Sunday, March 19, 2006

It's Going To Be Nice, Is What I Mean.

I've always liked riding on buses and trolleys. I used to hop on one whenever I was going somewhere and ride from one terminus to the other, not really caring where I end up. There's something quite soothing about being on a bus and watching the world go by outside. It feels like real life is put on hold for that little while. No matter how late you are for whatever it is that you are rushing for, you really don't have much of a choice but to just sit back, enjoy the view, and ride it out.

Sometimes it's nice to cede control like that. For that couple of hours, you are truly all relaxed because there isn't anything you can really do at all except to think and dream and read and rest.

I used to take a bus for one and a half hours to school every day. I read poems on the bus, formulated arguments, had discussions with myself, planned essays and dinner, struck up random conversations with strangers, laughed at random people, caught up with elusive sleep, thought about all of the stops I would make someday along the bus route in search of a playground with swings, a nice picnic spot under a huge tree, sweet rice or oriental herbal soup, or a pet store I see from the road. I did make some of those stops in the three years I went by that way; the rest lie forgotten, untrodden and unknown, a crinkly, yellowed leaf in the archives of my mind.

But the change in scenery will allow me the opportunity to delve my mind for those moments, and wants and urges.