bus stop: Serenity

I have become a person who takes the bus.

The bus is noisy, a bit smelly, the windows are sometimes too dirty to see through and the heater is often on full blast, creating a tropic micro-climate that is not the best when you want to arrive at work cool and unruffled.

Above all, the bus is slow, winding its way through four or five suburbs. It never goes straight down any road if it can find a small side road into which to do a sharp turn, or an dodgy neighbourhood to circle. My fifteen-minute commute becomes at least forty-five minutes long.

Still, I cheerily greet the surly busdriver and find my seat in the back where I endure the jolting and shaking journey, surrounded by students and immigrants. Because the noisy bus is an oasis of calm. A no man's land. Work stress is left behind at the bus stop. I can do nothing about anything, just sit still and think, or not think, and watch people and things I've never seen before. And afterwards get a much-needed walk from the bus stop.

The bus turns my hyperactive brain off for a while.