A throng of vibrant, youthful students, their energy palpable, ushered me into the cool, sleek embrace of the Coffee Bean in Serangoon Gardens. I surrendered willingly to their enthusiastic ministrations, their practiced familiarity with the menu, their cheerful efficiency as they navigated the ordering process, their deft handling of the transactions and the final, satisfying handover of my drink. At my behest, they expertly customized my iced coffee, layering in syrups, chocolate powder, and a dusting of peanut, transforming it into a uniquely personal concoction. The result: a perfectly crafted, individualized beverage, a testament to the cafe's embrace of personalization.

      The name  “Tom” emblazoned on my plastic cup jarred me. I protested,  “I'm not Tom, and we don't have a Tom in our group!” and was met with a shrug and a pragmatic explanation. My playful jab,  “When did you become a banana man?”, elicited a candid response:  “Convenience. Telling them my real name would mean spelling it out, a needless waste of time. ”

       “Tom is efficient.” My initial scoff at the commonplace choice of “Tom” quickly dissolved into self-awareness as I realized the irony. My own English name begins with “T”, and his choice, indeed, prioritized simplicity and speed. The efficiency, the standardization, the underlying ethos of American-style service  was all there, epitomized in the ubiquitous “Tom.” I conceded, embracing the temporary moniker; a small price to pay for the smooth, streamlined experience.

       The cafe itself hummed with a low-key energy. Small, intimate tables were scattered throughout the space, their occupants a diverse mix: pairs whispering secrets, solitary figures engrossed in notebooks or the glow of their mobile phones, all bathed in the soft, unobtrusive music. The scene sparked a contemplation: was this yet another Western trend taking root in Singaporean soil?       Was the compact living space a contributing factor, pushing the traditional tea-drinking culture into more confined settings? The thought felt incomplete, unsatisfactory. Why not the bustling hawker centres, the comforting familiarity of traditional kopitiams? Why the shift from the ubiquitous McDonald's, a symbol of Singapore's burgeoning middle class, to the more sophisticated Coffee Bean? A fleeting fad? Or a reflection of a generation coming of age, their tastes evolving, their aspirations shifting?

      The presence of Coffee Bean in Serangoon Gardens felt deeply symbolic. I recalled the fleeting brilliance of Sakura, a Japanese restaurant that had once occupied this very space, its popularity a magnetic force drawing crowds. Then there was the legendary Ye Feng, the comedian whose salt chicken stall, a fixture in the traditional coffee shop across the street, had become a hub of creative energy in the 1980s, a place where laughter and social commentary intertwined, shaping the cultural landscape. Ah Ge, the pop star, had faded into memory; Ye Feng's stall had changed hands; yet, the landscape of Serangoon Gardens continued its relentless metamorphosis. The arrival of Coffee Bean, was it another chapter in this ongoing narrative?

      My reflections led me to consider Singapore's economic transformation. Decades of striving had propelled the nation towards a predominantly middle-class society. The McDonald's generation of the 80s had paved the way for the Coffee Bean generation of the late 90s. McDonald's, representing the comfortable familiarity of middle-class family life, gave way to Coffee Bean, catering to a more independent, aspirational young adult and professional demographic. This new landscape embraced a degree of luxury, a touch of individuality, even a hint of risk-taking, evident in the customized coffee creations. Perhaps, next time, I'd be Tim, or Terry. The possibilities were as endless as the permutations of flavors.

         The small round table suddenly reminded me of the outdoor Parisian cafes, and the generation of literati in Europe who loved to read, write, communicate, and chat in cafes. I suddenly felt a sense of excitement, hoping that coffee beans, in addition to bringing in American consumer culture, would also evoke intellectuals like Sartre, Hemingway and Picasso.