Changi Broadwalk: Over the Broadwalk, Under the Sun

20th June 2009

"We're at the wrong place," I exclaimed, with a sudden realization upon looking at the map. In fact, we were on the totally opposite end of the beach.

Rushing back to the car, I sped down the driveway, in a race against the setting sun. Indeed, procrastination in itself was already a nasty beast, add the weather-jinx and ill-luck (with carpark and navigation problems) into the mix, and the realization of our long-planned photo-expedition seemed so close and yet so far.

Man is the master of his own destiny, and Immortals... well, a little more than that - making it to the broadwalk just as the Sun drew her last breaths along the horizon. But this was what we were here for, to capture her dying moments.

The competition was on, with the Lady pitting her (relatively) newly-acquired camera against my (relatively) newly-acquired photo-theory.

We strolled down the walkway, heads turning from side to side, trying to see the world around us in frames, trying to find the right composition, trying to find our perfect pictures.

Identifying my first frame, I clicked and shot, but was far from happy with the results. Thus, in turn, tinkered with the settings till I found what I wanted. Lighting is always a bitch when it comes to photography, but sunset lighting is even harder to depict. In the end, I decided to go with a slightly-warmer feel for my photos.

First Frames

Down the bridge and along the coast, we continued down the well-laid paths in somewhat erratic rotations; her focus was mostly on objects while I tried to look for a bit more landscape. Being more of an artist than a techie, composition often plays a bigger part for me, and I have an incline towards looking for slightly more abstract and interesting shapes.

Freebird

A well-hidden bridge along the seaside gave rise to the inspiration of some peak-a-boo shots (according to the Lady), shots that seemingly focused on one thing, but were actually meant to showcase something else in the background. A pity that I couldn't create a Depth of Field effect with my Nikon though.

Peak-a-Boo

The sky started to spread a warm blanket of pink over us, as we made it to arguably the most distinct spot along the broadwalk, an isolated little pavilion that overlooked the sea.

Isolation

Perhaps as distinct as the pavilion itself is the lone withered tree that resides beside it. Branches bare and outstretched in agony, the singular tree stands alone, enduring the perpetual torment of the waves beating again her trunk as she looks out towards the open sea, longingly perhaps, for an escape from this loneliness.

Solitary

Inspired by my interpreted-plight of the poor entity, I decided to try to creatively shift my White Balance to provide a slightly more fitting landscape - not to mention partially inspired by my current work as well.

Before: Present Day

After: Post-Apocalyptic

"Dude, there's an Iguana on the tree, you might wanna shoot it," a friendly fisherman in the pavilion said to me, as I was shooting my creative close-ups of the tree. As I tried to place my focus on the beast, the slippery reptile had already slipped beyond my sight and into the water. Little did I know however, I had actually already captured it in my close-ups.

Camouflaged

"1, 2, 3...." I counted, as I pressed the shutter, as she almost immediately came over to my side to see how the photos turned out.

"Crap, it's over-exposed" I told her. "But you know what, it's kinda cool, haha."

Obviously, she had no choice but to agree.

Accidental Beauty

Strolling down a winding path under the resorts had us bombarded with shouts of excitement and the smokes of barbeque from the chalets above.

Attempting to do an artistic shot, the Lady accidentally stumbled upon a surprisingly cool effect, taking the shot through the lens of our shades.

Through the Lens

We walked a little more, under the shade of palm trees that we already mostly unnecessary as the sun was already in her final moments and the only remnants of her glory were streaks on a distant horizon.

The Unnecessary Shade

Dark clouds and flashes of lighting beckoned us to turn around as we approached the sailing club, and perhaps more than fitting, as night had already fallen and the scenery beyond was much less captivating than what we had transcended before. Familiarity hardly bred contempt, as the once-familiar path had taken on a whole new light.

One for the Road

As we reached our point of origin, I could not help but use the metaphor of "Reflection" as the final frame to bring closure to our more than fulfilling journey.

Reflections

It's funny how things work out sometimes. If you had asked me to go on a photo-trip a few months back, I would have scorned at the very thought of it. Yet, since I started to better embrace photo-theory, a new-found interest seems to have been kindled in me to put this theory into practice. Of course, having good company doesn't hurt either.

Oh, and about the verdict of the competition, of course I believe that I won hands down. But don't take my word for it, see it for yourself here.

