To Commute and Not To Commute

For the past few days, pull in even the last semester, I was missing something; something that helped me realize and define who I was. Neither am I so inquisitive, nor as much unoccupied, to go on some random journey to rediscover myself. In the meantime, I was also out of shape, so I started going cycling in campus post dinner. That is when I found out what I was missing.

For ten of the past twelve years, I've spent a minimum of one-and-a-half to two hours a day commuting to and from school. I always thought I was wasting a lot of time. But, now I see, the alone-time I spent commuting was the time that I cherish now. Although I may not remember exactly what all I've done on those rides back home, but I certainly got a lot of time to think about random things, and things that were not random at all.

I used to stand right by the door, with the wind blowing into my hair; and on rainy days, mud spraying onto my white pair of pants, making an awesome design and tough stains. (Now that I wash my own clothes, I realize how troublesome that was.) Nevertheless, my school bus rides were awesome. I've sit up front, beside the driver, and put up annoying songs on the player at loud volumes. I've sit out back, waiting for the driver to speed through a speed breaker so that my head touches the roof. I've been bullied there (that was one stray incident), I've stood up for others, I've cracked stupid jokes, and had serious conversations. As much as I have grown up in school, I've matured on my rides there.

Yesternight, the dark asphalt and the more than fifty shades of green and brown around me were augmented by the light drizzle, making it a lot more memorable. I could feel the droplets land on my head and flow down my face. (I can still feel it as I sit under the AC, sneezing!) The best thing, though, was the solitude, my thoughts talking to me. Cycling my way through the campus is a way I choose not to lose anymore.