The handwashing liquid at the office got replaced cos it was finished. In place is a different brand and had a smell which immediately reminds me of the medicine I use to take when I was young. I used to be thin and I fall sick easily. When I do, mum brings me to this old clinic along Upper Serangoon Road. I clearly remember it was next to the Crocodile Farm there.
I clearly remember the random patterns of the tiles of the wall at the receptionist. I used to stare at them, somehow amazed, and trying to spot anything unique in the design. I still have a vague image of the doctor’s room, large, spacious, sunny. I think the doctor was someone in his 30s.
The reception where we make appointments and collect medicine is high and I’m always struggling to look at the world behind that glass through a 1.5 foot tall hole.
After the visit, my mother would bring me to the bakery next door. You could smell the aroma of fresh bread from a distance. I would always have a beanpaste bread and a kaya bread. The shop is small, I still remember the desk and an old cash register. Sometimes the baker would swat flies in the big glass cupboard where most of the bread would be placed. I don’t think the aroma of freshly baked bread from that bakery can be found anywhere else. It just has to be that place.
Hmmm… Now I feel like going back there to check if the building is still standing untouched.