The Bus

When one sits on the bus, there is little you can do to change what’s happening. You can’t change the scenes that passes you by. You can’t even slow or speed up the vehicle. You just sit there and let things take its course. When Shio finally said goodbye, my heart just dropped. What else can I do? It is not my life. Nor is it my vocation. Maybe it is for the best. But who knows. I’ll know in the future. Perhaps in some destination we will see each other again; the world as we all know is small. Or maybe, he will suddenly ride on the same bus with me. But this I am sure: we will see each other in many of the stopovers in the greatest journey of my life.

As in all of my journeys, I take my earphones and plug it into my iPod. The reason is simple: I have to claim my world. I have to be in this world so that I take a hold of my life. Apart from my companions riding on the same bus with me. I decide on what playlist fits my mood, that would provide the soundtrack of the movie in my mind. I would play some scenes which are never premiers; they are like old movies. I repeat the same scenes where I imagine the dialogue with someone else, saying goodbye too but never making it a reality. Never got the chance. Or perhaps, in reality, I do not want it to happen: I still hope that I would hear what I wanted to hear. If it does not happen, perhaps the dialogues I have rehearsed for so long will be my fallback. It would save my face; or honestly, it would shield me from an embarrassment, which I know, will soon become a pain much harder to bear when alone. There, in the confinement of my own little world, I would secretly fan my hurt, try to make heads and tails over certain events, though I know to ask why is never an easy question. Many of my why-questions never got an answer. But at least, my life becomes ever unique: because as the soundtrack plays, my life like a movie, becomes dramatic and intense. It is sometimes comforting to believe that my life is different from others. And it is worth watching. This illusion at least for me is pragmatic. It is a necessary illusion. It keeps me, in many ways, on the bus. And whenever some seductive destination wiles my imagination, I would still return to the same bus, riding with the same companions like tourists on group tours.