AnYi 安亦

*orignially written on 11/Nov/2017

Wednesday afternoons are, as the Bench Ghosts call it, an odd mixture of boredom and nuisance, of virality and stillness. There are always people wandering around in the gardens – students that somehow prefer plants to sports societies, for example, and old ladies that like to pop by and have tea together. One literally sees the word ‘TEA’ around them like an aura, in capital letters and Gothic font, too. They remind the ghosts of the good old days, when life was not yet so confusing with the abominable modern technology. The ghosts prefer quiet weekday evenings in general. Everything is so quiet and still at night that it’s almost as if they were back in time. You see, ghosts, after all, are not enthusiastic about the present and the future or creating new memories. They’ve had their share in the past. ‘Why do you think each one of us has got a “in the loving memory of” tag on us?’ they would probably say if one intended to ask. Some Bench Ghosts are not quite happy about this fact. They believe that it gives them a lack of character. ‘How on earth are you going to find out about what we were really like just by those words?’ they would protest in unison. ‘Everybody’s got “loving family” or “loving friends”, and everybody used to be a loving wife or husband or grandparent or colleague. They make your life look really boring when you’re dead and have a bench dedicated to you in a botanic garden. The visitors can never know what foolish chaos we caused, or about the many hearts we’ve broken. They can never know about the happy times and ugly fights we used to revel in. All they get is a faded “1928” or “1944”. Heaven knows what bizarre ideas people may draw from that.’ But of course, the Ghosts never speak. The loud whispers are all from the living. The ghosts enjoy their peace.