This place is my sanctuary, a personal space in the midst of a public place. I may not be constantly in the sunken garden, but whenever I am at the sunken garden, I always feel like I really belong to the place—that more than my bedroom, the sunken garden makes me feel more comfortable and in touch with my mind and heart—whatever I am feeling or thinking at the time. The sunken garden makes me appreciate events and things I often take for granted. The sunken garden transforms the ordinary to extraordinary.
This is the only place where I can genuinely be interested and care about people I do not know and have not met before. I am interested in the young man in front of me, wearing a red shirt and writing on his notebook, probably ‘meditating’ on things, the same thing I do at the sunken garden. I am enjoying the constant calls of the street food peddler nearby, selling finger food to anyone interested and hungry, filling in what would otherwise be a very quiet place.
The peddler’s calls do not annoy me; in fact, the noise is like music to my ears, the peddlers’ words streaming along my thoughts in my head. The sunken garden is now undergoing transition, from ugliness to beauty, from dryness to mistiness. Grass is gradually growing to complement the brown soil; the trees are gradually beautifying the place with the gradual growth of green, fresh leaves. Benches are filled with children enjoying an afternoon play; couples are strolling around the garden, oblivious of the people around them and aware of the beauty that surrounds them.
From a distant observer, I am just another visitor at the garden, enjoying the environs and taking advantage of its freshness. I am feeling more than just enjoyment. I am feeling simple happiness and contentment just by being at my favorite place. At the end of each visit at the garden, I feel renewal and anticipation, as the garden made me realize the good things in life that are almost always taken for granted and easily forgotten.