When I was much younger, I used to be really fascinated by Greek mythology. Actually I was fascinated by mythology as a whole. I knew who was Isis, the Egyptian goddess, the Greek and Romanised names of the Gods of Olympus. I grew up knowing Neptune and Poseidon were the same and what they governed.
Mythology, along with fairy tales, fables and history were part of my childhood. I remembered the feeling of being lost in that world, every first time I encountered a story about them...so much that I read and re-read them in a bid to hold on to that pleasure, eventually they still faded away.
I slowly grew up and the tales held less and less magic for me, even if I read them after a long time had passed since I last did.
My velocity of reading increased. My comprehension increased. Books that took a sustained effort before, books like 'Little Women' 'The Little Princess', they took at least 2 days of sustained reading before...where I would get up in the middle of the night just to finish them....as I grew older, they could be finished in less than a day.
That was how I gradually lost my childhood. And yet I still read those books of mine sometimes, perhaps because of what they had given me before, they deserve much more than to be left away in some forgotten corner to be buried under dust.
Two years ago when I went to the Louvre in France, my aim wasn't the Greek sculptures. I wanted to see the paintings I heard so much about. And yet when I came across the sculptures, they reminded me of my childhood, the numerous hours spent poring over fiction and imagined reality. The Greek sculptures were amazing. They are indeed breath-taking. Yet their beauty were eclipsed by the lost pleasures of childhoods.
I know the figures well and yet they no longer bring with them that fizz and zest. What they have is akin to the rich full-bodied taste of wine. I can only remember that I once had it, perhaps even the notes but can never recall exactly how it tastes like.
And so when I read that the Greek pieces were slated for exhibition in Singapore, I was vastly intrigued, not because of my love for Greek history, not because of my long-lost childhood passion for stories but because I have seen them before in France, not too long before. Recent history is but all I can relate to now.
There were like friends I made in France, here for a visit.
And yet the famous pieces that caught my eye were not here. It forced me to take a look at the other pieces and I learnt.
The youth held a bird in his right hand. The carvings depicted the moment of choice. That is if he was going to give the bird to his dog or to set it free.
This was supposed to be a long entry but then I deleted everything away because I no longer am that enthusiastic to let people know what and how I think. I guess that is why I have been writing and then deleting my entries.
Anyway if I keep writing, I'll end up saying more and then finish off by deleting everything I've typed.
So yeah...I went off for drinks with Gan and QJ after the museum trip.
Ended up saying more than I should, yesterday.
I should start imposing a word limit, or maybe count to three before saying anything. And no, nothing massive happened. I just happened to realise that hustle and bustle is instinctive but I feel most at peace with myself when everything is quiet.
It's been awfully cold recently...
Nothing beats a cup of coffee with a generous dash of liquor while I read.
Sigh I don't know if I want the book to finish or not.
Ah well....it's going to take another half a day at least before I can get back to churning out lesson plans and marking scripts.
I love working late but I can't except on weekends.
Give a holler if you want supper then.
