On the way to Chinatown from Trafalgar Square I heard a violin sound but I couldn’t find the source. I kept looking and there it was. I saw an old man in his wheelchair, playing his violin. It was beautiful but kinda sad, the song. Most people were just passing him by quickly. A few were giving him a penny or two. And me, I just watched him from a far and walked pass him and take a picture of him took some money he earned that day, secretly, not even looking through the view finder, in a split of second.
Work of art [noun]: a product that gives aesthetic pleasure and that can be judged separately from any utilitarian considerations.
It was really hot that day, the summer’s sun smile brightly accompanied by a clear blue sky. We decided to wait inside the mall until it’s quite cool outside. Around 5 pm we went out to a dock near the mall and sit down near the manmade beach. While we were talking it just strucked us when we realized there’s this really pretty painting in the sky. As if all the colours in the palette were brushed on the sky. All the beautiful colours. I could just gasp, breathless, jawdrop. Twilight.
It’s a work of art.
I love traveling. Trains, buses, ferries, subways or even walk.
Chasing the train, or just waiting while other people seems rushing to their destination. Continue reading