Blog

Politics Without Politics

In the recent provincial election, I voted for the first time as a Canadian citizen. Then, a few days later, I was a ballot issuing officer at a polling station on election day, waking very early in the morning darkness. The first major storm of fall had arrived, what is now referred to as an atmospheric river, and it rained continuously for two days. When my partner drove me to

Reading Robert Musil

Now fall is coming, I’m reading more, while the leaves turn golden outside and begin to pile up on the pavements of the West End. Days are shorter than nights, now that we’ve passed the equinox, and the sun sets before seven in the evening. On overcast days, there’s that blue-grey quality to the light that seems unique to the Pacific Northwest, shown in the photograph above. If I read

Late Summer

This month I’d planned to write about the place in Singapore in my life, yet it seems, on reflection, too big a topic to handle for now. Summer is fading early in Vancouver: it’s a little cooler, cloudy, with occasional rain. Squirrels are beginning to store nuts away, and the horse chestnuts are swelling in their sheaths. One or two vine maples in Stanley Park are already turning red. National

Suddenly, Canadian

Something strange happened to me in late June. I was travelling with a friend, when an email arrived in my inbox. I first noticed it in the afternoon, after we returned from a hike in the Cheakamus River valley. I’d developed a blister on my foot, and I often think the little red notification bubbles on iPhone app icons on your home screen look like blisters: you want to scratch

The Texture of Exile

I’m back in Vancouver again, with the year just turning, Midsummer now past, and the days now growing imperceptibly shorter. Summer finally arrived, belatedly, in late June just as the solstice came, with that intense dappling of light and shade under the trees in the West End, so that I have to be very cautious on your bicycle at intersections, when shadow suddenly swallows me and hides me from drivers.

In Europe

In late May we flew to London, to touch base with family, both living — my sister — and passed on — our annual pilgrimage to my parents’ graves in Dorset. I spent a day in the BBC Written Archives in Reading, searching for traces of S. Rajaratnam’s broadcasts during the Second World War, and finding transcripts, correspondence, and more, leads which I’ll probably never follow fully, but are intriguing

Spring has “Sprug”

We’re back in Vancouver, at that special time of the year. In our first and second week the last wave of cherry blossoms came, the kanzan cultivar, with its thick pom-poms of pink flowers. We had a period of cold, intensely sunlit days, and so the blossoms remained on the trees for a couple of weeks, only finally falling when the rain came at the end of the month. In

Season of Migration

It’s that season of migration for us again. Suitcases sit ready in our apartment. Each day I add something to one of them: books, connectors or cables for electronic devices, or clothes that I put in, miss, and then take out again. As I post this we’ll be on our flight, but until then the rhythm of our days continues as normal. I wake either in darkness if I’m off

Writing In Small Moments

In the last month or so I’ve been considering, through thoughts and feelings, the place of writing in my life. In part, this interest has come from a series of conversations. I visited a former senior colleague, who is now approaching a time in life where health concerns become very real, who has been a creative writer in various genres all his life but, to his bitterness, now can no

Time Shift

It’s early February, and I’m caught up by a growing tug of time. In October and November, especially, there was a feeling that our time in Singapore was limitless, and that we had months ahead to explore. Now our return to Vancouver in early April is visible on the horizon, still very distant, but approaching, after Chinese New Year and the beginning of the Fasting Month. In the last month