The Lies of Gestalt

"The whole is greater than the sum of its parts" has never resounded more untruly than now.

Taking on the reins of 2 "part-time" jobs in actually makes me feel busier than when I was doing a 5-day work week full-time. As much as I only have 2 "official" working days, I am hardly "free" or even considered "flexible."

In fact, when there are things such as 20 hour work-days, and to only play 1-hour in total over 4-days for a hardcore nut like me probably says more than enough.

Surely, few can understand the overheads, coordination and required brain-segmentation to work between 2 jobs, across 2 very different cognitive domains, and on 2 very different cycles. It's times like this when the cliche of "24 hours being not enough" has to be said.

A stark contrast from my perhaps-too-idle 4 months at the start of the year.

I sat and wondered which was actually worse, being too busy, or simply too free? Which is worse, aimlessly floating in the open sea or climbing an almost insurmountable mountain? In short, the former.

Days are not hard to pass in leisure floating out in the open, but such a lifestyle is perhaps more than detrimental in the long run, as you just get entertained to death; and before you know it, a month, a year, or even 10, has passed you by, and you have nothing much to put to your name.

In Ian Fleming words:

"In at least one religion, acedia is the first of the cardinal sins. So boredom, and particularly the incredible circumstance of waking up bored, was the only vice Bond utterly condemned."

So while I am busy to the point of suffocation these days, coming right out of the other extreme, I actually derive some sort of masochistic pleasure to know that my days are overly wrung, but always with the underlying though that at least I feel that I'm getting somewhere, doing something, and hopefully inching towards my longer-term goals.

Now, if only I could find the Beauty that is Moderation in my life.... guess she continues to elude me as always.

The Flash is a Lie...

The cold morning wind stroked my cheeks as the plastic bag in my hand bobbed up and down with each swerve and bump of the jeep. Its contents still fresh from the oven, as the smell of the Sausage McMuffin raced up my olfactory senses, bringing about a sense of familiarity and yet, distance at the same time - perhaps as long as you are donned in the green uniform, everything civilian seems like a distant luxury that serves to remind you of your eventual endpoint.

I looked across me, watching my buddy's head bob in a similar fashion. eyes partially shrouded by the helmet on top of his head, but still revealing enough to tell that they were shut. The night before was a long and cold one for the both of us, taking turns to watch over the jeep at the ferry terminal throughout the night and hardly getting any winks in-between. Perhaps my slightly more nocturnal nature allowed my body to postpone the fatigue a little more than him, keeping me almost wide awake on our ride back.

The vehicle made a left at a junction that I was all-too-familiar with - no surprise considering that "home" was just 3 or 4 streets down - and filled my soul with a sense of warmth, despite the dampness of the uniform in contact with my skin, a natural consequence of a rainy night.

Going down the road, it was mostly us - me, my McMuffin and my buddy's bobbing head - save for the occasional post-rush-hour-vehicle that came from the opposite direction. Maintaining a comfortable speed, our vehicle approached the bend, causing our bodies to lean accordingly.

As we emerged from the bend, we saw a bus bypassing a vacant bus stop in the opposite direction. All of a sudden, screeches were heard and a sharp force threw me backwards. I looked at the driver, seeing him wrestling with the steering wheel in an attempt to regain control, but that was the least of our fears...

The said bus was heading toward us with a comfortable cruising speed, as we had obviously eaten into its lane. The next few things probably happened in a split-second, but remain vividly etched into my mind.

The bus let out a loud honk - the kind that the driver slams down on his horn in desperation or agitation - as I saw our driver using all of his might to turn the wheel towards the right. A piercing and extended screech accompanied a sharp force that threw me further backwards. I lost my visual orientation and saw the surrounding HDB flats spin around me. A purple and red blur whisked past me on the opposite side (my buddy's side) as we continued spinning and then a sudden thud bumped me slightly off my seat.

As I regained my visual stability and focus, I started to realise that the vehicle was uneven. A quarter of the vehicle went up the curb and a corner of the vehicle was inches away from hitting a roadside tree sprout. I sat there in shock, motionless for a few seconds, trying to process the entire sequence that had just transcended.

When I was finally able to shake myself out of the primal shock, and regained my cognitive abilities, morbid thoughts of the alternate possibility flooded my mind; constructing potential headlines that could possibly make the news the next day, the shock on my parents' faces and all.

