WELCOME

Greetings and welcome to my website!

Thank you for joining me on this journey exploring history and culture, fiction and writing, besides what drives and enthrals me, comprising music, travel and trains; and, of course, food and coffee. I aspire to share intriguing topics and anecdotes that will foster reflection. Perhaps amusement too.

First, a confession!

I admit to a sense of trepidation starting this journal, which I hesitate to term a ‘blog’, given there are connotations affiliated with the label. Namely, hints of posting articles at - as urged by marketers - frequent and set intervals to enhance following and audience engagement. I appreciate their logic. However, the prospect of forced writing troubles me, as there could be spells when one is uninspired. Such a setting would stifle. It’d remodel a joyful activity into a chore. Had I desired that, I’d have become a journalist, furnishing columns or news reports daily. I mean no disrespect towards them, for theirs is a distinguished and arduous occupation. But it’s not my cup of Earl Grey tea or mocha.

While I enjoy writing fiction and travel reviews, sticking to a rigid schedule for a blog is unfamiliar ground and I question what it’ll demand in commitment to give it due justice. Would it become a monster chewing into my energies or the focus I need to create and script my stories? I hope not, for my books are my priority.

Neither was I ever a diarist. By gummy, what an idiot? Shameful, preposterous! I can hear the consternation and murmurings of those who support the divine practice. Perhaps it was because I was a busy child dashing from one outdoor activity to the next, among others, the Scouts, sports and boyish jaunts. Mischief, what else? An example springs to mind: trying to avoid blowing myself up, experimenting with homemade bazookas with a cool pal named Pete. This caper preceded the sensational MythBusters TV series, a favourite of mine. Listen kids, don’t be a fool like me. Leave it to the professionals like Jamie and Adam! Anyhow, by nightfall, scant fuel remained in my tank.

For better or worse, my ‘diary’ rests in my head, and I save and discard on my terms. My focus is on the significant and forgetting (if able) the negative. I etch upon my mental databank those events that prove momentous. For instance, the morning when my medieval Ford’s brakes failed, and I barely survived. The purple monster - a contraption held together by rust, rags, tape and sealant - was zooming downhill when the pedal sunk to the floor. There was hardly time. Either I kept straight ahead and ploughed into a busy intersection or negotiate a ninety-degree tilted turn before treading through the yawning gateway of the university. I chose the lesser of the evils.

It was hair-raising. Car bouncing, skidding on two wheels, rubber screeches and screams from students later, I came to a stop up a slight slope, handbrake engaged. Lady luck stayed with me. I’d made it without a scratch on my ride or me, or the gates. Indeed, the near accident shocked me, and the poor auto suffered my curses... for about three minutes. Nevertheless, it was exciting and, after the fact, amusing. A sure keeper.

A Yeoman Warder, Tower of London

Back to blogging, or in my case, ‘snippeting,’ I shall do my best. No promises, however, about a set schedule. The sameness and military precision of the ‘Beefeaters’ performing their daily rituals at the Tower of London is, I doubt, something I’d achieve or want, if I’m honest. No, ma’am.

The above said, I expect a stream of topics looking ahead. They’d prompt me to think, to delve into history or our current affairs, and that venture will benefit us and my narratives. I shall strive to add snippets when I uncover worthy things to discuss. Even the quirky.

Hence please drop by my website recurrently, tune in with your email address, or follow my Instagram or Facebook account. I’ll post when I upload fresh snippets.

Moving ahead…

A common query I get is: What motivated me to write? Wiser people than I have enunciated: to “express myself” or “create literary works” or “entertain readers” and whatnot. Indeed, all the above. But I rate joy as a core incentive, camped at the apex. The craft of architecture and design had kept my artistic juices flowing during my earlier career, and I derive the same from creative writing. I’d always owned a passion for history, in particular World War Two, plus that of the British Empire in Southeast Asia. Also, the racial and social customs, mindsets, and behaviour of a myriad of Asians and expat colonials. How they meshed, continue to engross me.

It is a journey of reading beginning at around age ten with ‘Commando’ graphic war comics. Then soon thereafter, a publication from my father’s bookshelf on the Supermarine Spitfire, the famed, revered fighter plane of the Battle of Britain, in 1940. Not that I understood everything in John Vader’s text. But it kicked off a yearn for books and learning.

The book that started my journey in reading and writing.

Frivolous, as my impetus seems - given ‘joy’ might not present to some as a noble reason - I can state with conviction that my heart and soul are embedded in my stories; along with the hard toil during the wee hours of countless nights. Also, I shall proceed likewise for future publications. Among the lessons I’d learnt from my parents and mentors is the wisdom of Philip Stanhope, the 4th Earl of Chesterfield, who penned in 1774:

“Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well.”

Astute words.

I treat authoring with focus, nursing my concepts and narratives, while aiming to publish works that deserve acceptance as literature and culture. While my key purpose isn’t to attain the status of a bestseller - though such an honour would be marvellous - it is to create captivating stories. Foremost for me. If I cannot laze and read them, gaining pleasure and inspiration with my senses stirred, then how can I expect that of others?

Nonetheless, I muse whether those inquirers meant to pose: What sparks had led me to lift the quill? Or why hadn’t I embarked on the writing trail earlier?

There is a lengthy tale concerning this, and I will endeavour to cover it within a future post. Meantime, it suffices to say my epiphany was a missed unique opportunity. I had a latent opening to write the biography of an Aussie Digger, a signaller who served in WWII. He was a relation by marriage for whom I held great respect, and from whom I’d gained insights into the bloody, oft-forgotten New Guinea campaign. The chance lingered for years. Then it vanished. I felt he’d become too frail to sit through interviews, besides his questionable memory. A tad before reaching his century, he passed upwards to rejoin his forebears and mates who’d fallen prior. Where penning is concerned, it proved my colossal regret. A bitter lesson. Above all, it’d have been a tribute to a decent fellow. Thence, not a week lapses without my disappointment resurfacing.

It has taught me never to underestimate time’s value.

And that awareness, among other reasons, is why I now pursue this writing path.

Once again, welcome!

With gratitude,

Gabe