The Madness of Pablo
<p>The year was 2012 when I set foot for the first time into the Museu Picasso in Barcelona, Spain. It feels as fresh as yesterday. It was early February, the temperature touching 11 degrees Celsius (51.8 degrees Fahrenheit). It wasn’t the kind of weather to shout about. Though there were days marked by fine rain and black jackets, coats and mufflers, it was a whole lot jollier than London. For one, the Spaniards know how to wrap themselves well by marrying fashion and weather. I love looking at the Catalans and their scarves knotted and wrapped around necks and chests, and the leather boots that refine their ensemble.</p>
<p>My Southeast Asian mind, body and soul were not conversant with the temperaments of Europe that time of the year. Periodically, I had to step into warm buildings to thaw my weak Oriental buttocks from going numb. I’m hopeless that way.</p>
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