A Dopamine Morning at Clementi Woods Park

1

Early morning at Clementi Woods Park, the air is thick with last night’s rain, damp and cool against the skin.

The trail bends and dips like a ribbon laid out beneath a canopy of trees, red earth and asphalt stitched together in uneven seams. Within a few strides, sunlight begins to break through the leaves—thin, restless shafts scattering across the ground like handfuls of gold dust.

Each step falls into this shifting mosaic of light and shadow, in rhythm with the pulse hammering in my chest.

The treetops are trimmed with a faint gilt edge where the first rays catch.

Birds flicker from branch to branch, their wings scattering fragments of light. A sudden glint hits my face, sharp enough to sting the eyes, as though the day itself has thrown a splash of cold water at me.

This is not gentle sunshine—it is impatient, insistent, urging me to move faster, refusing me the luxury of slowing down.

My breath grows ragged, the lungs filling with the green smell of grass and damp soil.

Each exhale feels like a purge, as though the body is stripping itself clean. The watch on my wrist flashes 140 beats per minute—a steady drum inside my ribs, echoing the smack of shoes on pavement. Even after I stop, the number hovers at 120, the rhythm still pounding, refusing to let go.

Sweat slides from my temples, salty on the lips.

Above, the sun grows bolder, no longer filtered but pouring straight down, stretching my shadow long and lean, knotting it together with the silhouettes of the trees. The ground flickers with light patches that shift like stage spotlights, tightening, loosening, catching me in their glare as if I were the reluctant actor in an open-air play.

This is what a run through Clementi Woods feels like: a duel between breath and gravity, a dialogue between shadow and sun. The trail is not just underfoot—it runs through the body itself, in every gasp, every heartbeat. And it insists, with a fierce clarity: you are alive, you are present, and you cannot escape the moment.

清晨踏進 Clementi Woods Park（金文泰林公園），空氣濕潤，還帶著昨夜雨水的餘溫。跑道彎彎曲曲，被高大的樹木庇護，像鑲在綠色帳篷裡的一條暗紅緞帶。才跑沒幾步，陽光就迫不及待從葉隙間鑽出來，細碎的光點打在地上，像誰灑了一把金粉。每一步跨出去，都踩進光與影的交錯，節奏忽明忽暗，恰如心跳的快與慢。

抬頭望見樹梢，被晨曦鍍上薄薄一圈金邊，細葉在光中顫動，鳥兒竄來竄去，叫聲清脆。光線在枝葉間碎裂，落在臉上，微微刺眼，卻像有人當頭潑了一桶清醒的泉水。這樣的陽光，不是溫柔，而是帶著一種豪邁的召喚，要你加快腳步，不容怠慢。

呼吸急促起來，鼻腔吸進草木混合泥土的氣味，胸膛漲得滿滿。每一次吐氣，像是把身體裡的雜質都趕了出去。手錶的數字跳動，心跳已經到了 140，胸口敲打得有力，節奏與鞋底拍擊地面的聲音交織。停下來以後，仍舊久久不散，還維持在 120，像鼓聲餘震，在體內轟隆迴響。

汗水順著額角滑下，落到臉龐，有鹹澀的滋味。這一刻，陽光更加直白，毫不遮掩，從頭頂往下灑，把影子拉得細長，與樹影糾纏在一起。地上的光斑跳動不止，像舞台的追光，忽而聚焦，忽而散開，把我照得無處可躲。

這就是 Clementi Woods Park 的晨跑：光影交錯，心跳如鼓，呼吸沉重，卻讓人覺得鮮活。跑道不是在腳下，而是在身體裡，每一口氣、每一次脈搏，都在提醒我：此時此刻，我正用力活著。

2

A Dopamine Morning at Clementi Woods Park

At half past ten, Clementi Woods Park still feels fresh. The sun hasn’t turned harsh yet; it filters through the canopy and scatters onto the dog run, turning the grass into a patchwork of moving light.

The air carries a faint trace of damp earth, a reminder that the day is still waking up.

Inside the enclosure, two dogs are locked in their own world of joy. One, white with splashes of brown, looks like a walking latte.

The other is shaded in layers of dark and light brown, its coat catching the sun as it twists and turns. A bright green ball arcs through the air, and they both spring after it with a kind of athletic madness. Quick sprints, sharp stops, paws skidding across the slope—each movement is a burst of raw energy.

I’m not their owner. I’m just a passerby on the bench, but the scene has its own chemical effect. Their chasing, their panting, the owner’s laugh, the background chorus of birds—all of it wires straight into my mood. A rush, small but unmistakable. Like someone flicked on the dopamine switch in my brain.

The dogs tumble and collide, unbothered by the rules of the city just beyond the fence. They don’t know they’re performing, but they are—their freedom and playfulness spilling into the morning air. Watching them, I realize I’m smiling for no reason at all.

Sometimes happiness isn’t something you chase down. Sometimes it comes sprinting toward you, carried by two dogs and a green ball on a quiet morning in Clementi Woods Park.

