Quiet Weekend

3 min read

My company’s Step Challenge commenced yesterday. The goal is to beat last year’s record of walking 61 millions steps collectively in the next three weeks. I thought I was off to a good start, running 14km yesterday afternoon and walking extra kilometers around the neighbourhood. When I refreshed the app at end of day, I was marginally disappointed to see I didn’t even make it to top 20 despite my 22,000 steps. Top walker has already clocked in 52,000 steps on the first day. I’m surprised how many people in my company are not only active but are also quite competitive. Had I known this, I probably wouldn’t have hurkle-durkled (a 200 year old Scottish term meaning to lounge in bed, long after it’s time to get up. Apparently.) in the morning. But it felt refreshing to do exactly just that.

A lady I met at an event I attended the other day shared how when she was younger, she would look forward to her time alone staring into nothingness. I remember my childhood to be filled with such days, especially when the neighbourhood kids, my playmates, were taking their afternoon naps and I couldn’t be bothered. Back then, we were allowed to get bored. We were allowed to sit alone with our thoughts. We didn’t have smartphones and tablets to fill the void. We had to wait rather impatiently for the clock to read 4:30 to watch Ang TV. These days, with so many different media available to consume at any time, it seems many of us have become rather averse to the silence. It’s as though our handphones, forever glued to our hands, have become a phantom limb.

So when I spent a good chunk of yesterday morning lounging, I was reminded of those days, however banal, where I basked in the joy of staring into oblivion, of doing nothing. It then hit me that there’s really no need to fill every waking moment with trivial pursuits. It’s perfectly okay to stay still and do nothing. I believe it’s an even necessary respite for both the mind and the body. I made myself pasta for lunch pre-run, took an afternoon nap, arranged for a handyman to come fix certain things in my apartment that need fixing, made pasta for dinner post-run, exchanged brief but purposeful messages with family, watched various shows on Youtube (something I’ve come to enjoy for as long it’s cast on TV as I have zero patience to watch on my phone), and called it a day. Banal. But I loved it.

Today, second day of the challenge, I walked the seven kilometers to Robertson Quay to meet up with my friend Jessica for brunch. I didn’t feel so much out of place as the area was teeming with runners, walkers and yogis who were out and about, probably also enjoying the first non-rainy day we had in weeks. Jess and I had a pleasant catch-up over a nice meal. I decided to walk the seven kilometers back to my apartment taking full advantage of the good weather.

As I was typing this blog earlier, a messenger call from Dann popped up on screen. It was a pleasant interruption. We talked for nearly an hour. I paced around the apartment while on the call to get more steps in. He was in Amsterdam last week for a work trip. He had a funny tale to tell about space cakes, brownies and coffee shops. He always has the best stories.

When we hung up, I saw a message in one group chat that saddened me. Kat, a college batchmate, had succumbed to breast cancer. She left a husband and two young kids. I felt truly sorry this had to happen to such a beautiful soul. When she first shared her cancer diagnosis and treatment journey on Facebook, I remember reaching out conveying my wish for her speedy recovery. Such immense show of fortitude. I thought she was on the mend. It was not the kind of news I hoped to end Sunday with. May her soul rest in peace.

At the time of posting this blog, I’d have walked 49,000 steps in the span of two days walking my way to top 15 according to the app. It seems rather too trifling now. I’m glad and grateful for this quiet weekend but in the last few hours alone, I realise how life can really just change in an instant. May we all learn to live in the moment and cherish the moments that really matter.