"You Can Sit Here"

Sometimes belonging begins before a person has fully decided whether they are welcome.

Metal trays scraped lightly against tabletops while people moved through the narrow aisles carrying bowls of soup, plates of rice, and cups filled close to the brim. Near the drink stall, a woman stepped sideways to avoid someone balancing a tray of hot noodles, and behind her another family stood waiting for a table to open up along the outer row of seats facing the road.

The dinner crowd had already settled into the hawker centre by the time I arrived. Conversations folded over one another beneath the hum of ceiling fans and fluorescent lights. Somewhere behind me, chopsticks rattled against ceramic bowls while one of the stall owners called out an order number that disappeared almost immediately into the noise.

Most of the tables were full.

I noticed him standing near the middle section with a tray in both hands, pausing every few steps to glance around for an empty seat. He paused every few steps the way people often do in crowded places when they are trying not to look like they are searching for somewhere to belong.

A group of men were seated a few tables away from where I stood. Badminton rackets leaned against the side of one chair, their grips wrapped in different colours of tape. One of them had already started eating while another was still returning from the drinks stall carrying a bowl of soup carefully between both hands.

The man with the tray slowed slightly as he passed their table.

Before he could continue walking, one of the seated men shifted his chair outward with his foot and looked up.

“You can sit here.”

It was said casually, almost in passing, before the conversation moved on again.

“You can sit here.”

The man hesitated for only a moment before lowering his tray onto the table and taking the seat beside them. Someone moved a packet of tissues aside to clear more space. Another person leaned over briefly to make room for an extra plate near the centre of the table before returning to his conversation without interruption.

Nothing about the exchange suggested introduction or ceremony. No one asked where he was from first. Nobody paused the table to formally welcome him into the group. Within minutes, the conversation had simply widened around him the way people shift slightly to accommodate another chair.

One of the men reached across the table for the chilli and asked whether anyone else wanted some before passing it along. Another laughed softly at something that had been said earlier while the others continued eating.

Around them, the hawker centre continued moving in its usual rhythm. Trays lifted and disappeared. Empty bowls stacked higher near the return station. A child ran briefly between two rows of tables before being called back by his mother near the drinks counter.

At some point during the meal, I realised I could no longer tell whether the man had originally arrived with the group or alone.

Nobody at the table seemed particularly aware that anything had changed. The conversation drifted easily between work schedules, minor complaints about sore shoulders, and deciding whether anyone still wanted dessert before heading home.

“At some point during the meal, I realised I could no longer tell whether the man had originally arrived with the group or alone.”

After a while, nobody at the table seemed to treat him differently from the others.

By then, the table had already gone back to talking about ordinary things. Food cooled on the table while people spoke about errands, injuries, work, and plans for the following week.

Yet there are moments when someone stops feeling separate from the people around them without noticing exactly when it happened.

The men remained there long after some of the surrounding tables had emptied. By then, the stack of dishes near the centre of the table had grown unevenly beside the tissue packets and drink cups left sweating against the plastic surface.

When one of them stood to return the trays, the others shifted their belongings slightly to make room again without needing to discuss it.

The empty chair beside them remained part of the table now.

Made In His Image

You are made perfectly. Loved deeply. Never beyond hope.

Visit the Made In His Image project at: madeinhisimage.life