Home Sweet Home

Throughout four and a half years of my short career stint, I have travelled across d whole country, on average, once a month. Yet, since I began taking up a new job two years ago, I have failed to return home for a long, long time. 

Define long. A month? A year? A decade? To be precise, just half a year actually. Exactly, five months and two weeks. Altogether twenty two weeks. 

Is it long? It depends. When compared against a century, it seems like a split second. 0.05% of 100 years. When compared against a month, it seems tremendously long. 5.2 times longer. 

As a workaholic, I think, "Who cares? Does it matter? Work comes first." 

But when I step into the shoes of a daughter, regret sets in. It is unbefitting of a daughter to not set foot into her parents' home for more than three months! Do I not want to go home, and visit my parents and friends? Do I not want to spread laughter and smiles into the lives of my family members? 

Yet... as often as I want to, I often put work first, family later. 

Hence, on the eve of my 28th anniversary, I decided to forsake my favourite work for two days and hitch a ride back home. 

"Luck affects everything; let your hook always be cast. In the stream where you least expect it, there will be fish." - Ovid.

"What? Hitch a ride? Are you saying that you did not plan your trip back home in advance? Do you know long it takes to reach home? Four and a half hours! And you did not buy any bus tickets in advance? Wow!" 

Ya ya... I know. I should have bought a ticket. But... hey! Seems like when I take chances, luck is always on my side. So of course, I just took the risk. On Friday, I just took the taxi to the bus stop nearest to the highway, and  buy a ticket on the spot. 

But...  All the tickets were sold out by the time I reached the ticket booths. I almost cried out. Carrying two bags on my shoulders, with double buns and books, I wandered around the bus stop aimlessly. Wondering if I should wait at the bus heading towards my hometown, eyeing the driver with my puppy look eyes... hoping that he'd allow me to board the bus, and find a seat somehow. Wishing desperately that somebody out there would cancel his or her trip back suddenly, came late and missed it, or had an emergency  that had to be attended immediately. Walking back and forth, thinking , 'Should I?' or 'Should I not?'...  'Should I?' or 'Should I not?'... 

Just as I began to lose hope, and as soon as I took a step to head towards the taxi station to head back towards the city, these tough looking ticket sellers beckon me to them, calling out, "Hey! We've got a ticket! You want a ride?!" 

Wow! Unbelievable! Of course! I nodded eagerly. Ran towards them, chucked the cash in their hands, and flew towards the bus. Yes! Shouted for joy (silently)... 

Next time, I will leave early and get a ticket one week in advance, in future.  Though lady luck is on my side, I should not take it for granted. 

For, to be a stranger is naturally a very positive relation; it is a specific form of interaction. Georg Simmel

As soon as I step onto the bus, a big, friendly Singh in a red turban greets me, "Welcome aboard! Come! Come! Make yourself comfortable."

He pushes down the co-driver's chair, brushes the dust of it, and invites me to sit. I am relieved! I've finally got a seat of my own!

I plonk myself onto the seat above the steps of the bus. The seat, which seems rather flimsy, is latched onto a piece of hard metal board. I gingerly hold onto the metal railings on my right, as my head turns left and right, frantically searching for the seat belt. "Where is it?! How on earth can there not be a seat belt? What if the bus stops suddenly? What if the road ahead is bumpy? I need something to strap myself to this 'wall' . "

" I hope you don't mind... sitting in this rather uncomfortable chair, " a husky voice shatters my thoughts. The driver, who seems fatherly talks in a rather soothing tone, enough to make any weary traveller feel at home. "If you don't feel safe, why don't you sit on the steps?"

"Here!" (Turning towards the lady behind me) " Take this round bean bag, put it here on the steps. and make yourself comfortable."

I quickly grab the bean bag and immediately sit on it. Thankful that I do not have to sit on the co-driver's seat, dangling my legs in the air, clinging onto the railings as if my life depended on it. As uncomfortable as it may be, at least I have secured a seat back home. I hug my bags tightly to my chest, and my thoughts stray towards the haphazard events of the week.

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Melody Beattie

I think I must have seemed like a damsel in distress, ready to cry anytime. Quiet, flushed complexion, with beads of sweat dripping down onto the floor, with a long-lost, faraway look. The driver, being his fatherly self (he reminds me of Santa Claus), attempted to soothe my nerves by making small talk.

"See this flowers?" He points to a bouquet of pink flowers with small petals, a bunch of them, stuck in a transparent mineral water bottle. "I plucked them while I was stuck in a long jam on the highway last week. Amazing, isn't it? It's been a week, and they're still alive!"

The fact that these flowers are alive and have not wilted is not surprising. I've seen some flowers who stand tall and upright, even after being plucked from their stems after a month. However, I am surprised that he is able to enjoy the beauty of the flowers whilst driving.

"Waaaah!" the ever obliging me... 'oooh-s' in amazement. "How did you manage to do that?! You were very close to the divider?"

