Mike Mate

A wood-slatted walkway winds through the rainforest. My ears sense the stillness. I take deep, sustained breaths, inhaling through my nose – all attention on scent. My eyes absorb the greens of giant palm fans and banana leaves and trace ferns spiraling their tendril ends up like fiddlesticks to the light.

We step out of the forest and merge into cosmopolitan Singapore on a Saturday afternoon at the Botanic Gardens. Maite and Katie are with me. On the wide expanse of open grass we eat mango ice creams amongst the picnickers and frisbee players. I kick off my sandals and let the coarse grass touch the soles of my feet. Seated, I pat the wiry surface for feeling and then harder until I hear the thudding connection to solid mass beneath my hands – this is the Earth.

There is a feeling of incredulity. These are heightened moments of awareness but to be expected; borne of being on a boat, on steel decks and on the water for so long.

There is a waterfall in the midst of a ginger garden and sunlight sparkles off its curtain. Above, a stork billed kingfisher: red, orange and blue, sits on a branch overseeing the wedding couple. A bride and groom – white dress, black suit – seemingly plucked off a wedding cake, have their pictures taken, I am smiling along with everyone in the gardens.

The world famous orchid garden takes me deeper still, into the world of colour, impeccable design and symmetry. My eyes settle on the flowers, following their runways and slip roads towards nectar. I find myself longing to be an insect and thankful to be alive.