1  Dawn 4.30am

        It was four-thirty in the morning. 

      I sat on the floating bridge, facing the sea, wind kissing my face. I did not seek to meditate but merely to sit quietly. Alone, I believed I was waiting for the sun. 

      The silence was profound. In that stillness, I could hear the sound of the tide, the call of birds, the croak of frogs, the buzz of cicadas, and the barking of dogs. Each sound was clear. Each was independent, yet harmonious in its melody. The sensation was comforting.

2  5am before sunrise

    At five, a friend arrived, casting lines into the water. We exchanged nods and settled on opposite sides, backs turned, silent. The sun had yet to rise, but the sky began to awaken.

      Suddenly, strange ripples danced upon the surface. Water splashed. My eyes searched the sea. 

      Oh! A fish leapt, a small hill of scales breaking the surface, then dove below. Soon, I saw not one but many leaping from the water. I was astounded, entranced. 

         I heard my angler friend whisper, “It’s dolphins.”

        Excitement simmered within me. I witnessed dolphins—not in a circus, not at an aquarium, but here in Ubin’s waters. I saw them, and then they were gone, fading into the distance.

3   6am

      At six, my friend Mr. Soon arrived on the bridge. We greeted each other, and I shared my joy, “I saw dolphins!”

      He replied, calm as the dawn, “Usually, dolphins are found only in deep waters. It’s the first I’ve heard of them here.”

       I pointed to the angler, desperate to validate my sighting. “He saw them too!”

       But Mr. Soon merely smiled, tolerant and serene. 

   I complained within, wondering why he didn't share my excitement. 

      Ah! Words of others are nothing compared to the experience itself. I strained my eyes against the sea, hoping the dolphins would leap once more. But they did not come.

       And I felt more frustrated, lost, adrift.

4   Time for meditation

     Then the gulls cried out, their harsh cries pulling me from my solitude. They skimmed the surface, attempting to stir the water. The waves rose and fell, unfazed, following their own course.

      I recalled a parable—stones racing against water, each testing its strength. The stone tumbled down the mountain, shattered into dust. The water flowed, transforming, never clinging, reassembling at the foot of the mountain, moving toward the horizon.

      I could not help but chuckle softly. 

      Where had my tranquillity gone? 

      Why did I seek to prove myself? 

      Why did I care so much? 

      In clinging, I lost what I once possessed. 

   Looking back, Mr. Soon did not doubt me. He was simply unbothered by my enthusiasm. He had immersed himself in the island, its waters and mountains blending into his essence. Life had made him contemplative, his feelings not so easily displayed. 

      Ubin nurtured both the possible and the impossible. There were miracles here, too many to surprise him anymore.

          In    the   city,    people   reacted   too   strongly,   always    in

competition. They craved vibrancy, showiness, arrogance, aggression. They were defensive, combative. 

      But then, I listened again—the tide, the birds, frogs, cicadas, dogs, and chickens called me back. The thrill of leaping fish returned to my heart. Yet I no longer waited for dolphins.

5  7am Sunrises

      At seven, another friend joined me on the bridge. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, stretching, yawning widely.

        I said softly, “You missed it.”

        He, confused, asked, “Missed what?”

        I smiled slyly, “The sun.”

     “Isn’t it over there?” he replied, pointing to the glaring orb rising before us. 

        I said nothing. 

        In the sunlight, his gaze grew more bewildered.