Naturally, this was not written today. It was sometime last month, not bad considering it has almost been 3 years since the last post.
I took a longer bus ride home today. A trip roughly 4/3 as long as the usual route. It was late enough the difference didnt matter, i leapt on the first bus that could bring me closer to my bed and wasnt going to waste another minute. As i sat near the back, leaning on the glass as i try not to touch my head to the greasy spot on the glass that i would usually contribute to, a rather foreign sound broke my stupor. I enjoy just observing people, sure it may seem creepy as hell but Singaporeans are almost always too buried in their phones to realise.
I didn't immediately plug in and tune out, a rare occurrence these days, but my lapse was rewarded by the faint familiar clacking of a macbook keyboard. The rythmic typing punctuated with sporadic pauses for thought, rest or even maybe for effect underscored the ride. Softly enough to go unnoticed, but loud enough to not get drowned out by the rumbling of the bus hurtling towards home.
A student (bless her soul) was pouring out line after line of double spaced content. Brows furrowed in concentration as her fingers danced across the black and silver landscape perched precariously on her bag. I have done so myself before, but not on a bus (trains are way more forgiving in stability) and not at this time of the night. I was intrigued of course, the other passengers hardly offered any additional insight into their preoccupations. A boy browsing Instagram on his phone, a lady lost in thought whilst looking over the speeding landscape, a balding office worker having a conversation via earpiece in the back, oblivious to the passengers around him. Oh wait instaboy has graduated to cooking videos, I'd recognise Gordon Ramsey's signature short video tutorials on YouTube anywhere. Back to the student, less typing, more scrolling. I hope your assignment goes well- enjoy being a student while it lasts. She hastily snaps her laptop shut and trots off the bus at her stop. A stone's throw away from a mall I used to frequent with an old friend.
With that recognition, as though i had napped and lost grip on the passage of time, I became aware my ride was approaching the region close to home. A pleasant surprise, considering I did feel a slight stab of regret upon boarding the single decker bus whose schedule seemed to promise an arduous journey for this weary office rat. Then I recalled how the route would snake along all the flats in the cluster, delivering others like myself right to their blocks and felt a strange wave of relief that this ride would not be so soon concluded.
Was I mad? Did I not want to dissolve into the warm embrace of a shower and fresh clothes? Not exactly, perhaps I was just rather enamored by the idea of writing, as I am, something I haven't done in ages. I enjoyed the experience, this temporal world on wheels where everything I needed to know was within eyeshot. Safe within the confines of a speeding hollow metal block, in the hands of a person I know nothing about. That lack of care, wherein my only responsibility was to ensure I let myself off at the right place, a place of my choosing nonetheless.
I still have the trek home from the bus stop to look forward to. I wonder what will catch my fancy next time I decide to contribute to the global cacophony of clacking keys.
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