Yes, it was indeed too-close-for-comfort experience, and if things had happened any differently, I would have ceased to exist, there and then - 4 streets away from the house that I grew up in, clothed in the discomfort of the slightly drenched green uniform, holding a plastic bag with an awaited-for-consumption Sausage McMuffin. The last thought that would have went through

my mind would probably be that sound and fury of the approaching bus.

Despite what is depicted in the movies, I never saw my entire life flash before my very eyes throughout the entire sequence; never saw my most indelible or heart-wrenching memories, I never saw any of the faces of those that I held most dear.

The.Flash.Is.A.Lie.

And this thought continued to bind me in a state of shock, as the sequence played back over and over again in my mind, unable to snap out of my disbelief.

Staring straight into space, something suddenly caught my attention. My buddy's head had stopped bobbing and I saw him widening his eyelids slowly, revealing his bloodshot eyes and a semi-dazed look; only to see transform into wide-eyed shock as he started to realise that something was amiss.

"What happened?" he asked me.

I stared blankly at him for a few moments, unable to utter a single word, as I wondering to myself if Ignorance would have indeed been Bliss if things had turned out any differently.

"You almost died without you knowing it," I finally uttered in a flat voice.

Orgo: War of the Worlds

Staring through the glass confinements of our little isolated section, the city probably never looked so beautiful on a quiet Thursday night. Dazzled by the blue and yellow streaks flaunting their glory from a distance, the eyes mostly found relief in the peripheral, where the waves of the Singapore River slithered on in its own rhythm.

Beats of an Oriental Trance mix boomed from the speakers behind us, laying its own hypnotizing effects on the mind as I watched the waves dance on, my mind wandering further and further from my body with the passing of each beat.

Through the Looking Glass

Silence fell between us as I turned to look at her, staring on as well. We were in our own little worlds, our own little spaces, perhaps unwinding in our own little ways - words were probably unnecessary for the occasion. I turned my head back and stared on.

"Grapes, sir." The waitress said, breaking the silence and sliding a cocktail class of grapes in between us as she did. A rather unexpected and pleasant surprise, but perhaps only fitting when pondered upon further, perfectly complimenting the bar's signature Fresh Fruit Martini spread.

Fruit and Choices

"This is new," I told her, as I reached out to pick a dark and succulent grape with my pincer-like thumb and index finger. Raising the fruit to my mouth, I sampled the sweet juiciness of the grape as looked around to capture a mental image of the decor that surrounded me.

Angle

Lit with exquisite lamps and chandeliers, Orgo was an ideal late-night affair nicely perched atop the Esplanade rooftop garden, overlooking an angle of the Singapore River. The decor had an emphasis the contrasts between shades of red and black against the golden lights. The warm lighting and texture choice of wooden furniture set the mood for a rather laidback and peaceful session, but the abundance of glass in the furniture served as a striking reminder to the class that came along with it - and the very essence that made it famous in the first place, the private class cubicles.

Lights

"So how do we get to drink in one of those cubicles?" I asked the passing captain.

"Oh, that is meant for reservations for groups of 10 or more people, or if you spend more than $200," he explained patiently.

"Oh ok," I said calmly, mentally trying to picture the possibility of squeezing 10 people into one of the said cubicles.

"Strawberry Mint Martini," a Japanese-accented man said in a gentle voice behind us, placing the bright red Martini on the coaster in front of her. This was likely the oft-mentioned Japanese mixologist that was behind the recipes for the locale's signature drinks. Seems that the only way you would get him to serve or attend to you would be to order more drinks though, perhaps a sound marketing strategy in itself, consider the hots most girls have for Japanese guys.

"Apple and Shiso Martini," he said, as he placed the glass onto the coaster in front of me, as I continued to wonder if I made the most hetro-sexually-appropriate choice.

Red and Green

Doubts were quickly quelled as I took my first sip. Albeit being light on the alcohol flavour, the sweetness of the apple was nicely complimented and perhaps even slightly overruled by the minty taste of the Shiso leaves. The lady's drink was slightly stronger, but still had a predominant fruit flavour complemented by the essence of mint. Overall, it was understandable that the focus of the martinis were very much more on using alcohol to enhance the flavours of the fruits rather than vice versa, making them smooth drinks that went down easily - almost in a dessert wine kind of way.