"Of course! Beauty is meant to be admired! I just decided to uproot them and transfer them to brighten this bus. Everything needs a little decoration to lighten up the atmosphere, make it more homely and pleasant. Don't you think so?"

" Aaaah.... definitely. It takes away the sleepiness too! The flowers are so bright that you'd immediately jerk up the moment you set your sight upon it."

"Indeed! Indeed!" The bus driver happy that I've responded... began to tell humour me with riddles and jokes.

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What's so special about the sentence ' The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog' ?

Do you know how the term 'gostan'  and 'mat-salleh' were coined?

Do you know why Singapore's dollar hold higher value than the ringgit?

etc...

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Life is more interesting when we throw in a few jokes.

Call me Captain - I am the Captain of this bus.

The more jokes this interesting bus driver tells, the more impressed I get. He's witty and intelligent. He tells riddles and jokes with a natural flair. A wink, a pause, and an intended pun. These days, souls like these are hard to find. In fact, he seems rather old-school. Coming from the generation of baby boomers, taught by the British nuns and brothers, proud that he still speaks the Queen's English. Throwing a few proverbs for me to remember. 

When he spots a sign to see the current location, he's so happy that he's able to multi-task. "An idle mind is a Devil's workshop. Look at me! I'm able to know where we are, even while I'm chatting with you." 

When he stops at the rest house for a short break, he says, "Did you know that pee-ing is also called 'answering the call of nature' ? 

He even gave me a few tips on health. "Young people like you need to be wary of your health. Youth is a luxury. Exercise and eat right. There are three things to control in life: sex, food and weight. Hah! Hah! Hah!" He laughs from the belly,,,  a hearty laughter indeed. 

"But of course, joke aside, if you want to lose weight, take brown bread. Less meat, more vegetables. Set a target. See those slender girls with time-glass figures? Set that as your target. You need to have a goal to work towards."  I must seem like a short stubby penguin, way past the acceptable BMI level. 

Within two hours, I think he must have exhausted his library of jokes and analogies. He diverts the topic to me soon after. "Hey, girl, so, what's your story?" 

"Ummm.... story?" I 'm stunned. " I don't know? I'm a workaholic. I don't know about anything else except work. If you ask me about how we explore for oil and gas, how we plan for production, I can tell you all about it. Other than that, I have little to offer." 

"Ok. Go on. " the bus driver eggs me on. "Shoot. Tell me how we drill for oil."

A hah! It's my turn to talk. So I happily tell him about my first helicopter ride, boat ride, the difference between rigs and platforms. He's amazed that rigs are towed by small boats! But hey.. everybody knows that the pay is good, despite the risk. Hold onto to that job, young lady. You're in the right industry. he advices.

Within ten minutes, I finish my story. The ball is back in his court. Then we exchange anecdotes about our families.

At the end of the journey, he gave me his handphone number, saying that I (or any of my accquaintances, or family members), could call him up to reserve bus tickets. Wow! I am so happy! Fast and easy access! Who knows what fortune brings when misfortune befalls... 

As I'm about to key in his name, he says, " Call me Captain. I am the Captain of this bus. My duty is to ensure that everybody has a chance to arrive safely at their destination.So don't worry. I will personally see to it that you, arrive at yours." The pride in his profession is profound. 

A deep sense of admiration floods my soul. There and then, I discovered the difference between work and profession. Both hold the same definition, but viewed with a different perception. Work is seen as a means of earning our keep. Profession - it is the visualization of something greater, with the ultimate objective in mind, to be completed with utmost perfection. 

Peace - that was the other name for home. ~Kathleen Norris

As the bus nears towards my hometown, Captain asks, "Where should I stop you?" 

"Oh.." I say with a little wave. "Just outside the Shell petrol station." 

As the bus wheezes past the row of familiar shop-houses, church, temple, schools, overhead-bridge, I know I'm nearing home. I'm so happy! 

But wait! 

He has just passed by the Shell station! Why didn't he stop?

"Captain! Captain!" I almost shouted out. "Stop! Stop! Stop right here!" 

Screeeeeeeeech...... The bus brakes and everybody lunges forward. "Strange! I didn't see any Shell sign on the left!" the observant bus driver blurts out. 

Suddenly, I remembered my mom telling me that the Shell station owner decided to call it quits and sell of his station or renovate it. (Perhaps it was still under renovation)... "Oooops... sorry... wrong information, Captain. It's been so long since I came home, that my town has been transformed beyond recognition." 

"Yeah, girl! Looks like you should come home more often. Don't just lock yourself in that small 4x4 cubicle of yours and bury yourself in your work. Remember! Family is more important above all else." 

As I hop off the bus, right before the driver shuts the door, he manages to slip a question, "Hey, girl! What's your goodself's name?" 

I chuckle. This Captain is really entertaining. In this day and time, who uses such a phrase anymore? I smile and shouted out my name as he steps on the accelerator. May his passion for his new job stays and he will have a good life ahead of him. God bless him!