"I am tired. I want to go home. This is a bad idea". These were my thoughts as I stepped off the train at my destination on a cloudy Sunday afternoon. I had already had an eventful day, consisting of a long morning hike followed by lunch with friends. Add to this the heat and humidity of the Singaporean weather, which I was still getting used to, and you can begin to understand how tired and exhausted I felt. I cursed myself for not staying at home and resting. No, for some reason I had felt inclined to schedule a date for this afternoon. A first date with a girl whom I had never met before. That would mean a lot of meaningless and boring small talk. As I walked up the escalator, I let out a long sigh of exhaustion. "Why did I think this was a good idea?" My heart was as heavy as my legs and I almost turned around. But somehow - even though I really wanted to - I didn't. "She will be on her way here by now. Let's just make this quick," I thought. 

I must admit I was a little intrigued by her. Unlike all the other girls I had met since moving from Europe to Singapore two months ago, she did not want to meet me for coffee or drinks, but had suggested we go paint at the beach. I had not painted for years. And I had never painted at the beach, or on a date. So I was intrigued to give it a go. "This could be fun," I had told myself. Now I really regretted that line of thinking. Painting was not something that could be done quickly, it would take some time - time I would rather spend lying in bed watching TV or sleeping. "But now it's too late." I scratched my forehead in resignation.

I had arrived at our meeting point, a huge shopping centre near the beach. Suddenly my phone vibrated. A message. Maybe she had texted me to cancel at the last minute, was my first (hopeful) thought. But that turned out to be wishful thinking. She had actually texted to say she would be ten to fifteen minutes late. "Great, this day just keeps getting better and better." Again, I felt an urge to leave right then and there. But again, although I was tempted, I decided not to. To this day, I am not sure why. Sometimes the margins between our best and worst decisions are incredibly small.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally turned up. She was pretty, I had to give her that. And she had a beautiful smile and a contagious laugh. As we made our way to the beach, we started the small talk I had been dreading. But soon something unexpected happened. Our conversation just seemed to flow and flow. It was effortless, very natural. And fun, so much fun. I found myself laughing a lot at her jokes. Not because I wanted to, but because I couldn't help it. The fact that she made three references to my favourite TV show within the first thirty minutes didn't hurt either. When we finally reached the beach, I was still tired but actually glad that I had decided not to leave earlier.

 

Art has always been a big part of my life. Especially painting. My grandfather, who was the hero of my childhood, was a very talented painter. I always wanted to be like him. So I started painting a lot when I was a teenager. It became a powerful way to express my emotions. But as I started studying law, I struggled to find the time to continue painting. After two years at university, my grandfather passed away. I was devastated and stopped painting for good. 

That afternoon on the beach was the first time I had picked up a paintbrush in years. It felt good, even though I was a bit rusty. We decided to paint the waves and the beach. We sat down next to each other in the sand and started to paint. At first, we did it in silence. It was one of those comforting silences that are so rare to come by these days. It felt incredibly peaceful. When I glanced over at her painting after a few minutes, I was taken aback. She was good, I mean really good. I began to watch her paint. It was a moment of rare beauty, watching her embrace her gift, oblivious to everything else around her. After a few minutes I broke the silence by admiring her painting. She complimented me back and our conversation starting flowing again as if it had never stopped.

After a while it started to rain, so we took shelter next to a vending machine and a nappy-changing room. It was not the most romantic setting, but it did not matter. With the rain pouring down beside us, we struck up a deeper conversation. It felt like we had entered a special place, separated from the reality of life by a curtain of rain. We spent hours discussing a wide variety of topics, including our childhoods, dating histories, hobbies and professional lives. Time just flew by. Our conversation was absolutely effortless, thought-provoking and fun. Something just clicked. It felt incredibly comfortable and reassuring to talk to her. I felt understood in a way that is hard to describe. I did not have to explain any of my jokes or stories to her, she just naturally understood them and vice versa. I did not feel bad about quickly changing the subject with her because she would do the same and we would spend minutes trying to figure out how we ended up discussing this or that. On more than one occasion I had the feeling that something she said had deeply resonated within me, as if someone were plucking the strings of my very being. It was not just physical attraction, sympathy or understanding, it was something more, something deeper, something more real. I don't think I've ever experienced anything like that before – certainly not when talking to a complete stranger who grew up on the other side of the planet. It felt like she could see right through me. Being so open and vulnerable was both beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

I have never been a fan of the cheesy concept of having a 'soul mate', but it certainly felt like we had known each other for a long time and shared a deep connection. It was truly exhilarating, almost addictive. I didn't want our conversation to end. And I had a feeling that neither did she. At one point she looked me in the eye and said: "You really surprised me today." I assured her that it was mutual.

At the end we exchanged our pictures of the beach. I asked her to sign her's for me, in case she became a famous artist one day. She laughed. After signing she paused for a minute, then picked up the brush again and painted a blue circle in the top right corner of her picture. It was a slightly darker blue than the waves. I looked at her, puzzled. "What's that supposed to be? A blue sun?" She just smiled: "Close enough - you'll figure it out one day." "Is it supposed to mean something?" I asked. She nodded and looked out at the sea, avoiding my eyes. "Yes, but I'm not going to tell you - you'll have to find out for yourself." It took me a while to realise that what she had drawn was not a blue sun or a funny-looking cloud.

 

Once in a blue moon we meet someone who seems to understand us in some inexplicable way. It is something incredibly rare and beautiful, especially when it's a mutual experience. These moments give us hope and create memories for life and to live for. The best thing about these blue-moon-events is that they happen when we least expect them, for example when we are exhausted and just want to go home and sleep. I have kept her painting to this day. It serves as a constant reminder that every once in a while we meet someone who makes us appreciate the beauty of life. I have been painting at the beach ever since.