上午十點半的 Clementi Woods Park 狗公園

上午十點半的 Clementi Woods Park，空氣裡帶著一種剛醒來的輕盈。陽光才剛升高，不刺眼，透過層層樹葉落下，灑在草地上，斑駁的光影像節拍一樣閃爍。

狗公園裡，一白一棕兩隻狗正追逐那顆鮮綠色的小球。白色的身軀帶著咖啡色斑塊，像調和好的拿鐵；另一隻深淺咖啡色交錯，轉身的時候，毛髮閃著流動的光。

主人拋球，牠們急奔，急停，再急奔。草葉被踩出清脆的聲音，每一次回頭的眼神，都帶著一種純粹的期待。

那一刻，我感覺腦袋裡有什麼被點亮。不是我的狗，可看著牠們自由飛奔，呼吸急促卻帶著節奏，笑聲、吠聲和鳥鳴交織在一起，心情被瞬間拉高。

好像多巴胺被按下開關，一股無理由的快樂直衝上來。

坐在長椅上，我什麼都沒做，只是看著。但那份快樂像是從草地上、從狗狗奔跑的身影裡滲出來，自然而然傳染過來。牠們追逐綠球，我卻捕捉到一種輕快的心境。

3

Sunday morning at Sakuraya in West Coast Plaza, the place was already humming.

Three long tables were taken up by seven or eight Japanese families. The adults spoke in low, measured tones, while the children’s laughter and the clatter of chopsticks filled the air with a gentle kind of noise. It didn’t feel like a restaurant anymore—it felt like a community living room.

The history of this spot is modest. More than thirty years ago, it was just a fish wholesaler. Then someone had the idea to put the chiller cases out front and add a few tables. What began as a practical setup became a ritual gathering place, especially for Japanese families in Singapore who wanted a taste of home.

When I sit down, I don’t spend much time looking at the menu. Grilled saba (saba shioyaki) always comes first—the skin blistered and crisp, the meat oily and rich, perfect against a bowl of rice. A kaiso salad, dressed with a touch of vinegar that sharpens the seaweed’s freshness into a bright, almost playful tang. And shishamo (shishamo yaki), those slim smelt lined up neatly, bellies stuffed with roe that crunch and pop with every bite. Together, they set the pace of the meal.

Sometimes I’ll add spinach, holenso, tossed with sesame for a clean, earthy note that feels as healthy as it does comforting. Or a chawanmushi—steamed egg so smooth it slides down like silk, hiding a ginkgo nut, a prawn, maybe a mushroom. These aren’t the dishes that make headlines, but they’re the ones that make you feel looked after.

I’ve been to the Anchorpoint branch once. It had the same supermarket-plus-dining setup, but the crowd was heavier, the space a little tighter. I don’t remember much of the food. What stayed was the contrast: West Coast has a quiet ease that the other outlet doesn’t.

Why so many Japanese families here on this particular September morning? Maybe it’s the nearness of Respect-for-the-Aged Day back in Japan, families gathering a little early. Maybe it’s geography—the international schools and expat apartments nearby. Or maybe it’s just that the grilled fish and seaweed salad here taste like home.

There was no sunlight pouring in, no sake to blur the edges. Just the steady warmth of families talking, dishes arriving, rice bowls being passed around. Ordinary, almost uneventful. And yet, like a scene you’d stumble into in a novel, it lodged itself quietly in memory, as if telling me: nothing special happened, and that’s exactly why you’ll remember it.

星期天早上，走進西海岸廣場（West Coast Plaza）的 Sakuraya，餐廳裡已經熱鬧起來。三張長桌並排坐着七八個日本家庭，大人小孩聚在一起，談話的聲音不高，卻帶着母語的韻律，讓空間顯得格外溫柔。孩子的笑聲、筷子的碰撞聲，混合成一種背景音樂，把這間店烘托得像社區的客廳。

這裡的歷史簡單直接。三十多年前，原本只是魚貨批發商，後來乾脆把冰櫃推到顧客眼前，做成「超市＋餐廳」的混合模式。新加坡的日本家庭，很快就把這裡當成例行的聚會地點。

坐下後，我幾乎不用看餐牌。燒鯖魚（saba shioyaki），魚皮焦香，肉質豐厚，鹹香滲進白飯；海藻沙拉（kaiso salad），加了一點醋，酸酸甜甜，入口像一股清涼的海風，把油脂沖淡；烤多春魚（shishamo yaki），一條條細長，肚裡塞滿魚卵，咬下去沙沙作響，帶點苦韻，卻特別上癮。這三道菜像是默契，不必解釋，就能完成一桌子的節奏。

有時候，我也會多點一道菠菜（holenso）。簡單拌芝麻，清爽帶着泥土的氣息，鐵質和葉酸，讓人覺得身體也補充了一些能量。茶碗蒸（chawanmushi）則是另一種溫柔，蒸蛋細膩滑順，裡面藏着銀杏、蝦仁和香菇。這些小菜沒有喧嘩，卻讓人心裡安定。

Alexandra 的 Anchorpoint 分店，我只去過一次。人潮更多，氣氛稍擠，雖然同樣有超市和餐廳的結合，卻少了西海岸分店的悠閒。那次的餐點記不大清楚，只留下模糊印象。

至於為什麼這個九月的星期天，會有這麼多日本人聚在這裡？或許因為臨近「敬老之日」（Keiro no Hi），提前帶家人一起吃飯；也可能只是單純的生活習慣。這裡能買到熟悉的食材，也能吃到家鄉味道，於是成了他們的週末據點。

餐廳裡沒有陽光從窗外灑進來，沒有清酒（sake）的微醺。卻在這種庶民的熱鬧裡，有一種安穩的日常感。像村上小說裡不經意的場景：什麼特別的事都沒發生，但你知道，這些看似尋常的片刻，會靜靜留在記憶裡。