Pulling the puzzles apart

It's way past bedtime, and I've got nothing to do but write. Write about my day, this night, or is it my life? This life. Who cares? I'll catch the next train to sleep, the one sleep specialists say comes at 2.

The bus driver looks like a nice guy. I didn't even know there could still be a bus there at 11:30 pm, which makes him seem somewhat nicer. Does this bus stop at my stop? Apparently not, but he says he can drop me on the other side of the hotel, and that it's not too long a walk. I don't really care, I don't mind the walking. I like walking, especially on dark gloomy streets. I love the contrast between the faint orange street lights and the dark, the shadows of buildings and the white neon lights. Or maybe it's just that everything looks so quiet, so calm. Past a certain time, this world can very much seem like a sleeping giant.

In a way it makes me feel more alive, to think that there may be a risk to walk on the road less traveled. Funny it should be dark, that's not how I usually imagine it.

Well, the guy assumes I just want to get home as soon as possible. It's true, but it doesn't really matter that much.

Oh shit, no change in my pockets, just my credit card! The driver tells me that at this time in the evening, no one is going to check anyways. I can travel for free.

We keep talking about where he's going to drop me off. If only he had known how little I actually cared, we wouldn't have talked at all. But I wanted to talk about it. Seems like the appropriate thing to do, act like you care. And he's really nice and looks like he enjoys talking to people, which is why I didn't let the conversation die.

Are you a student? Yep. You go to ESSEC? Yes. I surprised myself on this one. Tonight like for most of this semester, I didn't give a crap where I went to school. Not like a few months ago, when I could never prevent my overinflated ego to shine all across my face when people who couldn't care less asked me where I studied out of sheer politeness. Why? Is it pride? Am I proud? Of what? Going to a good school? What the hell, I don't even know what that means, a "good school". What the hell happened to me in the last 12 years?

But tonight I was in touch with the child I brought home from Africa. The one who got beat up in 7th grade. The one who didn't understand the world around him, but was eager to learn. The one who was infinitely wiser than I have been these past years. I didn't give a crap, I was just me, not the other ESSEC guy I hate and wish would disappear.

I said it the way I meant it, not the way I thought he would want me to say it. A liberating feeling truly, to be yourself. It's kind of like taking off the make-up, and liking what you see in the mirror. Obviously, I don't actually wear make-up. Well, not the visible kind anyways.

So are you going to the party on Tuesday? Ha! He knows about it. What should I say? Yes, of course I am going to the party!

I don't really enjoy the parties, I just like spending time with my friends. I don't see them enough this semester. Or not for long enough periods of time. But who am I kidding? They want me to get drunk. It would be the first time if I did, and frankly it would kill me to do it. Those who know me know that I stand firmly against alcohol and getting drunk. It's a question of values. Or non-conformism or something. Or health, safety...integrity. Yeah, integrity. Sounds good but can I really say I always act with integrity? Hell no. So what's it to me? Who knows. Defending what's left of my past, perhaps. I always look to the future by nature. I've always been like that. Sort of like a refuge, but it makes me neglect the present, and regret the past.

So it turns out the bus driver volunteered to drive us drunken and worn out students back home, throughout the early morning hours on Wednesday. He won't make a single dime for the extra hours. He just does it for the students. So does he care about helping students? Does he like cleaning up puke at 4 o'clock in the morning? I knew it! He tries to look like he doesn't care about his surroundings, with his slightly detached attitude. But he loves his job. He loves meeting new people. I can tell. I can always tell these things.

"Oh what good is it to live, with nothing left to give
Forget but not forgive, not loving all you see"

What's home when you're all alone? Well, maybe the incredible music of Coldplay playing through the late hours of the night. People like us don't care much for short-term purpose. We enjoy the little, insignificant things and savor them as much as possible. Every note on that keyboard. The beauty of every thought shared with a complete stranger. Every strum on that abrasive guitar. Every little cloud of fog moving mysteriously under a street light. Every ray of morning light that tries to wake you up. Every drop of rain on your skin. The look in someone's eyes on the bus. The concrete arches of the tunnel's ceiling gliding in and out of the back window.

For the first time in ages, I sang my heart out today.

And it felt like I was telling a tale of a billion years.