The Bench
A straight horizon line separated Lake Lugano from the sky as the pervasive sun shined down, its rays extending across Collina d’Oro. Amid the rhythm of urban life, Emma and I sat on a bench overlooking the valley below. Every weekend, we united at the bench. Our conversations flowed like the waters of Lake Lugano, weaving the stories of our upbringings in Barcelona and Amman.
Hers was largely shaped by the exile of her father, whose half-brother overtook the Jordanian throne. Mine was shaped by attending kindergarten in New Zealand and the six months I spent in New Jersey.
As we settled down at the bench, I pulled out The Anthropocene Reviewed from my tote bag. The book offered us a warm embrace with a touch of incomprehensible joy. Each chapter merged sensations of unity and vastness with a spirit of individuality.
“It fuels our stubborn hope!” Emma exclaimed.
Occasionally, we paused our conversation and listened to our thoughts. We lay down on the muddy ground, our knees pointing to the blue canvas above, and laughed and laughed. Our laughter was unfiltered. We felt understood in each other’s presence. We smiled as a family of four made their way to one of the benches. The mother held her son’s hand tight as they spoke about their upcoming travels. To our left, an elderly couple leaned on each other for silent support.
A cold haze hugged us as Emma’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling my gaze up at her.
“I love spending time with you,” she whispered.
The final rays of sun caressed my forearms as I marvelled at how alive the air felt. At that moment, we loved ourselves, each other and the world.
The Window
I gazed out my room window, seeking solace in the gentle rustling of leaves and the faint laughter of cheery teenagers. It was the night before my music trip to Salzburg, Austria. As the soft glow of lamps filtered through my yellow curtains and the leaves danced down, my thoughts swirled like a tempest. The windows at night had transformed into mirrors. I no longer saw the actions of others but rather the reflection of my younger self.
From early on in my life, windows had become my ‘sanctuary’ when my parents argued – the mediator between my intense desire to intervene and a longing to vanish. With nine travelers from seven nationalities, two teachers and one bus driver, we embarked on our van ride through the Swiss Alps. From my seat, I watched the season change from fall to winter. A boundless sea of white snow gradually blanketed the ground.
“Ice flowers!” Franklin blurted out.
Casual bursts of conversations were soon replaced by ‘The Sound of Music.’ Our collective gazes remained fixed on the landscape of colors. Yet, we screamed to the lyrics of the ‘Do Re Mi,” bouncing in our seats like a group of children on a trampoline. At that instant, nothing else mattered. We felt like carefree children in a van, savoring our precious moments of freedom and oblivious to the uncertainties of the future. ‘Do Re Mi’ transported us back to places more vividly than any other form of memory.
This time, I saw my experiences with enough distance to perceive them as something more than mere recollections. The view outside the window faded in comparison to who I was sharing those sights with. Our love for music sustained and connected us. I was with the right people in just the right place. Every facet of the journey intertwined to craft an experience that transcended cultural boundaries.
Photo Credits
Bench Image by Ilona Ilyés from Pixabay
Alps Image by Claudia Beyli from Pixabay
Guest Author Bio
Yumeng Fan
Yumeng Fan loves vignettes—for her, they’re a way to hold onto fleeting moments. Writing is her way of metabolizing her own experiences, a means of making sense of memory, change, and becoming. Yumeng loves ballroom dance, Hispanic literature, collage-making, and the wide, tangled worlds of literature, science, poetry, and art.
This is really wholesome. You’re a deep thinker and a lovely human being.