The night evaporates in the morning dew; a long shadow that stretches itself out behind me like a lazy cat. The lion city roars rather like a sleepy kitty at this merciless early time of the day. A bird tweets for attention, happy to be noticed before the increasing swell of street sounds will drown his melody in a whirlpool of noise. The carpet trader is struggling to open the padlock of his shophouse; some aunties are cutting fresh vegetables in an empty restaurant. Every open window frames an enchanting painting. A city is beautiful in its ugliness. My pace is light, as I walk through colourful Haji Lane. The stench of some cigarettes, the foul smell of beer. Odorous remains of late night troops on the loose, who wandered on the roads in quest for companionship. When we seek thrills, it’s actually the sense of belonging we are after. It’s easier to betray oneself in search of recognition by others, than to recognize yourself. The escape to inner freedom starts when we break the chains that others impose on us. That’s what makes yoga so appealing. Forget about the wary smiles, the raised eyebrows. In yoga, you don’t have to adopt a pose, you become the pose. I step in for my today’s yoga teacher’s class. I crave for coffee.