I hate waiting for the bus. The waiting makes the entire affair longer than it really is. So trains are my to go and I’m glad I live very near to one.
From time to time, however, I have to wait for the bus to bring me to places that the train cannot.
And I love bus rides. I love looking out of the window and watch the world go by. I love sitting at the back of the bus; mostly lost in my own world and sometimes, in others. I love that bus rides give me a legitimate reason to be still and lazy. I love that on the bus, I can dream, with my eyes open.
I am with Timmy and our kids. We are walking to the school to drop off our eldest. We go to my favorite coffeeshop for our morning breakfast of kaya toast and soft boiled eggs. Tim drinks his coffee and me, tea. Our youngest, a few months old, watches us. We walk Timmy to the car. We kiss and hug. Sometimes, I push the pram to the market or the library or perhaps to the mall; all depends on the bus I am on. My hair is flying in the wind and so are her hands; waving at nobody and nothing in particular. We seem to be flowing to the same rhythm, in love with the present.
I don’t know what I’m telling Tim at breakfast. Neither can I hear what he told our son at the school gate. There are no words in this life, I live on the bus. From the scenes alone, I sense an immense joy and peace.
Many times, I feel warm as I go from one scene to another. They flow magically well and seems real. And I can’t help but smile at a life that is not yet.
Suddenly, reality will jolt me. I will squeeze Timmy’s arm if he is with me or I will look up to the sky and smile.
I love hate the bus.