RENE KHOO YU HAN Class: 2/6
We have heard it all before, the anxious clattering of shoes in the Mass Rapid Transportation (MRT) stations up the stairs and escalators as people stream busily out to lead their lives, heading to a glass box high in the air to tap at a computer or ducking into a class room tensely ready for an exam.
In libraries, students furiously scribble notes. In parks, marathon runners pound across the pavement. In Singapore, a society moving at breakneck speed, it is difficult to find a place where it is truly quiet, but one of the rare places that I find relaxing is a place of worship.
People all need a sanctuary, a place they can go to hide and relax in times of severe distress. This usually has to be a place where people can be distracted from their daily routine, where one can go through their thoughts in a peaceful environment. A veil of calmness settles upon me whenever I step into a temple. Statues adorned with flowers stand as a sign of peace. The ceilings are high and the doors always remain wide open, letting in light and silence. The muted tones of the tiled floor, the robes in which monks and nuns don upon and the cushions which people kneel on only to emphasise the grace of the gods. The patient recitations of the monks wash away my worries as if they were waves on a shore.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell sounds, steady as the footsteps of a giant, freeing me from the rigours of my daily activities. When I squint a little out of the doors, a canvas full of nature’s colours come into sight. Trees and a pond filled with lotus flowers and fish which investigate the crumbs thrown in by a visitor.
Everything is done reverently here, cautiously with the utmost attention to each and every detail, nobody hurries, bare feet more silently and slowly across the floor. The smell of incense sweeps through the air, as calm permeates through my body as I sit on the floor.
Everyone who enters is silent; no questions are asked of me. Sometimes a playful bicker or a raise of eyebrows between my cousin and I, but all are welcome to simply contemplate. The traffic from the outside world falls away and there is only the worn wood of the humble shelves and unperturbed air of the temple. It is only in this place that I find myself uncoiling. It’s a small oasis of peace where I can, for a moment or two, breathe, before plunging head first back into our hectic lives.
Writers by the River 