The Story of when I met Kochie, David Koch, of Sunrise

It was the summer of 09. I had been hit hard by the 2008 financial crisis having had large amounts of capital tied up in Banco De Venezuela off a bad tip from an ex-compatriot.

I was living in the apple of Australia’s eye at the time, the capital of sophistication and class, Sydney. It was on this faithful day 12 years ago that I met the man who would change the course of my life.

My wife, sweet innocent Genevieve, had sadly passed away not a week before, taking all hope for a brighter future and dashing it into a thousand fragments of love and regret. It would not be thoughtless to say that I did not see a path through this impenetrable fog.

I had been roaming the quiet boulevards of suburban Sydney deep in existential thought, when my legs, as if encased in a thick concrete slurry rooted me to a bench. Statuesque in both mind and heart. I sat on the bench, memories bubbling under the surface unable to break free from my stony exterior. Sitting in tumultuous thought a man approached at a leisurely pace, taking a seat beside this sorrowful lump of coal.

To say he was a man would be akin to proclaiming an ancient sturdy oak a twig. He exuded an aura of sophistication yet tempered by what appeared to be years serving the common man. Dressing in the finest silks of the eastern provinces, with a scent of lilac and goosberries. A knowing look passed his face as if he himself had witnessed the cyclical nature of the universe, with the grace of a swan on the cusp of a midlife crisis he dextrously offered me a cigarette of a brand I had not seen nor heard.

Having not touched a cigarette since my early twenties I hesitantly accepted. The pressure this man radiated made any other course of action seem like an impossibility. With the same grace that accompanied his offering of the cigarette he gave light to my cancer stick.

I deeply inhaled, the smoke quickly filling my lungs as I felt a serene calm wash over me. Exhaling, the faint scent of lilac wafting around me I turned to my amiable acquaintance, further studying him.

He did not gaze in my direction, instead looking out over our surroundings with a thousand-yard stare, as if watching the world pass in front of him as the Moon watches the Earth, a steadfast companion yet unfathomably distant & indifferent.

I will never forget his first words to me, for they were like someone had pulled back the curtains of my existence, allowing me a glimpse of the stagehands and directors working their enigmatic machinations behind the scenes. He spoke in a low baritone; a deity having deigned me worthy of his heavenly sermon.

As I hung to his every word I would only later realise on reflection that what felt like 2 hours was only 10 minutes. When Kochie spoke, his words seemed chosen long ago, his sentences spare yet impactful while reaching through to your soul.

When people say “surreal” they mean “real” it’s just most of your life is not very real, just repetition and routine. What Kochie said was REAL.

He wove an intricate tapestry, his speech naturally rich with imagery. Recounting a story of a man not dissimilar to myself who had travelled the world, searching for answers to life’s biggest questions.

His journey had taken him to a monk’s temple in Tibet. High above the clouds, the air thin, each breath becoming shallower and shallower the man felt as if he was nearing the end of his journey.

Kochie taking on both the countenance and cadence of a wizened old man continued the story “What brings you to my door, Son?” the traveller replied “I wish to know why, why me, why you, why any of it?”. Kochie with the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes chuckled in the old man’s voice. “Three words” a finality punctuating his sentence “CHICKEN, POT, PIE”

I sat their nonplussed, digesting what had just been told to me as the traveller in the story had surely done. Kochie studying me as a child may study an ant with a magnifying glass, before focusing the light to spell doom for the insignificant creature.

Before I could even think to reply Kochie rose from his seat, birds roosting in nearby trees taking flight as if sensing the gravity this man possessed. He motioned me to follow him, inviting me to dinner at a quaint Korean restaurant. He spoke fluent Korean as if he had lived there his whole life, ordering us both a serving of Samgyeopsal-gui.

He sat in silence as I ate, lighting another lilac scented cigarette.

No one spoke for the entire meal. Having digested the nourishment of both mind and body I finally worked up the courage to ask Kochie about the old man and the traveller.

He chuckled again, the light in his eyes whispering of wisdom beyond his years. “Your journey is not yet over, you will understand”.

With that final nugget of infinite knowledge Kochie sauntered into the dark night. Before he left earshot I pleaded “When will I see you again” to which he replied.

“Tune in Every Morning on Sunrise!”. The last vestiges of lilac fading with him.}