Bus Rides Home

Strange

Whenever I ride a bus home (which isn’t my usual mode of transportation) after meeting my friends or watching a movie by myself, there’s a different kind of air I breathe in. Something with a hint of sadness for being alone, of feeling proud and courageous for traveling late at night (coz you know, rape culture), and of getting along with the noises around me (which is mostly the reason why I don’t bring earphones). I’m always lucky for getting the window seat because thoughts and realizations come naturally that way. And what better background music can I have than the soft voices of the bus people chattering and the blaring sounds of the cars from time to time. The ride home gives you your moment—one the people you know don’t see much, and it’s up to you on what to make of that.

As for me, the heavy traffic rarely matters, I’m going home anyway. And I enjoy looking out and seeing the world go about, oblivious of my existence. A timid smile will creep in when I notice something familiar or when I see sweet gestures of strangers. There was a time when tears formed in my eyes, for I remember a memory I hold dear but can’t bring back or I realized again that thing I cannot have. I would crinkle my nose whenever embarrassing moments flash in my mind or when my silliness reminds me to have fun. And I also get excited when I think of the events I’ll go to on the coming days, when another idea that will make the ones I have better comes, and when I’m nearing my stop.

Although they’re the most beautiful, sunsets aren’t the only the thing that could turn your day around, bus rides home could, too. It’s what you make of your moment, after all.

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without much deliberation

Sweet

Ideas, projects, dreams, feelings. I have countless of those, and many more things. We all have, that sometimes we get all too caught up we forget to focus on one aspect of our lives at a time.

We wanted to do, to finish, a lot of things on the same day, to be as productive as much as we can, but it’s only reducing the quality of what we’re doing. It’s breaking our creativeness and our energy into parts, trying to fill in all holes without much deliberation, without considering that putting your heart out or focusing on one will give you only the best result, if not perfect. We’re trying too hard, writing down all our ideas for a project that might never be because you thought of a better one, setting aside the previous idea and the rest before that. We dream a lot, and even though there’s nothing wrong with that, there’s nothing right that we do to achieve it either, we just let them be our dreams when we can actually pick the one we like most and start working our butts off for it to be our reality. And sometimes, we want to feel too much, we demand more from ourselves (and the others) what we know all of us can never give, which just makes us sad—the one feeling we don’t want.

So without much deliberation I wrote this, to feel sorry for myself—for trying too hard, for dreaming a lot, and for wanting to feel more. And in case you found yourself in my shoes, maybe we can stop for a moment and start to deliberate our lives.

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