You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is a different one, each day brings a miracle of its own. It's just a matter of paying attention to this miracle.

~ Paulo Coelho

Paying attention….Hmmm.
Recently on a train from Singapore to Malacca I was reminded once again that paying attention has many guises.
One of the zillion reasons I love to travel is because it opens my eyes, ears and mind to new and novel stimulu. In turn I am energized and return home with a memory bank loaded to the brim with vivid colours, encounters with people, even newly acquired tastes in food. Not always though; the fried tarantula I chewed on in Phnom Penh is not a taste I aspire to embrace. A good thing in view of the limited supply of free-roaming Tarantulas in Singapore.

But I’m digressing once again. The point I’m trying to bring across is that whenever I travel I am compelled to jot down memories or little snippets of conversations (like the man who sold bananas for a living at the monkey forest in Bali or young boy selling books in Siem Reap). My notebooks vary in size from full A4 sizes to ones that fit snugly in the palm of your hand . They all have stained and dog-eared pages in common though.

However, at times the senses become numb to the usual stimuli and it was on this train ride as I reached for my notebook and pencil that I stopped in my tracks. Sat back and folded my hands my lap. Instead of writing down describing what I saw I made a point of simply watching and…being.

Just enjoying the journey and allowing the scenery to wash over me as it unfolded through the window of the carriage. Lush greenery next to the tracks, faded towns that lost their glory due to fewer people taking the train these days, neat kampong houses and the odd railway worker here and there. All of this under a glorious sun set against the backdrop of blue skies.

Bliss!