It was just another day when I jumped into the hot bus interior. As the doors closed behind my questionable action, I surrendered to the soothing tedium lurking inside the crammed cubicle. My gaze brushed evenly the landscape I’ve seen so many times before: the same buildings shaping the street where I lived (only shaping it faster – I usually walked the distance), the same people (perhaps in different sizes, colors or hairdos) roaming around in various degrees of decisiveness, or feeling in command of something, behind their steering wheels, or – just like me – giving in to some greater willpower, such as a bus’s.
As the outer dullness kept passing by, next to me a weary mother was economically quenching her little son’s incessant curiosity. At first seeming as one of those many idiosyncrasies that finally compose the sound of nothingness, his energetic persistence began to annoy me. While anticipating a culmination of some sort, I suddenly spotted the boy’s happy face as he pointed his finger at what I knew it was an ugly spring fountain: “Look, mother! Look at the water!!...” Half disconcerted, half annoyed (and for the lack of anything else to do), I looked at the fountain. To my bewilderment, I saw the beauty of the water: surreal, glittery drops were playing in the sky. With a jerk of the bus, the rest of the world kicked back in. With joy still flooding my veins, soggy eyes, and an uncontrollable smile on my face, I looked around the bus, and felt like shaking those people with bored gazes and yelling that true beauty exists, “just look!!”... Of course I haven’t done that: “you’re being childish”, my mind scolded me as it was placing back the last few scattered pieces of itself.
