I inquired…? It was soon that Arif came with an idea… How about, Pan Jan, if you make a birthday party for a 20 or 30 Muslim orphans from the Arif’s Mesjid (Mosque…), together with a Muslim ceremony, prayer and gifts, at Arif’s house…? The gifts – listen to this - to be a box of food, one for each child, plus an envelope with some small cash (rupiah…) inside. The idea sounded so strange on one hand, and so exciting on the other, that I did not require much thinking to agree to it with enthusiasm… You see, (I said it at another occasion, but…), it doesn’t matter how long one lives on this earth (I am actually 73 right now, though I – allegedly…? – look no more than 45 – so some say… terima kasih…!), and however many things repeat themselves in such a long span of life, there is always a something FIRST… This time it was to be a Muslim birthday, in a Muslim ceremony… How much can one ask…?
The fact, that in the preparation for the Party I was introduced to the few officials of the resident Mesjid, and that I ACTUALLY WENT TWICE, TO TAKE PART IN THE MUSLIM SERVICE, is now a historical fact. Here are only few details for the uninitiated: First the washing: Three times hand, then three times nose, then three times ears, then three times mouth (wash inside…), then three times forehead, then three times forearms, then three times feet… Allahi agbar… And now I understand how the rows of men (women separately…) bow to the Allah on command, what is being said, what it means this five-times-a-day invocation of a muessin (did I spell it right, Arif…?) to join in the prayer, and so forth, and so forth. Of course you have to be there to fully understand but, please, when you see next time the bowing heads of Muslim in a Muslim ceremony, remember that Jan was there and that he came back alive… And, accept also the peace of a Mesjid in prayer, and no one being in the leastest surprised or offended by this bule presence, the only one amongst the believers, participating with them in their ceremony. I may have not fully understood all the words, nor be a subject of the spirit of Muslim religion, but the very fact of MY participation there, was an unique event in my life, in itself… and this I wanted to share with you now…
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Bali (remember the accent…?). A short flight to Denpasar, a short
ride by taksi to Kuta, and we (Arit and I, of course… Who else…?) had
ended in an almost empty Hotel, not an expensive one, and neither the
most comfortable, but… And only few minutes later, your reporter running
to attack the waves (strong, sob’s…) of the Indian Ocean. Warm… Salteeee…!
And dark… For the sun sets at Bali like a bomb. Pluck, into the ocean,
and it’s gone… And then a dinner in a restaurant…? Empty, no guests… And
shops…? Full of merchandise, but no shoppers… Before dinner we visited
the monument to all those killed during the first two explosions (10
minutes apart…), on Jalan Legian, in Kuta. Almost 80 Ausies, many other
nationalities, and even one Polish girl, some Nina Pietrzak, or
something, have their names engraved. The monument is quite spectacular,
all curved in the white stone Balinese style, and lighted all night.
Somber reflection, though, and a thought about the futility of that act…
Why…? For what cause…? The only result being, that now Bali is empty and
sad, its economy broken, and Australia absent in protest. And yet the
sun rose in the morning, and set down in the evening, the ocean kept
braking the waves at the beach as usual, and only a horror and a sadness
after this stupid adventure…? And, another one, few years later…? Why…?
The deal took some persuasion, but we eventually had arranged two driver-and-car tours of the major historic architectural spots of the island - mostly Hindu temples, and some quite a distance away…
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Believe me, though, it was worth it… Bali is rich in history and in its special spirituality, and once unwrapped from ever present commercialism, it glows spectacularly… Did we see the singing and dancing presentation of Hinduism, NOP…! Possibly we have missed many other things too, for one can not see ALL in such a short time, but if these just two days at Bali seemed like A WEEK, it only gives a testimony to its richness.