As she was snapping away at the drinks as artistically as she could, I said to her with my recently acquired confidence, "Come, let me show you how to take an artistic shot." And with that statement, the challenged was issued; a War of the Worlds, her's against mine.

Indeed, photography is very much a matter of perception, a deliberate, intentional and justifiable representation of how he / she views the outside world within his / her mind. Ultimately, to me, what goes into the composition of a photo is very much mapped out within the internal confines of your being, rather than trying to "read" whatever is without your being in a certain way.

The results of the war that was waged?

(Lady's on the Left / Gent's on the Right)

Battle 1

Battle 2

Battle 3

Battle 4

Needless to say, I think I won overall. Oh, except for the last battle below, which I have to admit she won hands down; but then again, it probably had more to do with the model than anything else...

Al Dente Revisted : Bridge of the Worlds

Contrary to the familiarity of the decor, the changes in Al Dente's menu actually ran deep in relation to our last visit. As much as we reminisced about the dishes of our first encounter, we wasted almost no time making acquaintances with the new menu, and readily picked our gastronomical highlights for the night.

Familiarity

Failing to find the pizza of the past, we went for the Al Dente instead; partially based on the written description, and partially based on the deduction that it had to be the best considering that it was the restaurant's namesake.

True enough, the pizza proved equal to, if not better than, our previous choice. The thin wood-fried crust reminded me of how a difference in the simple layer of pastry at the bottom can make or break a pizza, while the combination of fresh vegetables and salty sausages contributed to the pizza being a blend of fresh and savoury tastes at the same time. The only gripe I had with it was the huge chunks of avocado which littered every piece.

Al Dente - with the name spelt right

It's glorious partner in crime was the Ravioli. Soaked in White Wine sauce and stuffed with Cheese and Spinach, I went with this due to my childhood fondness of the dish in general. Thinking that the lady would probably enjoy it less than I would due to its heavy reliance on "essence taste" proved to be erroneous, as she gave it her (straight) thumbs up before I even had a chance to sample it.

Ravioli - My Childhood Best Friend

Cutting a small piece carefully - as there were only 5 pieces and I wanted to maximize my satisfaction and gratification - I placed the dumpling-like pasta into my mouth, only to feel its subtle cheese taste teasing my taste buds, before the intensity of the White Wine sauce soaked through. The outer-layer of the pasta was perfectly folded, being not too thick (a common sign in lesser Ravioli's), yet not thin enough to tear easily. It's a pity that there were only 5 pieces, as I was still craving for more long (and I mean long) after the meal was over.

Our dinner was made less lonely than the sparse Thursday night crowd with our memories filling up the spaces in between. "Oh, I know which table we sat at", "Do you remember which side you were sitting on?", "What about the table next to us?", littered much of the conversation over dinner.

Memories are always a tricky thing, being constructionist in nature allows us to pander them to the emotions that we want to invoke while recollecting them. Personally, I feel that memories are the walls that define the world that we form in our minds. Some times, these are walls enclose a prison; other times, they fortify a fortress. Yet, there are times when these memories play the role of a bridge, where two people's mental worlds intersect, share and communicate.

Despite the transience and vulnerability of said memories, there is still a form of unexplainable joy when you validate them and their meaning with someone else's, where more than one can share the emotions that are tagged on with them memories.

To be able to share memories with someone is always a beautiful thing; but to be able to build and shape and sculpt memories with someone is oftentimes an art form in itself.

Re-creation

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And on the First Day there was Silence...

20th April 2009

I reclined deeply into my chair as I let out a huge sigh; an almost instinctive reaction that stemmed partially from exhaustion, relief, and oddly, satisfaction. A piercing silence rang throughout the room, as I stared blankly at the empty room white-washed by the accompanying furniture.

Silence is an odd thing, always has been. Sometimes inducing a gap of awkwardness, sometimes creating the boxes for thought, and at other times, simply representing "nothingness." But oddly, it is within this "nothingness" that causes one to find "something" - something to occupy your mind with; almost as if a natural instinct to not let one sink into said "nothingness". Perhaps "I think therefore I am" and the implications of its contrary are truer than most of us would like to believe.

For that moment, the silence that filled the room pierced my soul, and dawned the realization upon me that it was over - a day of charades, anxiety, expectation and uncertainty had finally come to an end. And all I was left with sitting in that room alone was the memories of the day.

