The Little Details of a Day in Life

Take a deep breath. Look up to the sky. Notice the rays of light slipping through the gaps between the leaves of trees. Listen to the birds chirping away. It’s a lovely day.

Observe the various speeds of cars. Listen to the active engine of an idling bus. Then pay attention to the aggressive ‘vroom’ of the bus before it drives off. That is probably how the next bus sounds from the outside and the bus you would board on.

Tilt your head up a little from your phone. Meet the eyes of your friendly bus driver who’s trying his best to do his job. Greet him as he greeted you. “Good morning,” you say with a slight smile.

Listen to the enthusiastic and courteous little girl who says with a shy laughter, “Bye-bye, Uncle!” to the bus driver before alighting with her father. That little moment plants a beam in your heart. And you pledge to (hopefully) do the same.

Listen to the hollowness of an empty train. Listen to the sound of the wind and mechanics as it travels from station to station in the tunnel. Listen to the automated voice-recording of the announcer announcing the name of the station. You wait for the doors to open and you alight to head to your destination.

Oh, the hustle and bustle of life. Or its calmness and serenity. You travel from place to place by different modes of transport. More than twelve hours have passed. You wait at the bus stop hoping to catch the last bus. You wait till your friend has boarded hers. Then you realise your last bus is long gone.

You rush to the train station in less than two minutes (you clearly remember because that is the time given on the information board) to board the last train. You find a corner and place your bag down. There you wait for the train to bring you home.

In contrast to the clarity of the hollowness whilst in the train in daylight, the sound of emptiness is one of weariness. The sound of the wind and mechanics are violently rushed, almost as if the train is eager to finish its last shift and travel back to the comfort of its own crib.

You alight after half a journey of standing to a quiet and stale station. The escalators have stopped moving. You walk down the steps one by one and make your way home by foot.

Now the settings have changed. The rays of light that you see are beams from street lamps—a tinge of orange hue against a sky which resembles the colour of Oxford blue, but darker. The roads are clear with only a few moving cars. You cross the road and walk a little more.

You’re home at last! A sense of relief felt as you remove your shoes and unwind for the night.

You take a deep breath in, then a deep breath out. And you wonder what tomorrow entails before you hit the (cozy) sack.