The Bench

There is a place in the world where I have absolutely no business to be in, yet it feels so solidly comfortable, some place where I feel I belong.

It is an unassuming bench sitting outside a shophouse, making its presence felt every minute of the day. You would just want to sit on it. Or at least stand and admire it. It is the place where we hang around before and/or a wakeboarding session. It is where the people unwind, and where the party unfolds. The bench that holds imprints of very good conversations, sometimes brief, sometimes deep, most times unpretentious and always deeply connected. Where the tall one sits at the fire hydrant, which levels out the height difference and offers ample leg room. It is the magic seat that comes with free flow of moscow mules, gin tonics, beers, and wines.

As more alcohol enters the system, more tech devices start to enter the picture too. The tall one opens a green screen, and woohoo~ it turns into a house of laughter as the couch becomes my stage. Soon enough, every time I appear, the green screen makes its grand appearance too.

It’s a great place. Offers free hugs. I remember knocking on the door after a terribly hateful meeting, and got a really good comforting hug for a brief few seconds, and then headed off for the debrief again.

It makes me find it hard not to believe in serendipity. I have absolutely no business to be in this place at all. Yet there is something about the people that makes this a very special place in the world.

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