The memories of the slight discomfort and awkwardness that always came with introductions in the first hour, the need to take the first step and extend the first hand, the speaking of the first words, and the writing of the first sentences. Self-induced pressure perhaps, but the saying cannot be utterly false; first impressions do count - but the problem was, I was not exactly very sure what I wanted to project in the first place, so I was groping around in the dark for the most part of it.

Fortunately, things warmed up as the day went by, as the structure might have it that I had time to spare for individual groups on a smaller scale during the second session. No matter how many times I do it, speaking to a smaller audience will always be easier than addressing a larger one, and perhaps this really shone through during the group discussions as I felt more approachable, and more importantly, personal through mid-day.

The proteges took the reins in the third session as I started to get a better grasp of their personalities and styles as they took the stage one at a time. The tables were turned, and instead, this was their chance to leave their first impressions on me.

As my backbone took to the shape of my chair at the end of the day, exhaustion occupied the better part of me, no thanks to the malfunction of the body-clock and the preluding insomnia. Strains of relief flowed through my mind sporadically, each representing a different blessing that I was counting - reality was a bit better than anticipation in this case. But deep within the trenches of my soul, was an odd sense of satisfaction; something that I didn't expect myself to gain from the experience.

In all it's ironic glory, oddly for me, teaching actually was gratifying in itself. In a rather inexplicable manner, I was actually somewhat... satisfied, even though I was not exactly sure from what. Never to be regarded as the patient or nurturing type, the experience was still somewhat fulfilling nonetheless, and for the first time in my life, I started to get a glimpse of the satisfaction and fulfillment that one can gain through this in the long-run.

But perhaps for me, this in itself, was the most scary thing. Being oddly gratifying in itself probably meant that it would become increasingly difficult to draw the line. I believe that it is very much human nature to be cognitively dissonant about your circumstances, and somewhat convince / hypnotize oneself to believe that what one has is what one truly wants.

And oftentimes, when one doesn't have a clear idea of what one truly wants, it is easy for him / her to account to himself / herself that what he / she has been given is indeed what he / she truly wants. And naturally, this only becomes easier to believe if one can find derivable, tangible and verifiable pleasure from what one has.

As if beckoning me into her deadly jaws of comfort and stability, the world of academia suddenly started to look a little rosier than it has ever been; and perhaps if I was any less of an idealist, I would probably fall to the wayside a lot more easily. They say: Beggars can't be choosers - true, but being spoiled for choice is lesser and more of a dilemma at the same time.

Fortunately or unfortunately for me, I still very clearly know where I want to go down my path of life, and perhaps now, more consciously than ever, I have to will myself more to not rest on the laurels of my circumstances, but continue up the ladder of dreams. Desperation, anger and indignance will slowly depart from me as my muses, and I will have to seek strength from different sources, but of course, that's in the time to come.

For now, I can only open my legs wider as I continue walking down the now-forked path of my life. Where this will lead eventually is something that I will probably have to wait until 'eventually' to find out. But one thing that I believe to know now is something that I mentioned to the class early in the day....

"The good news is: it can only get better."

18th Month Anniversary: Oscar's - Oyster Wars

13th March 2009

Down the stretch we walked, keeping an eye out for justification of avoiding the above-ground lots; the customary Lamborghini and other manner of show-off cars. Yet strangely, the lots were free of any form of these trophies, and only packed to the brim with the more consumer-friendly picks.

Perhaps a reflection to the night's agenda, a simple and honest celebration that was planned without any hidden romantic agenda, but sprinkled with a touch of deliberate-ness to create a "blast from the past."

Dress in the exact same attire from a year back as an innuendo-riddled tribute to add to the commemoration of an annual-tradition that was just starting to take shape, we stepped into the Conrad's hotel lobby, only to be greeted by a hospitable hotel staff who was more than willing to show us to our destination.

Oscar's was a similar yet different dining experience as opposed to last year's Town Restaurant. Set in a more casual setting without too much grandiose, the thematic colours of yellow and black ran through both the decor of the indoor and outdoor dining areas, while the occasional mirror and wall-long paintings lined the walls for good measure.

