Lucky

There I was, crammed inside an angkot- the usual manner of transportation that took me to and from work. There were twenty of us wedged inside that half-bus-half-van, getting used to the pain that we were about to endure for the next forty five minutes it took us to get to our destination.

I could feel sweat trickling down my back, between the cleft of my breasts, and underneath my knees. Mosquitoes feasting on any bits of our exposed skins. My face was sticky and oily and I couldn’t be bothered fishing out for tissue out of my tatty black tote – there wasn’t enough space for my hands to move around anyway and it wasn’t like anyone would give a shit what I looked like – everyone was tired and sweaty like I was.

The level of humidity in that car was like a goddamn sauna, but people preferred the windows to be closed because the wind blew our hair around and the combination of the breeze and the humid air made some people sick. I thought to myself, “No wonder my workmates kept telling me I looked too damn skinny – it was the daily sauna treatment that I get.”

Some overweight guy who was sitting in front of me stank of sweat and cigarettes – some skinny girl’s knees were digging into my thighs. I moved, but every inch would only allow me different taste of pain.
The dimmed light on the roof was disorienting – it was strangely comforting though and the humidity was making me feel somewhat sleepy. I saw the others were slowly nodding off already, and some even swayed unconsciously, following the swerves of the car and waking up at every sharp brake in between. Sometimes I wished I could capture this view – of tired faces in every shapes and form, waiting, enduring, our minds somewhere else but there.

The girls at the front seat were chatting animatedly, their soft lull of voices blended together with the noise of the car.

Someone nearby exhaled – I instinctively held my breath. I got better by practice not to accidentally inhale other people’s bad breath. Usually though I was lucky enough to sit next to an over perfumed factory worker so the floral scent would camouflage the unpleasant smells around me.

Struggling to put my earphones on, 311’s “Amber” blared out through the tiny speakers and instantly I felt better. A small breeze of air seemed to escape from a window that hadn’t been shut properly and it went straight to me. What bliss.

The girls at the front burst out laughing for some reason. I smiled – happy to hear them being happy. I thought about the ocean – vast blue ocean and out of nowhere, completely unrelated, I thought to myself, “Someday, that’s the view I’m going to be waking up to, every morning, for the rest of my life.”

Suddenly things didn’t seem so bad, or painful. I knew I was there for a reason. I was crammed inside that car in that particular period of my life for a reason that only God knew why. And I believed that whatever it was, it was for the good of me.

For the small pain that I had to endure.
For the struggle that I had to deal with at work.
For the laughter I shared with my workmates.
For the feeling of doing something worthwhile, instead of bumming around all day like I used to, before I was employed.
For the difficulties I faced at work.
For the annoying people I’d like to give the finger to.
For the realization that there was still so much for me to learn.

And I felt so lucky to be alive. Truly lucky to be given so much in such a small time, it was overwhelming.

It was during these times that I felt so loved and blessed and that life and living itself was beyond extraordinary.