On my Birthday day the female staff of the house worked since the morning on the preparation for the ceremony. 30 orphans from the neighborhood were to attend, together with the spiritual leaders whom I have already met before… But here I come to this portion of my Report which will be addressed to my Brothers: Wojtek, Wojtek, and Richard (spiritually), and I must switch into Polish. Sorry Folks… I’ll be back shortly, anyway…
Drodzy Wojtku, Wojtku i Ryszardzie (symbolicznie),
Jesli udalo sie Wam rozszyfromac powyzszy tekst, wiecie juz, ze niezaleznie od tego jak dlugo przychodzi nam przebywac na tym swiecie, i niezaleznie od tego ilesmy to juz przezyli (co laczy sie zawsze na ogol z pewna powtarzalnoscia wydarzen…), jest zawsze (ZAWSZE…!!!) miejsce na cos PIERWSZEGO. Jesli wiec moje urodziny - na ktore oczywiscie symbolicznie Was rowniez zaprosilem - odbyly sie w ceremonii Muzulmanskiej, bylo to z gruntu cos tak kolosalnie pierwszego, ze kiedy moj Arif zaproponowal ten format, nie moglem odmowic… A format byl nastepujacy: Arif jest gleboko praktykujacym Muzulmaninem, i jego propozycja opiewala na zaproszenie do jego domu (Jalan Siaga IC, No. 1B, Pajetan Barat, Pasar Minggu, Jakarta, Indonesia…), 20-30 sierot (anak-anak yatim…) z pobliskiego Meczetu, ktore po ceremonii scisle religijnej, zostaly-by nastepnie ugoszczone przeze mnie kazda podarunkiem pudelka z jedzeniem, i koperta z podarunkiem w gotowce… Trzeba tutaj dodac, ze w Indonezji obecnie panuje duzo glodu, a stan ekonomii kraju jest fatalny. Oczywiscie nie bylo moim celem, ani mozliwowscia rozszyfrowywanie struktur zarowno ekonomicznych, jak i spirytualnych, czy nawet organizacjyjnych zwiazanych z ta ceremonia, i z natury rzeczy pozostawilem to domowi Arifa, (ja bylem jedynie od zabudzetowywania…), ktore to domostwo, zgodnie z tradycja kraju sklada sie ze staruszki Matki. oraz niezliczonej ilosci braci i siostr, lacznie z ich zonami i mezami, oraz dziecmi, wszyscy skomasowani na raczej minimalnej przestrzeni, zgodnie i serdecznie kooperujacy w swoich wchodzeniach i wychodzeniach, wjezdzaniach motocyklami prawie do srodka domu, jedzeniach, myciach sie, spaniach na podlodze, i usmiechaniach sie do goscia, ktoren tylko fragnmentarycznie byl w stanie rozpoznawac obyczaje i nastroje domu. No i kuchnia… Bez okien, z dwoma sluzacymy, wywodzacymi sie bezzebnie ze szczepu Badui, niezwykle fascynujacego i bodaj najbiedniejszego w Indonezji, na bosaka – oczywiscie – i przygotowujacego wszystko w kuchni na podlodze. (Nb. Posiadanie sluzacej (-cych…) nie jest w Indonezji wyrazem dostatku. Wrecz przeciwnie… Kazdy nawet najbiedniejszy dom ma sluzaca, jeszcze biedniejsza niz gospodarze…)
Jak powiedzialem, przygotowanie do MOICH (naszych…) URODZIN (ulang tachun…) trwalo juz od ranka, (temperatura od rana +34oC…), w ktorym uczestniczyly wszystkie ze siedem pan domu… Odnotowalem specjalnie dla Was menu przyjecia, i zestawu podarunkow dla kazdej sieroty i gosci… A wiec: Cabe brendir - czerwony pieprz strasznie palacy w gebie, rozcierany na kamiennej tarce-misce, kamiennym tluczkiem, wszystko oczywiscie na podlodze… Bawang merah & bawang putih – czerwona i biala cebula… Nasi kuning – zazolcony ryz, specjalnie do tego celu przygotowanym korzeniem zostawiajacym niezmywalne slady na palcach, nastepnie uformowany w piramide posrodku tacy, z wieloma innymi jeddzeniami dookola na krawedzi… Nasi putih – bialy ryz, normalka, prawda, tylko, ze tam (tu tez…) wszystko jest na bialym ryzu… Ayam goreng – czyli zapiekane kurze udka… Tempe – takie skibki zrobione z jakichs orzechow, czy czegos takiego, bardzo indonezyjskie… Telur – czyli po prostu jaja zapiekane na omlet… Timun – czyli mizeria z ogorkow, proste…? Kantang – czyli drobno poszatkowane kartofelki, tez zapiekane… Kecang – czyli fistaszki, ale inaczej smakujace niz nasze, miekkie… Sambal ulek – tak indonezyjskie jedzenie jak mniej indonezyjskie juz byc nie moze, w sosie z innych jedzen, ale kompletnie inne niz cokolwiek nam znane… Ayam hati - czyli serca kurze, tez jakos spreparowane na dziwno… The manis – czyli herbata z cukrem, zawsze niezwykle slodka… Minumin aqua botol – czyli po prostu woda butelkowana… (nb. w Indoenzji wody z kranu pic nie wolno; woda tam nie jest “nie dobra”, ona jest trujaca…! Wiem cos o tym, bylem kiedys podmiotem zakazenie ta woda po umyciu sie. No, teraz, to ja bedac juz nieco zimmunizowany, nawet myje zeby woda z kranu, ale pic nadal nie wolno…!) Bua buahan– wiele owocow… Pisang – banany… Juruk – pomarancze… Duku – mandarynki… i… Kuetar black forest – czyli tort ze swieczkami…
No, musicie przyznac, ze uczta wspaniala… Jak powiedzialem juz od rana wszytskie panie nie tylko tarly to, smazyly w tym goracu, obieraly i siekaly, ale jeszcze potem pakowaly do niezliczonej ilosci pudelek tekturowych, kazde w plastikowej torbie, a nastepnie wkladaly kilka banknotow (nawet nie spytalem ile rupiah Indonesia…?) do niezliczonej ilosci kopert
Kiedy ok. 15:00p wkroczyl do domu caly tlum przeroznych dzieci, w wieku od 3 lat do 14, moje wzruszenie nie mialo granic. Malutkie dziewczyni opatulone w chusty muzulmanskie, chlopcy w peci, czyli charakterystycznych czarnych czapkach, cichusiency wszyscy, zasiedlszy na podlodze przygladali mi sie z wielka troska… Coz to za bule (wyblakly…) ich zaprosil… No i ja tez, bowiem dla mnie ta uroczystosc byla rownie dziwaczna jak pewnie i dla nich.
Opiekun tych dzieci w mesjid, a rowniez imam haji, czyli cos jak ich muzulmanski ksiadz, otworzyl Kharan i wszyscy mezczyzni zaintonowali dluga spiewana modlitwe, ktorej tlomaczenie na angielski staralem sie przebiegac oczami w tym samym czasie… Czy spiewalbym z nimi…? Oczywiscie, ze tak, ale moglem tylko nucic pod nosem, arabskosc bowiem tekstu przekraczala moje wokalne mozliwosci. Potem ten imam dlugo przemawial do dzieci, Arif tlumaczyl, a ja sluchalem. Bylo bardzo dozo o mnie i o mojej roli w zyciu tych malutkich, ale i o Allahu, i jego znacznie wiekszej roli w ich zyciu…
Moje przemowienie bylo nastepne… (A Arif tlomaczyl…). Ze, jestem zaszczycony takim obrotem spraw, ze nigdy nic takiego nie wydarzylo sie w calym moim zyciu, ze moze ja wygladam na bule, ale dzis (tego dnia…) ja nie bylem Westernerem, tylko jeszcze jednym Indonezyjczyiem, ze ja jestem z pochodzneia Chrzescijaninem, ale tego dnia bylem razem z nimi Muzulmaninem… I co ciekawsze, ja gleboko wierzylem we wszystko co mowilem, bowiem jest w tej Indonezji tyle zawieszonej w powietrzu spirytuanosci, ze uciec od tego nie mozna… Bida i nedza… Ale Spiritualna… I jesli moglem wydac drobny pieniadz, na radoche dla tych biednych sierot, ktokolwiek nad nimi tam goruje, Allah czy Przenajswietrza Trojca, zauwazyl pewnie Waszegi reportera w jego tak niezwykle niezwyklej roli… No, i to przeciez chodzilo, nie…? Niezwykle wzruszajaca okazja…!
