#1: [an exercise in asymmetry}
entering the act of knowing
entering the act of knowing
If not you,
Nothing could be more difficult or weighty than assessing someone's importance, especially in relation to ourselves. How do we respond to a handshake that is stronger than our own, a greeting pushing to deepen more than we'd like, or eyes that gaze and avert too consciously, pulling and carrying us into the moment from time to time, often with little soul. The country complains perpetually of heat, preferring to soak in that fast-paced something we can never put our fingers on to let out a sharp whistle of steam, a sign that the sky-high glass and concrete accompany our watch, commanding relationships to remain open and receptive. A friend of mine once admitted contextualizing his adult friendships, choosing people strategically to suit age and circumstance. It hurt to know that he was a new person, and I felt naive clinging on to the husks that bound us during childhood, falling behind the art of knowing someone, except that unlike places, people can choose to inhabit, plying spaces with intentions and earnestness. Our repeated efforts trace a ground that resists changes we do not welcome, at least until the day we find ourselves squinting. Our sensitivities slipping, we now tirelessly hold out for illumination, that we find worthy of our image. |
I would still have you
Nothing could be more important or more difficult than assessing someone's true weight: the strength of a handshake, the depth of a greeting, the pull of gazes met and the speed at which eyes avert, carried starkly by the moment from time to time, have a similar complaint: that the country has little soul. Perpetually in heat, we knowingly and helplessly soak up that fast-paced something we can never put our fingers on only to let out a sharp whistle of steam, watching glass and concrete accompany the sky-high figures that command them to remain open and receptive to relationships. My new friend continues to lament how friends become increasingly contextual with age and circumstance, and we both wonder where and when our husks of childhood fell behind the art of knowing someone, except that unlike places, people cannot be inhabited. Our efforts, no matter how deep and earnest, never have absolute hold over change. With careful repetition, we hold up our tracings against any illumination that we find, squinting sensitively, tirelessly, for whatever our image is worth. |
***
A year or so ago I was convinced that Singapore, like most established city-economies, could be explained by its own set of systemic contradictions – convenience with entrapment, melting pot with cultureless, evergreen with change, progress with conservatism, landless with landfill. Today these general truths still exist in my mind, but I’ve begun to see a greater productivity in trying to relinquish these polarities, and instead quietly observe the bandwidths between them, the people that put these infrastructures in place, and also the pedestrians making their way along these shifting crossings.
Being a pedestrian is all about consistency. While determining the appropriate speed and frequency with which to course through something, we ignore some bits, over emphasize others, responding and patching information into a framework that can be believed as ‘knowledge’. But people and places are not as abstract as words; quite often our knowledge goes under threat, or even rejects us for trespassing some boundary or misinterpreting some signal. We lose sight and grapple with the realization of never having known them, or that part of them.
Despite being haunted by the silent, unknown remainders of those we encounter, pedestrians never stop walking. Equally compelled by the prospect of newer grounds to tread, we barrel on with the quest for sufficiency, occasionally appearing to be stuck but otherwise purposefully taking a break.
Being a pedestrian is all about consistency. While determining the appropriate speed and frequency with which to course through something, we ignore some bits, over emphasize others, responding and patching information into a framework that can be believed as ‘knowledge’. But people and places are not as abstract as words; quite often our knowledge goes under threat, or even rejects us for trespassing some boundary or misinterpreting some signal. We lose sight and grapple with the realization of never having known them, or that part of them.
Despite being haunted by the silent, unknown remainders of those we encounter, pedestrians never stop walking. Equally compelled by the prospect of newer grounds to tread, we barrel on with the quest for sufficiency, occasionally appearing to be stuck but otherwise purposefully taking a break.
Copyright 2015 Ng Xi Jie, Geraldine Kang