Sungei Buloh makes me think of Liangshan （梁山）.

        Because everyone is escaping. 

        —Escaping the chill of winter. 

        —Escaping the noise of the city. 

        —Escaping the troubles of the world.

    Crossing the bridge over the river, the entrance leads to another world.

        Let us temporarily forget about election ballots, the political turmoil in the Philippines and Thailand. Even the most practical, worldly, and combative people, wouldn't they need a forest where they can rest and be alone? Watching birds soar freely, let us return to our quiet, peaceful, natural selves.

      Sungei Buloh makes me think of Water Margin （水浒）.

      Because of the small sandbars everywhere.

    Birds, squirrels, lizards, snakes, and even chameleons live on these sandbars. A small world, teeming with life.

        

        Suddenly, I noticed a chameleon basking in the sun by a lotus pond. Four or five lizards slowly approached, encircling it, promising an imminent fight. The chameleon was wary of its situation, but it didn't flee. Neither did its enemies provoke. After half an hour, the lizards gradually changed direction. They continued to move around the pond, no longer glaring, but looking for food. The forest returned to tranquillity.

        What dispelled the hostility? Was it the suppression of animal instinct? A shared understanding of the responsibility to maintain peace in the ecological environment? A moment of enlightenment from sitting quietly in the forest?

      Sungei Buloh makes me think of Yan Qing （燕青）.

   Because of the migratory birds flitting through the forest. Because of the verdant forest and the tranquil shallows.

    

        If Yan Qing came here, seeing all the birds in the forest, wouldn't his playful spirit make him draw his bow and show off his marksmanship? Yan Qing's archery was not something Song Jiang approved of.

        Song Jiang （宋江）wrote in a poem:

         “Mountains rugged, 

         waters vast, 

         across the sky, 

         a flock of geese, 

         two or three lines. 

         Suddenly, they lose their flying companions, 

         the moon is cold, 

         the wind is clear, 

         and my heart breaks.” 

       Song Jiang pursued fame and fortune, hoping his brothers would have wives and children, and that their names would be remembered in history, not in vain. Song Jiang valued brotherhood, but did others agree with his scheming and his way of caring?

        The night Yan Qing drew his bow, Song Jiang, Wu Yong （吴用）, Gongsun Sheng （公孙胜）, and others drank heavily, their spirits low. They must have been thinking about different things, right?

        

         Sungei Buloh makes me remember the drifting duckweed on the pond.

        Duckweed, just like the wandering knights and rogues in the Jianghu, is always moving. A pale purple adds beauty to the season. Yet, it doesn't cling, it doesn't obsess, it doesn't compete for glory. It's ready to leave at any moment.

        Look at how Yan Qing bids farewell to Song Jiang before the end of Water Margin:

         “Geese fly in formation, a sight to behold, I return my official rank, seeking no glory. The Emperor's decree follows me, I wander freely through the dust and wind for the rest of my life.” 

         Lu Junyi （卢俊义）asks Yan Qing,  “You're leaving me, where are you going?” 

         Yan Qing replies,  “I'll just be around my master.” 

     What a great example of "hiding in plain sight"! Yan Qing possesses both the nomadic spirit of water and the grounded nature of earth. He is both worldly and otherworldly. He is a man of the dust and wind, yet unattached to worldly possessions. He has loyalty, knows when to advance and retreat. He has self-control, yet can let go……

         Is the drifting duckweed a reincarnation of Yan Qing? 

         On the road in Sungei Buloh, the wind blows freely, and my emotions are intense. 

         Who remembers—the Yan Qing of old?