On A Bus...

  I like bus rides. Not for the uncomfortable seats where I can't even stretch my legs, but the fact that there is always something interesting to see. People on buses are fascinating. It's a microcosm of society, without doubt. Well, at least the parts of society that can't afford cars, that is. That does make up for a large portion of society, so I think my assessment still stands.

Anyway, there was this one particular bus ride which was extra-interesting. It was a pretty fine day too... the cold weather for once giving way to a sunny day. I had to pick up my weekly groceries (which was mostly stuff like fresh fruits, bread, sausages, cereal, and milk) but that's hardly important.  The Bus ride is important.

There I was on the lovely MTD (that's the Champaign-Urbana Mass Transit system), sitting at a corner near the front, watching the people around me. I noticed an elderly African American lady seated two rows in front of me. She was thin, with short, curly hair, coffee-colored skin, and those eyes. THOSE EYES.

Those eyes were the things that drew my attention. I could write a book about those eyes. Maybe I will. But not for now. Suffice to say those eyes of hers told enough stories to last a lifetime, and I'm sure that's exactly what they did. Stories of a lifetime that have never been told.

You see, I've seen those eyes before. Back home, in Malaysia, I saw those eyes. They belonged to women who have never been able to tell their stories. These are the eyes of the repressed, the socially invalidated and the oppressed. These are the eyes of someone who have been told throughout their entire lives that their experiences don't matter, that they are not important, that their lives and dreams are secondary. These are the eyes of a person who has had to be stuck in situations and conditions that they had never asked for, been denied the opportunities and rights that most of us take for granted.

Well, this lady had those eyes. They were deep, very deep, and looking closely enough, you could tell the complex turmoil of experience, emotions and wisdom. She sat there watching these two young white girls chattering away obliviously. She had a wry smile on her face, an expression that spoke a million words in itself.

I wanted to approach her, so fascinated was I by her eyes and the stories that they promised. I wanted to hear them... needed to listen. I knew it would affect me... it would change me in some way, and that anticipation and excitement was wonderful. These are the stories that truly matter, the untold ones, because they speak more of this social reality we live in. Eye-opening. And I wanted them.

Unfortunately, I never got a chance as the bus ride was all too short-lived. I wish now, in hindsight, that I had at least said hi to her. But it was not all bad. She did notice that I was watching her. She turned to me and flashed a truly precious smile that made my day. I was humbled, awed and grinned back like an idiot.