But the decor was secondary when it came to buffets, as a buffet is only worth its weight in the food quality and variety it provides, and to quote a now-probably-defunct-restaurant's slogan, "the surprise is in the food." And Oscar's had one particular trick up its sleeve that had me smiling with glee for the entire night.

Starting off with the buffet staple of fresh seafood, I went for my usual assortment of fresh-off-the-ice spread of shelled-seafood with an excessively-indulgent dose of sashimi on the side thrown in for more than a good measure.

Not pictured: Too much Sashimi

With the passing of age (and maybe due to a penchant for fine-dining), my taste-buds over the years have grown to become more attuned to what I like to call the "essence" the food, tasting the dish with a minimalist approach with hardly any additional sauce or spices just to fully take in the taste of the meat. And seafood (western ones at least) is one area that I always try to exercise said approach towards the dishes.

Of course, my partner in crime, being the young-un that she is, is still very much into drowning her dishes with all sorts of gravy that she can get her hands on. But still, through the disagreement of the approach, we could still more or less agree that the prawns were the surprise tops in freshness over the crayfish, crab and lobster available. But of course to me, 3 different types of sashimi is in a league of its own.

Partners in Crime

Perhaps that's why when it came to the hot dishes, usually laden with all manner of gravy and sauces; she was a lot keener in the samples than my obligatory approach. Having said that though, the lamb shoulder, lemon chicken, Thai-style crayfish and the cheese pasta definitely left an impression on me.

Now, which Plate could be Mine?

Red (Spolier) Alert

But the real highlight of the night, for me at least, was the one-man-war that I was waging against the oysters' alliance. With a mind-blowing spread of oysters separated into their country and location of origin, I was hell-bent on becoming an oyster-connoisseur by the end of the night, punctuating each round of the buffet proper with a regenerating plate of oysters.

I tried roping in my dear partner into my war, but being the general non-fan that she was, she only presented a patronising effort, sampling only the French oysters and expressing her total abhorrence towards the Australian Coffin Bay ones.

Fortunately for me, I had allies in white on the other side of the counter, always ready and willing to shell the lucky few that I had hand-picked on-the-spot to ensure maximum freshness of the oysters, and give me a helping hand (and knife) in my journey of gaining the revered status of Oyster Connoisseur.

By the end of the night, I was ready to draw my conclusions, from the intense and immense samplings of the different types of oysters. Australian Oysters tend to be darker in color, somewhat smaller and bear the aftertaste of the oysters in the Chinese Oyster Omelettes. The French seem to have really salty seas, as both types of French Oysters came across as extremely salty, but their texture was smooth and slippery.

But the real winner of the night had to be the Canadian Oysters, with just the right amount of flavour, succulent and juicy flesh the slips easily into one's mouth and melts just as easily within it, the essence of the oysters just "explodes in your mouth"(ahem), and results in an eye-batting sense of orgasmic-euphoria (double-innuendo) after each piece. Apparently, the rest of the room seemed to agree with me, as the Canadian Oysters were all-out before the end of the night.

"Oyster Connoisseur" with his mighty fork, the "Oyster Bane"

Needless to say, the night ended with a cityscape's worth of desserts, always her favourite part. If there's one thing that I have to give it to her, is that her Sweet Tooth is definitely a lot more decayed than mine, always craving and always preparing space in my little tummy for the sweet finish.

Definitely in her Element

Through the ranks of creamy mousses, the fruity tarts and the fluffy and sweet cakes, the one particular outstanding dessert was the passionfruit ice-cream. Particularly proud of her artistic and professional-looking self-placed garnish, she cringed her face when she first tasted the Passionfruit ice-cream. Thinking that it was only her not being able to take sour, I scooped off a spoonful of said ice-cream and savoured it too, only to give the exact same reaction. It was stingingly sour, but yet oddly refreshing, amongst all the other sweet treats.

Her Pride and Glory

One Happy Chubby

As we stepped out of the restaurant, only to sit at the couch in the lobby, she walked away from me as I sat there, actively digesting my food. Approaching the piano, she was fiddling with her camera. A few moments later, she ran back to me, pointing at the blinking orange dot. Over the last one and a half years, many things have changed; the fun and the excitement of a budding relationship had been replaced with a comfortable, accommodating, supportive and more mature relationship.

Cool in Candlelight

As the camera flashed, I know that despite these changes, there are just some things that stay the same regardless - like the way she looks in that white dress, for example.