I could never have envisioned it. The idea of boarding that bus by myself, with no one alongside me, seemed like an unachievable jump. I recall the initial times, the anxiety that churned within me as I boarded the bus, feeling like an outsider in a city that wasn't entirely mine just yet. Yet today, as I sit down on the bus for what feels like the hundredth time, I notice something: I’ve adapted to this routine. I have adapted to this rhythm, and it no longer feels unfamiliar. I've come to accept it—the quietness enveloping me, the engine's hum, the cold air coming out from the bus’s aircon, and how the city appears distinct through the window each time.
When I first moved from the province to the city for my studies, everything felt like an overwhelming blur. The streets were louder, the people more hurried. I remember how tightly I clung to the thought that I was still a teenager with no prior experience with things, sheltered by the familiar comforts of home—parents who watched over me. Back home, there was always someone beside me, offering advice or simply walking alongside me. But here, in the city, I found myself alone. The wide roads and the rush of people seemed so distant. The thought of being in a crowd without knowing someone I knew was scary.
It wasn't solely the thought of being alone that frightened me the most. It was the feeling of being in a crowd of unfamiliar faces. I recall my hands shaking the first time I sat by myself on that bus. Each turn and each stop seemed excessively loud. I could listen to the conversations of passengers near me, the movement of feet, the bump of the bus as it rushed through the city. Yet amid that clamor, I discerned something else: a sense of independence gradually creeping in, one step at a time.
This transition did not happen right away. The initial rides seemed like a challenge—almost as if I was in a constant test. I continued to search for someone I hopefully knew, wishing that someone would take a seat next to me. However, I quickly began to feel at ease in the silence. I started to realize that the city was not as daunting as it initially appeared. I could nearly sense the rhythm of the city—sometimes slow, sometimes rapid, yet constantly evolving, perpetually advancing. At some point during the journey, I noticed myself swaying with it, discovering my own beat amid the turmoil.
Being by yourself in a crowd might bring a certain calm. I've come to value the seclusion, the way that as I lean back and daydream, the world beyond the bus window fades into a serene image. Looking at the faces around me makes me grin because, like me, everyone is engrossed in their own world. Perhaps that's how life is now, less about holding on to the past and more about learning to be at ease in your own skin, even in the company of strangers.
This shift didn't merely teach me to ride the bus alone; it revealed a profound lesson: there will be moments in life when we must navigate things independently. Whether it's relocating to a new area, making significant choices, or just handling daily obstacles, there will be instances when no one can accompany us. Although it may appear intimidating, it's not an issue to be afraid of. It’s an occasion to get ready for, to welcome. For it is during those times that we discover our strength. We realize our true selves when no one else is present to lead us.
I remember when I initially arrived, feeling so uncertain about myself, as if every step I took was in someone else's shoes. Yet now, I’ve come to understand that every ride, every day in the city, has contributed to my growth. It's akin to learning a new language—a language of independence and self-sufficiency. I’ve discovered that solitude doesn’t imply being adrift. It signifies discovering power in the stillness, and understanding how to occupy the silence with your own thoughts, your own aspirations, and your own bravery.
The bus journeys, previously a daunting task, have turned into moments for self-reflection. It’s a place where I can reflect on everything—the decisions I’ve taken, the things I still wish to pursue, and the way life seems to be continuously changing around me. And amid everything, I no longer feel fear. I have taught myself to take the bus alone, not only in a physical sense but also mentally and emotionally.
As I sit on the bus now, sensing the constant movement of the vehicle below me, I recognize that I’ve developed. Perhaps, in some sense, this journey reflects life as a whole. It involves venturing into the world by yourself, establishing your balance, and discovering how to maneuver through uncertainty. It’s about embracing the unknown, believing that every ride, every moment of solitude, contributes to the journey.
Truth be told, accomplishing tasks independently isn’t an indication of weakness—it’s proof of our resilience. Although I will forever cherish the warmth of having guidance as a child, I now possess something different: the assurance to confront the journey ahead, even when I’m the sole traveler on it.