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8 DAYSmy word BYWOFFLES WU
Check out Woffles Wu’s instagram account @woffleswu for photos relating to this weekly column.W
hen we returned
from a simple
lunch at a nearby
fish and burger
joint in Laguna
Beach, a few blocks from the house,
Bruce decided to take a nap before
getting ready to receive Tim and
Mary that evening. We had talked
non-stop for close to five hours
since my arrival that morning and he
must have felt exhausted after our
extended catch-up session.
“At my age, I’m entitled to have an
afternoon snooze”, he said, wheeling
himself to his room. “Although quite
frankly, I think it’s a waste of precious
time I have little left of. Please feel
free to explore the house and maybe
go for a walk on the beach. There
is a surfing competition about a
15-minute walk away.”
He had planned for us all to havesteep cliff from the main road above
to the sand below. The architecture is
tastefully rendered in a 1950’s West
Coast moderne style reminiscent of
Corbusier and Marcel Breuer’s famous
works and still looks contemporary
and timeless today with its straight
lines and nicely balanced proportions.
An expanse of windows around the
house allows all the rooms to get an
uninterrupted view of the ocean.
Bought in 1958, before I was
even born, Bruce has lived here for
nearly 60 years, since arriving as
a young plastic surgeon fresh from
the Mayo Clinic, whose new and
innovative ideas were about to set
the world of plastic surgery ablaze.
Almost every plastic surgeon in the
world who performs facelifts owes
Bruce a debt of gratitude as they
would have adopted some aspects
of his original teachings. Hugelydrinks and canapes on his beautiful
verandah overlooking the ocean and
to watch the spectacular sunset later
that evening. The candles, tables and
chairs had already been set up and
I looked forward to seeing Tim and
Mary again in this initimate setting.
The last time Tim, Mary, Bruce
and myself had met up for a meal
was eight years ago when we were
presenting at an Aesthetic Plastic
Surgery meeting in Las Vegas. Since
then, life has taken us in different
directions. It’s funny how time flies
without you even realising it. One
day you are youthful and vibrant and
before you know it, you have white
hair and wrinkles. Sad. However, one
reassuring thing is that the passage
of time does not dim the memory of
good friends.
Bruce’s house is literally next to
the beach, five levels terraced down asuccessful, he was never selfish
with his ideas, willingly sharing them
with his colleagues and students
so that they could maximise their
potential. It was he who had always
encouraged me to think out of the
box, to find solutions to problems
and not be afraid of bucking a trend,
of being a maverick. “A maverick is a
prophet,” he had said.
Although the air was cool, the
glorious California sun bathed my
apartment in a warm orangey glow.
The sound of the waves crashing
onto the sand, children laughing
with glee and watching couples
walking hand in hand up and down
the beach, their dogs picking up
balls and sticks their owners had
thrown made me realise how blissful
it was here and how privileged the
residents of this neighbourhood are.
Sun and surf at your doorstep. Whatan incredible quality of life.
I decided then to do something
I haven’t done in nearly 40 years
— lie on the beach and get a tan.
Yes, I know that sounds inane.
Normally I never go into the sun as
I know how destructive its rays are,
causing severe photo damage with
reduced skin elasticity and premature
aging. Not good for someone in my
profession. Many years ago, I’d read
somewhere that one hour in the sun
aged you by more than a week!
As a result, I have assiduously
stayed out of the sun, hoping that
will slow down the aging process. But
there are drawbacks too. Just the
other day a lady squash player had
remarked how incredibly white my
legs were. And I could tell she wasn’t
saying that in praise.
Anyway, here I was on Laguna
Beach — the place where Baywatch,
the show that made David Hasselhoff
and Pamela Anderson household
names, started. I threw caution to
the wind and welcomed the rare
opportunity to lie on the sand like a
beachbum. Changing into my trunks
and grabbing a large beach towel from
the rack in the bathroom, I walked a
few steps down to the sunwashed
picket fence, unlatched a small door
and there I was on the sand with the
waves lapping at my feet. It was great.
I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to
walk barefoot on the sand.
I lay on the beach for over an hour,
turning from front to back several
times so that I could get an even tan.
It seemed odd to do so but I was
beginning to enjoy myself. The sun
felt really good and I could feel my
skin tingling. Here in California, I was
merely basting in the sun. If I did the
same thing in Singapore, I’d be baked
to a crisp.
Soon, weary from jet lag and the
soporific effect of being next to the
sea, I fell asleep and only woke up
half an hour later when an ant tried
to crawl into my ear. I felt completely
rested, relaxed and energised.
It was now time to shower and
get ready for evening drinks. (to be
continued)I decided then to do
something I haven’t
done in nearly 40 years — lie
on the beach and get a tan.