Last Tango in Singapore...

“…Red and yellow black and white

They are precious in his sight

Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

- Woolston HC lyrics

- Root GF music

It was warm and humid that final evening as I sat along the banks of the Singapore River, separated from the water’s edge by a 15-foot wide brick walking path shaded with banyan trees. Dinner would not start for a half hour, so I grabbed something refreshing to drink and nibbled on roasted Asian peanuts, which have both a subtle difference in taste, and a decidedly ‘snappier crunch’ when chewing.

It seemed an odd contrast to be sitting in this Far Eastern land listening to country music quietly playing on overhead speakers…Hank Snow, “I’m moving on” – Hank Williams, “Your cheating heart.” As the dinner hour arrived, the music paused; replaced by the familiar strains of soft rock from the 60s…the virus of Western Culture well entrenched.

Just across the walking path was a footbridge over which folks wandered back and forth from one side of the river to the other – where high-rise condominiums and small restaurants lined the banks. In this stretch…hotels on one side and condos on the other… it was a far and alien cry from the low land swamps that was this area in the 1800s.

It was hard to know who lived in those little boxes on the other side of the river, but if the French, Italian and German flavor of the restaurants were any indication, one might imagine there to be a fair number of European expatriates who left their homelands, if not all of their home culture.

Dusk had settled as the heat of the day slowly slipped away leaving a trail of humidity, the closeness of which felt like a second skin you would like to shed, but couldn’t…a small relief from the blazing heat…waiting in the wings for its encore just a few hours away.

Joggers and speed walkers mingled with strolling hand holders, in the moderately cooler but sticky air. Exercisers work the fringes there…both of them early – early morning before the heat comes or early evening once it’s gone. No one wants to be actively visible when the sun comes to work in the morning.

Day into night…
Evening along the Singapore River does not signal the end of the day. There is an almost palpable feeling things are going to change. With the lazy closing eyelids of the day comes the energy and surrealism of a hyper active dream. Young people begin to gather on the many lighted crossing bridges that link the two sides of the river. They sit in small groups with a liter of Coca Cola and a bottle of spirits – aptly named for by 10 or 10:30PM (20.00 or 20.30) they become loud and boisterous.

Restaurants along the Quays (landing areas on the River – pronounced ‘keys’) are filled with crowds a little older, but no less enthusiastic…until the night deepens, their glasses empty, stories told and the weariness of the day overcomes their bodies – drifting away in order from the least energetic to the most.

In the very early morning hours, the stillness of this tropical land reclaims, for the briefest of time, vestiges of the rhythm that existed for eons before the presence of man – before country western music or soft rock…before those morning exercisers broke the calm with padding feet and labored breathing, chasing the elusive elixir of a retreating youth.

A cultural paradox
For the Western visitor Singapore is a place where you can hide, completely engulfed in the same culture from which you came – for it is one of most modern, high tech cities in the world – or you can slip into one of the ethnic communities where you could easily be in any one of a number of Asian countries – Sri Lanka, India, Malaysia, Indonesia, or China. In these communities, the hum is different, the food more authentic, the people more themselves – as most are when surrounded by the things and people they know. For it is human nature to ‘…see what you look for and find what you know…’

Singapore is a country where the color of my skin was broadest of exception – uncommonly bland amidst the majestic tapestry and hue from darkest black to lightest yellow and every imaginable shade in between; where Chinese, Malay, Indonesian, Indian, Sri Lankan and Caucasian sort themselves out in the mixing bowl of this multicultural Asian land.

A gentle reflection
I was reminded, how as humans we come in so many packages; how we have such varied spiritual belief systems (all of which ‘we’ believe to be correct); how we find different musical rhythms that resonate with our souls; how we believe each other’s foods strange, while our own completely normal. When we are away from home and meet someone from our own culture, how pleasant – maybe comforting – it is to relate to one another even the unspoken commonality we share.

And yet…and yet, amongst the grand differences, we share the central human experience of struggle, humor, love, hope and aspiration – no matter the culture, language or belief. In the bigger picture, the inward man/woman is where we find greater commonality; where we are so much more alike than separate; where we find those moments of communal ground…whether it be on the walking paths, restaurants along the Quays or markets in ethnic communities…It is the human desire to share the common experience. There is little doubt it is the human connection each of us desires, because “…God happens when humanity is connected…”

In spite of our outward differences, we all look for the Quays and small footbridges that help us connect and navigate the common river of life we all share.

The day was done
The next morning, I slipped away from this land 85 miles (137km) north of the equator and returned to the familiar surroundings of my home in California. But, as I sat waiting for the dinner hour watching that little patch of the world drift by, I felt a small twinge of wistful disappointment that the chair next to me at the table was empty.

- ted