1

      1979.

   A lone figure stood amidst falling leaves on a windswept autumn day. Pale, gaunt and fragile, a little cover twenty and unseasoned in life, he had come to the bright lights of colourful Paris.

      He hesitated on a narrow street of the old Cite, watching swirling clouds of dust rise up from the crooked, uneven ground. Just then, an urgent clatter of speeding hooves resounded in his ears.

      Glancing up, he saw the dignified silhouette of the Notre Dame!

      Inside, towering pillars, intricately carved, rose to form this magnificent structure. The faint glow of sunlight, filtered through myriad colours of stained glass, however dimmed, could not diminish the beauty of the majestic architecture.       Overhead were flickering candle flames; higher up, lofty peaks of gothic rooftop. An echoing chorus broke the stillness and sang to the pipe organ's deep reverberating tones. Beside him, a line of immaculately dressed gentlemen awaited their turns Lo kneel before the priest in confession, in repentance, seeking bless­ings and forgiveness…

      All around, men were searching for beauty, for ablution of self. History, culture, humanity, art…… can all be so intimately woven together in modern civilisation. His bean was gripped by both a sense of calmness and confusion. His self-confidence and ordered disposition were thrown into chaos. He fell so small, so shallow, and so impoverished in the face of such history, culture, humanity and art confronting him.

      He lingered a long while in that church, not to seek religion but to experience beauty……

      Emerging, he chanced upon a flower market nearby. How those buds blossomed so freely, so earnestly, so full of optimism and the joy of life! He could not resist reaching into his pocket for a few francs in exchange for a stalk……

      And so be sojourned six years in this vibrant city.

2

      Paris, historical Paris. Where from the 13th century, elegant Notre Dame has stood in silence, keeping watch over the flowing River Seine.

      Paris, futuristic Paris. Where Eiffel Tower; contrived by a stroke of engineering genius, braves the winds, beckoning both the present and the future.

      Paris, traditional Paris. Where the Louvre retraces our foot­steps in time, from the splendour of Napoleon, to the Mona Lisa in the Renaissance, and down to Venus of ancient Greece.

      Paris is stained with the hot blood of revolution. Where Pompidou Arts Centre is home to Picasso and his revolutionary companions: Dada, Expressionism, Fauvism……

      Paris is passionate and bold. Where on Saturday mornings university students find street demonstrations commonplace. Where anyone irked by !lie “Rites of Spring will not spare even Stravinsky from loud insults.

      However, Paris is also compassionate and accommodating. Like the roads which fan out from the Arch  Triumphe d’Etoile into thirteen divergent avenues. In different directions, we can find romantic strains of Chopin at Salle Pleyel; or impressionist paintings of Manet and Van Gogh in the galleries of Jeu de Paume ……

      Paris embraces them all, from Egyptian mummies to Rodin's thinker. How else could Hugo have appeared after Balzac, Zola after Hugo, and after Zola, Satre, Camille…… ?

      Therefore, Parisians feel equally at home, whether frolicking with mime artists on streetcorners or attending formal opera bedecked in all their finery.

      Therefore, Faure, though head of the Paris Conservatory, was restrained in expressing his dislike of impressionistic music, saying, “If that was music, I have never understood what music was. And the arrogant Debussy, egotistic guardian of modern music, boasted of his own genius,”Debussy, if he is not making music, has no reason for existing!”

      Perhaps, that is why the Louvre of old can be rebuilt by I. M. Pei to await a new millennium.

      Perhaps that is why Eiffel Tower; having ushered in the twentieth century, is now tirelessly clocking the countdown to the twenty-first.

      Paris is different, dynamic, independent, individualistic. Where ideas and ideals collide and coalesce on the same plane. There is room for conflict, competition, corroboration. Room for growth. She stimulates reason to astute thoughts; stirs up emotions to deep reflection

3

      1997.

      Time for another concert.

      The young voices made clear what their wishes were, 

      “No more Stories please.”

      “No more story-telling!”

      It suddenly struck me that these fledgling youths were the same little ones I had known in 1990 who befriended “Nicky, the snow­man”. These budding musicians, who had shared the adventures of，“The Little Green Leaf” in 1993, and journeyed on' A. trip to Pulau Ubin “in 1995, have now grown up with dreams of their own.

      Indeed, ten years have flown since I returned.

      Yes, the young must embrace a far wider world.

      And so, my thoughts retuned to that windswept autumn day,

the lonely callow youth of a little over twenty.

      I thought of Paris.

      Do they know that young man too? But no matter, for to Paris they must go.

If life and truth and beauty are worthy pursuits, and self-betterment and catharsis of value, then we must make this journey to Paris

      Blessings, my bright young friends.