Ceremonia, ceremonia, ale okolo 17:00p nalezalo wrocic do wlasnego ateizmu, i pojsc jednak na piwo… Ucalowalem wiec Arifa, i wszystkie jego dziewczyny, zlapalem taksi, i walczac z trafikiem Jakarty, juz za chwile bylem juz u Lidy YaYa… Razem z jej mezem i z zawsze usmiechnieta ciocia, ruszylismy na podboj hotelu Shangri-La, gdzie z niezwykle zadymionym barze odbylismy tradycyjna lampke piwa…
I to tyle Drodzy moi… Czy sie podobalo…? Czyz nie znowu ten Tereszczenko cos tam wymyslil z nie z tej ziemi…? A dlaczego nie…? Czy bylo warto…? Of course mon poussie cattes… No, to moze teraz jednak Wojtek Pula cos napisze… Ostatecznie po tylu latach mi sie nalezy… Co, panie Wojtku…?
And now I return to the rest on my Report.
Upon return I had a conversation-negotiation with the Principals at the Office, Mr. Liu and Madame Mei Lan, which resulted in a proposed extension of my contract here for the next 6 months, and may be even for another year. It related directly to another question, this being my inevitable renting of my own residence here, which in this city, crowded upon the limited dimensions of this Island, is not and easy proposition anyway… My Agent, certain very efficient Diana (31-33, and no less attractive…), took me to several proposed residences, all expensive, and all in a rather low standard of elegance. Sorry, Diana, I sure can live on a floor of a barn, if it’s required, but how about something more elegant… lah…? It was Sunday noon, that we finally arrived at this so-called “shophouse” (Chinese traditional edifice, where a shop downstairs and a residence above – Nb. Linda YaYa so lives in her Jakarta house too…), and when I entered into my future home, I immediately felled in love with it. Small it, but uniquely elegant too, all furnished in a set of antique Chinese furniture, including even a set of wine glasses… (Home without wine glasses, ain’t a home, right…?). What’s more, this residence, at 57 Spottiswoode Park Road is only about 7 minute walk from my office, which, both surrounded by the meticulously reconstructed old China Town District of Singapura, is veritably a nice place to be… There was only one thing left… The decision of my renting this place (for a rather steep price…) was to be taken no later than until Monday morning… (Singapura, ain’t it, lah…?)… It took some soul searching, but as I write this, I am already a new neighbor in a quite an exotic set of residents there… But this would be a subject of my next Report 4, later (to only wet your appetite, here are some of them: A young Serbian woman architect, with Indian and Thai experience; an Indonesian-Chinese brain surgeon, from the adjacent hospital; a young man from Vermont; a certain painter; another architect…, and ME, to spice it up. All together, 16 units of such mix… Believe me, a ZOO…
So this is it this time… A bien tot…
(If anyone of you would care to respond, even with a rebuttal, if you wish, you’re welcome… Any letter (WOJTEK…!) will be highly appreciated…
Yours truly,
Jan (TEKO-SG)
SINGAPURA, 4 MARCH 2006
JAN’S SHORT NOTE FROM SINGAPURA No. 4 (NOT EVEN A REPORT)
Did I say that I run every morning…? Well, jog may be… And not every morning, for sometimes, and particularly if the night before there was a rather strenuous training in my Karate Club at Orchard Towers here, I skip… But I didn’t skip this morning (Saturday…) for last night shihan Jackie, who is a superb technician, had performed to the amazement of us all members, a series of katas so perfect, that my jaw dropped down, and when at the end he invited me to do some, I humbly declined… Too tired, shihan… May be next time… And I was so embarrassed, that this morning I decided, while at my normal round around the hill of Outram Park, that I shall devote myself to polishing the Kanku Kata, my most beloved, and that I’ll do it next time as my redemption.
