In memory of the old wooden bench.

'I love you with your disguise,
you proven me love is blind;
there are no answer I tire;
2 stop the tears from my eyes.'

Anonymous, (sic). Copied from the graffiti on a table at a void deck, sg. 2005.

Remember the bench, the one we used to sit at; and the closeness that we shared, making the small space a little smaller with the inclusion of our bags - yours, a backpack; mine, a small one. Through the nights, we shared our expectations of life; our idealistic and materialistic desires, the funny, horrific, and endearing experiences that we've learnt through our meanders. We talked about the people we knew in church; the ones we liked, the ones we thought could do with some improvement in their social skills. Remember the time when I was afflicted with the dengue and shrank in size, and looked haggard because of the constant surges of pain. I just wanted some time spent, in silence; because even thinking what I wanted to say would drain the last vestiges of my energy. Already exhausted walking to the bench, but I hid the pain from you, when you were dissatisfied with my company.

Sometimes, taking a different path back home, I will walk past that bench. And inevitably, I would imagine the empty bench to be filled with your presence and mine, two of us nestled comfortably on the cold wood, and the wave of sentimentalism would hit me, as I realised that this memory, like the rest, would be relegated into the storehouses of nostalgia, and perhaps, in the near future, forgotten, as easily as it came.

Remember the bench? The bench is gone now. Replaced by some upgrading of the town, the bench has disappeared. And in its place, an insipid beige table, tiled with the same motif as the flooring. Two cement, tiled, benches flank it.

I sat there today and saw this poem. Probably, written by some uneducated student who did poorly in his studies of the language. How nice it was to have this person write an ode to the memories that was there, as if he knew.

Replacing my memories, with newer thoughts, I marvel at the inability to forget.