Honoring My Mother | Ode to travel

THERE is always an air of banality whenever one is in any bus terminal, pier, train station, or airport.

The endless parade of people predictably headed somewhere gives meaning to this sensation, and it doesn’t even really matter whether these travelers may either be coming or leaving home. The obvious purpose of these portals to anywhere has become as plain as it is sad; while people go about their own journeys and adventures, there are always those who are left alone at the platform. There were times when I saw myself standing there.
Yet, I haven’t been a stranger to travel. That is why whenever a family member or close friend embarked on a journey, I could totally relate with their growing anticipation at a coming adventure.
In my younger days, I had once adhered to the call of “a rolling stone gathers no moss” and lived, as a rambling musician would. Through those years, while I roved and gaped, breathed and lived in the wide world outside my hometown, the airports and stations, terminals and ports have all become jumbled up into a blur of black and white frames, and eventually turned into nothing but stark structures that I’ve ignored. The journey then, had become the main thing, and in the lingo of the time, the trip.
A favorite daydream I remember was, whenever I took a bus trip or train ride, I’d look out the window as houses along the highway zipped past, and imagined choosing one at random, then fantasizing myself as living there in anonymity, finally lost from the world.
That was long ago. At this moment, I am once again inside a vast terminal. Throughout the years, this structure has not changed a bit, as I have. This time, I’m not here as one of the ones left standing at the platform, mind you, but as one of those in line for a bus ride. Much older now, this journey for me, is still the main thing, and it is still a “trip.” This quick zip from point A to B may have lost a wee bit of appeal, as the comfortable seat I’ve hoped for had already been taken, but that’s quite all right.
I’m picking up my son from his relatives in another city and the thought of a load of stories and jokes acquired during his short vacation tickles me while I relax in my seat. Our return trip home will surely be filled with his chatter. Next week, the two of us will again travel and head for the airport. This time, to fetch his mum, returning from studies abroad. More stories there. Life is much simpler these days.

Posted in Opinion