A Bench in Setapak, 1978
I was in Form 5. She was in Form 4.
We did not go to the same school. We met at an event organised by the School Arts and Culture Association—a hall full of noise, rehearsals, and teenage nervousness.
And then there was Zalina.
We became friends. Not the kind that makes headlines, but the kind that makes you look forward to the next inter-school programme. Lina, in her light blue pinafore, with that short bob and that bright, unguarded smile—the one you see in the photo dated July 1978.
September came. We sat on a wooden bench in High School, Setapak. Someone took a photo and wrote on the corner in black ink: "High School, Setapak, 1978." We were just kids trying to look serious.
In 1980, life split our path. I enlisted in the Royal Malaysian Navy. She continued to Form 6, and then, as she always dreamed, she made it to university—Menara Gading.
When I was at sea, crossing wide oceans with the TLDM, I would write letters. The ship would rock, and I would write. At first, replies came. Then they became shorter. Then they stopped.
I later heard she was working in Australia. Since then, I have never known where she is. I don't know what became of Lina. But I know what became of that memory. It stayed on that bench in Setapak, in Kodak colours, in September 1978.
Some people lose to distance. Some memories, you keep forever.
Wherever she is today, I hope she carries a piece of that memory with her. The laughter we shared, the dreams we spun under the bright lights of the stage, and the innocence of youth that seemed so endless.
Life has a way of taking us on different journeys, but the essence of those moments remains etched in our hearts. I often wonder if she thinks of that wooden bench in Setapak, the way we tried to look serious for the camera, and the bond we formed amidst the chaos of teenage life.
May she find joy in her path, just as I cherish the memories we created together.
Each moment we shared was a thread woven into the fabric of our youth, a tapestry of laughter, dreams, and the bittersweet essence of growing up.
As we navigate our separate lives, I hope she remembers the warmth of our friendship, the dreams we dared to dream, and the innocence that once enveloped us.
In the hustle and bustle of life, may she always find time to reflect on those carefree days, knowing that they shaped who we are today.
And perhaps, one day, our paths will cross again, allowing us to reminisce about that wooden bench in Setapak and the beautiful journey of friendship we embarked upon.
— Zul. Setapak, 1978 - A Memory Kept Forever.
23 August 2026: 10.48 a.m.
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