The View From the Bus Window

The view from the bus window was all the freedom that I had. Most of my days consisted of going to school, and coming back home, in an endless cycle. The rickety old buses of New York were my primary, no, my only mode of transportation. Truth be told, I wanted something more than that, as anyone may imagine. As I gazed through the window of the bus, I saw the townhouses and housing facilities that lined each of the streets the bus passed by. I was given a glimpse into the world of those who lived around me, those who didn’t know me, and those who’d been too focused on their own lives to notice anyone else. Everyday on the bus, I pondered a world in which I’d be free. Free to do what I want, go where I want and act how I want. Though I knew it was only wishful thinking. I wanted a world where I wouldn’t feel trapped. A world where I was more than a number, grade or anything else of that sort.

The view from the bus window allowed me to daydream. Though when I daydreamed, it wasn’t always great. Every so often I would be remind of the fears and anxieties I kept inside. The monsters and fears in my head surfaced whenever I’d felt too happy or whenever my mind wandered too long. These thoughts became crippling, but I couldn’t let anyone know. For if they did, I might be called crazy. I did what I could to repress these fears and thoughts. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

The view from the bus window reminded me of who I was. My sicknesses, my fears, my hopes, my dreams, all of it. At times it was my glimmer of hope, but it was also my looming reminder. I was reminded of those I envied, those I loved, those I cared for, and those I wanted to be with. I was reminded I was human. The times I felt high and the times I felt low. The times I was at peace with myself, and the times I hated myself. It all adds up, to make me who I am.

© 2018 Cecevex