Sunday. After Mass. We drove from Ang Mo Kio to Pasir Ris Park. For dinner. We chose a bar. By the sea. Flashes of lightning from afar. Watch out, it’s going to rain, said I. God is taking picture of us, Cynthia smiled. Food arrived, so was the rain. Dashed to a partial shelter, we continued our dinner. Thunderstorm! Tree weaving. Shaken by the howling wind. Rain pouring from the sky. Splashed onto our table, onto our food, onto our hair, onto my spectacles. We dined in near dark, marvelled at the force of the nature. We laughed, longing for that cup of hot chocolate, and a warm bath. For home sweet home, seemed so far.