Near-Perfect Contentment

There's a Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin says "Happiness isn't good enough for me! I demand euphoria!" I like happiness and euphoria too (who doesn't) but perhaps what I aspire to even more is contentment.

In my final year of college, I experienced a moment of near-perfect contentment.

I was standing on the balcony of our hostel (dorm), looking out. I had a job offer (frankly, a very desirable job offer – although I quit a few years later, but that's a different story), I felt part of a community (my college friends who I hung out with almost every day), and my days were full and fun. At the same time, I was aware that this period of my life was about to end, and the community that I loved so much would soon disperse. But perhaps this sense of transience – mono no aware – is also a necessary part of near-perfect contentment.

Anyhow, I resolved to try and remember that moment. Since then, I have had three or four such moments – I mean, moments when I experience near-perfect contentment, and consciously try to remember it.

One such moment was when I was living and working in Tokyo. It was a weekend or a public holiday. I was having breakfast (I had a serviced apartment with a complimentary breakfast buffet – that was the life), reading a very good book (Underground by Murakami), and looking forward to a day of exploring Tokyo.

Another was more recently, in Singapore. I was in a mall – Lucky Plaza, which is one of the older malls (I have a soft spot for older malls, and Lucky Plaza is a cute name) – and I was waiting for two friends whom I was meeting for lunch. From where I stood, I was overlooking Orchard Road, a prime spot for people-watching. I had headphones on – I even remember the song I was listening to: Tantra Practice by Emily Lind (it has the line "Twenty bucks for lucky weed," which now always reminds me of Lucky Plaza). I was looking forward to the lunch – Filipino food, and the friends I was meeting are two of my favourite people in the world – and also to a contemporary dance performance which I was going for afterwards. I enjoyed the dance show too.

In my last post I was reflecting on final thoughts: "whether I'll want to be fully present in the moment, or perhaps, drift off as I relive a happy memory." I still don't know the answer, but if I were to relive a happy memory, one of these near-perfect contentment moments would be a good option. However, I think I have an even better candidate.

Since I graduated from college, I have mostly lived in other countries. When I go back home to Kolkata, I often have afternoon tea with my parents – milky tea with biscuits (Britannia Marie Gold or cream crackers). I haven't consciously "recorded" a moment of near-perfect contentment during teatime with my parents – they kind of blur into one – but in the moment, I feel happy, grounded and loved. Winter-afternoon light filtering through the windows, my mum telling us about some bird she saw that morning, and biscuits dipped in chai.

Final Thoughts

Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell – one of my all-time favourite novels – has two scenes where people who are about to die relive happy memories. In the first, Sonmi-451, who is a fabricant (a type of clone) is giving her final interview. She is – spoiler alert – executed for rebellion, but in a post-apocalyptic future, she is revered as a god.

The interview has some zingers:

Archivist: But if you knew about this ... conspiracy, why did you cooperate with it?

Sonmi-451: Why does any martyr cooperate with his judases? He sees a further endgame.

The interview, and the chapter, ends with her final request:

You can switch off your silver orison now, Archivist. My time is short and I claim my last request.

Very well... name it.

The use of your sony and access codes.

What do you wish to download?

I wish to finish viewing a film I began watching when, for an hour in my life, I knew happiness.

Cloud Atlas consists of six nested stories spanning multiple geographies and timelines. In San Francisco, 1973, Joe Napier, a security man, wants to retire to his mountain cabin and a life of fishing. But he tries to help his friend's daughter, journalist Luisa Rey, in a corporate crime investigation, and eventually dies trying to protect her. He is shot by Bill Smoke, a henchman, who leaves Napier for dead, and turns his attention to Luisa Rey. But Napier summons the last of his strength, and reaches for his gun:

The trigger resists his index finger – then a blaze of incredible noise spins Bill Smoke backwards, his arms flailing like a marionette's.

In the fourth to last moment of his life, Napier fires another bullet into the marionette silhouetted by stars. The word 'Silvaplana' comes to him, unasked for.

In the third to last moment, Bill Smoke’s body slides down the cabin door.

Second to last, an inset digital clock blinks from 21:57 to 21:58.

Napier's eyes sink, newborn sunshine slants through ancient oaks and dances on a lost river. Look, Joe, herons.

I've occasionally thought about what my final moments – and final thoughts – might be like. Whether I'll be alone or have people around me. Whether I'll be conscious of the fact that my time is up. And if I'm conscious, whether I'll want to be fully present in the moment, or perhaps, drift off as I relive a happy memory.

I'll ponder some more, and write about it in my next post.

And I'll try not to die before that – which would be ironic, but also one hell of a cliffhanger.

Balestier Buildings 3: Sim Kwong Ho Shophouses

The two previous posts in this series were realistic drawings, but now for something a bit different.

I recently went to an event at a local library which had a booth by Drool Stamps. There was a selection of lovely stamps to try out, and blank bookmarks which you could customise.

I chose a shophouse stamp for my bookmark, and then painted it at home.

The colours were loosely inspired by the Sim Kwong Ho shophouses, but I took some artistic liberties.