The Journey Within the Journey 🚍

Travelling, especially by bus, has always been more than just a way of moving from one place to another for me; it’s like entering into a whole new small world that keeps changing every single day, every single ride, and sometimes I think that’s why I’ve developed this strange love for it, because whenever I sit in a bus on my way to college, to home, or to some other place, I don’t just sit there waiting for the destination, instead I dive into the little universe that unfolds around me, and the beauty is that no two rides are ever the same, each day the bus fills with different people, different moods, different faces, and that’s what keeps it fascinating for me. I notice things, that’s my thing, I don’t judge, I don’t poke into someone’s life, I just silently observe what they’re doing, how they’re carrying themselves, and sometimes I end up learning a lot just from that, and maybe that’s why I don’t prefer to wear earphones while riding, because while everyone is lost in their own little sound world, I like to tune into the raw sounds of life—the driver calling out for passengers, the conductor handing out tickets, the footsteps of people boarding and leaving, the low hum of conversations, sometimes even the sudden silence that says more than words ever could. It’s crazy, you know, how in a single bus ride you can witness so many versions of life: one person dozing off by the window, lost in dreams, another scrolling endlessly on their phone, maybe laughing at memes, maybe texting someone they care about, another one sitting with books open, trying to finish notes before reaching college, and then there’s always someone with earphones plugged in, head swaying slightly with music only they can hear, while beside them someone is deep in conversation, maybe complaining about life, maybe just gossiping about something funny, and all this while, I sit quietly, almost invisible, just absorbing it all like a sponge, and I swear, it feels like the bus is not just carrying people, it’s carrying stories, thousands of untold little stories all brushing past each other without even knowing it. Some days I get lucky, I meet those rare kinds of people—the ones who talk with you out of nowhere, who share a thought, a suggestion, maybe a piece of advice, and sometimes what they say ends up sticking with me, like a little seed planted in my head, and I think wow, how random yet meaningful it is that out of all places, in this moving bus, I get to receive words that might stay with me for years. That’s the fascinating thing about travelling, you meet people who you might never meet again, but for those few minutes or that one ride, they leave behind something in you, maybe a smile, maybe a lesson, maybe even just a moment of shared silence that makes you realize how human connection doesn’t always need words. And then there’s me, lost in my own thoughts, sometimes thinking about my dreams, my goals, my struggles, like I keep telling myself I want a camera, I want to capture everything—the trees lined along the road, the bridges, the flyovers, the towers standing tall, the endless lights at night that make the city look alive—and yet instead of actually chasing that dream, I’m just sitting in a bus with my phone in hand, scrolling or daydreaming, and I laugh at myself because isn’t that what life after 20s really feels like? A whole bunch of dreams but an equally big bunch of laziness holding us back, and then a bus ride becomes this reminder that while I sit here waiting to do things “one day,” there are people around me actually doing things, hustling, talking about their work, their studies, their plans, and it’s inspiring in a way, even though I may not move immediately, it stirs something inside me, like a little nudge that says, “Come on, your time is also here.” And still, what fascinates me the most is how different people deal with the same journey—some shut themselves off with music, some drown in their phone screens, some escape into sleep, while others, like me, just watch and absorb, and I think maybe we’re all travelling in life like this too, in different ways, carrying our own baggage, distractions, dreams, and fatigue, and maybe that’s what makes the journey so unpredictable. Sometimes, while looking out of the window, watching the road stretch endlessly ahead, cars and bikes rushing by, children waving, or shops flashing their colors, I realize the world outside is also like a bus—so many lives moving alongside each other, each person with their own story, and yet how little we actually know of each other, and how beautiful it would be if we just noticed more, if we just paused instead of always rushing. Maybe that’s why buses never bore me, because while others see it as just transport, I see it as a mirror of life, a moving diary where every page is written by a stranger’s action, a smile, a sigh, and in between all of that, my own reflections scribbled quietly. Some rides are noisy, filled with chatter and laughter, some are quiet with sleepy heads nodding, some are chaotic with people rushing, pushing, trying to make it on time, and each one has a different taste, a different vibe, and I don’t know, but I feel like if someone ever asked me what my favorite part of travelling is, I’d say it’s this—the act of simply noticing. Because in a world where everyone is in such a hurry to reach somewhere, I find peace in not just moving but actually experiencing the movement itself, and that’s why I don’t shut myself off with earphones, because the real music is happening around me, in the voices, in the footsteps, in the hum of life, and honestly, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.