I usually run at 6:00a. It’s very dark here at this time, and the hillock of the park is always shrouded in this tropical darkness, with all its stairs, and trails, and walkways, all up and down among the tropical trees basically empty; though generally there are some souls, walking, jogging, and stretching, here and there (one lady does a thousand hoola-hoops every morning, now for 10 years, she told me…), ostensibly all Chinese, and all rather old (young people not interested in the morning exercises in the park…), and me… Oh, I’d forgot - it’s silent there, except for an occasional squeaking of a gecko… I have by now my usual routine trail, and having timed it out, and including some stretching, it takes me about an hour until the sunrise at 7:00a, or something…
But today it was Saturday, and I decided to stay at one of the flat plateaus close to the top a bit longer, and to practice my Kanku Kata… When I arrived, there was already an old lady sitting on the bench on a spread newspaper; she had a bottle of water, an umbrella and some paper bag next to her… That’s all… and she was all silent and motionless. I paid her no attention though, as many morning walkers or runners don’t have a habit of paying attention to each other, each doing whatever they do, and only occasionally either talking Chinese, or sometimes greeting a stranger with a brisk: Moohning, in Singlish… So I did my thing…
I was maybe into the third round of my Kata, when a woman got up, faced away from me, and begun a tai chi routine, using her umbrella as a weapon of some sort, in this strange form of an oriental martial art, so slow and so graceful in its mysterious perfection. I stopped and watched. She was a diminutive type looking extremely fragile and obviously old… and… what was even more surprising, perfect in all her motions… Her ballet with an umbrella lasted already for several minutes when she stopped, put her umbrella on the ground, and begun another series of movements, this time in an ‘empty-hand’ tai chi, equally perfect in all the movements of her hands, arms, and the most characteristic tai chi footwork; turning, changing direction, squatting and performing all to a surprising perfection... A very long and very complex routine. I froze completely… It was somehow as if watching in the darkness and in the silence of the park, a prayer of some sort, a mysterious communication of this petite figure - so uncharacteristic to any martiality - with a ‘Heaven’, a ‘Spirits of the Departed’ may be, a ‘Buddha’, a ‘God’, a ‘Time’ (or a ‘Timelessness’…), a ‘Nature’… I don’t know… And as her ‘performance’ (if I may call it this way…?) lasted and lasted, and seemingly had no end, I stood in an absolute owe, motionless - for any twist or turn of mine would’ve seemed sacrilegious - I don’t know for how long…? And it was looong… And it was hooot… too. My tee shirt all soaked, I was amazed not to find a single drop of sweat on her brow or on her clothing - she so totally oblivious to my gazing or ostensible interest - most of the time facing away from me, with not a slightest distraction caused by my so obvious presence. As time kept passing, and as the dawn started braking up above the city skyline (and the dawn down here breaks up rather rapidly, without hesitation…), she suddenly stopped, collected her umbrella, her other gear, and with the brisk gait departed from the plateau. I only had time to bow, and to say xie xie, (a Chinese thank you…), to which she smiled, and… vanished… Another old man, who unnoticed by me watched the entire performance, came forward and ostensibly announced: She is seventy eight…
And as the day was breaking up, I returned to my Kanku Kata, so uncouth by comparison…
Jan (TEKO-SG)
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