The problem with us these days is not that we miss the forest for the trees, but that we miss the trees for the forest.
You would no doubt have come across the shrinking earth theory during your travels through the cyberspace, and would've likely balked at its geological inaccuracy. Everyone knows that mountains don't occur spontaneously due to the contraction of the earth's surface; they were devilishly constructed to incite frustration and cuss words from unfortunate soldiers on overseas exercises, of course. No matter, most would agree that the shrinking earth theory still holds metaphorical significance in the increasingly modern world that we live in now.
The improvement of transportation infrastructure around the globe--high-speed railway lines in China, easy flights to pretty much anywhere around the globe (except maybe North Korea), more cars than people in Brunei, an MRT system so complex that they're about to run out of rainbow-spectrum colours in Singapore--all contribute to making a trip around the world in 80 days an unnecessary anachronism. With easy access to almost any where which strikes your fancy, travel has become exceedingly commonplace in the everyman's life itinerary.
You'd only need to pay a visit to the swarms of people at travel fairs or flip to the last half of the classifieds section in the straits times to realize that you won't be the only ones at that Exclusive Island Getaway For $3,999 that you'd wanted to retreat to.
And thus begins the bemoaning of the well-traveled individual who believes that he has indeed seen all that there is tosee. But he is not alone, for there exist those who wish that they too could travel beyond the shores of their little island, but simply lack the means to do so.
The MicroEarth Initiative exists for these very people.
_________________________________________________________
All things begin with stories, and this is no different. It was a quiet, lazy day, and I sat around the house (no yo mama jokes, please) with my laptop, intent on completing the insurmountable task of The ORD Quiz. Which also happens to be an euphemism for A Prolonged Period Of Torture. Having failed the segment on IPPT for the third time, I knew that it was a sign. Picking up my running shoes, I left the house, pace quick, strides full, and destination unknown. There are days where you run to travel a certain distance, or to clock a particular timing, but this wasn't one of those days.
Outside the house, an upslope was the appetizer for the day, uninteresting in its familiarity. Curving around residences, schools, crossing traffic lights, dodging pedestrians, maintaining running posture, regulating breaths, the world sped by as the focus on running showed no sway. Across the road, a quick left turn changed things. I was now in unfamiliar territory. The location itself was hardly new, but being present, being able to stand amidst the architecture, being able to pace down walkways which one would more likely drive by, made all the difference. The pace of the run slowed to a slow cadence, as one quick left segued into a series of turns and manoeuvres around the estate. As I neared the fringe of the cluster of buildings, I spotted a trail which I decided to follow.
For a gazetted park connector, its popularity was surprisingly poor, and few others were seen along its winding path. But what surprises this trail hid, tucked away under the awning created by the highway which ran alongside it. Under its concrete canopy a mountain biking course presented itself, a piece of boutique effort by the community committee. The bike tracks scarring its floor belied its apparent underuse, while the array of wooden boards and carefully contrived obstacles stood, in valiant defiance of the effects of time. A muddied track leads up to the expressway, where one can stand but inches away from the rushing of oncoming traffic, it in itself a profound juxtaposition of abandon and bustle.
Further down the running trail I discovered yet another gem, tucked away under the protection of concrete that supported the vehicles above. While gleaming metal flashed along the highway overhead, a solitary man tinkers with his model cars. Amidst an array of wooden chairs and workbenches, he carefully pieces together his vehicle of choice. Taking out a remote control the size of the car itself, he flicks a switch and turns a knob, and the car jumps to life, darting about the constructed dirt track like a metal mouse on amphetamines. The little replica speeds around the circuit, hitting bumps, overturning, drifting, crashing, revving and reviving, the man all the while in complete control.
Not two hundred meters away, a man stands inside a storm drain, completely oblivious or in willful ignorance of agovernmental warning of the dangers of his activity. He stoops to pick up his assortment of plastic containers, which he uses to collect water flowing out from one of the drain's tributaries, for what alchemistic purposes I dared not hazard a guess.
As I traveled further down the trail, I arrived at a little grassy incline, which I decided to scale. The view at its crest would take the breath out of any wind. An expanse of green stretched out to the boundaries of the buildings in the distance, with but three individuals dotting its surface. The three individuals knew nothing of each other, for they were engaged intently with flying their own pieces of coloured cloth. Tugging on glittering white strings, the decorated strips of fabric danced across the sky, buffeted by the afternoon wind. It was some time before I left the peace of that field and headed back the way I came.
If only I'd brought a camera along with me to capture these scenes. And then again, the word 'capture' itself brings with it such negative connotations that might have marred the sanctity of it all. If anything, such adventures make you realize that amidst all that rush and bustle, we might be missing out on the little details that make up the richness of our world. It's probably something like how you get that depressing, bleak vibes from all the city scenes in any of the Matrix movies, no matter how populated they are. Or how you can marvel at the intricate details of the landscapes in any of the Assassin Creed series, but you still don't feel like the cities are truly alive.
Maybe it's about finding the essence of our world, our countries, our cities. Maybe it's about the within, not the without. Maybe to broaden our worldview, what we really need is to narrow our field of vision.
It's a small world, after all.
