2 Corinthians 4:8-9 ESV

Thursday, September 28, 2017

magic bus

It stood quietly on one side of the road, an island of metal in a sea of grass. It was once a bus. Now, it was akin to a discarded toy Time claimed for its own. No glass on its windows. No tires on its wheels. Vines and weeds ran wild across its rusted surface. It was, I thought, what giving in looked like.

abandoned places in the philippines

While some things are only mangled on the outside, what stood on the roadside contained no pleasant surprises within. Huge portions of the floorboards were missing. Shards were everywhere. Useless were the seats. Yet, somehow, there was something in this wreck of a thing that caught my attention. Its quiet hopelessness wrapped around me like a lasso, pulling me to it. Did I somehow think I could save it?
celine reyes travel blogger

I didn't know what happened to it. There was no need. I didn't care if it was a tragedy or if it was simply a case of improper disposal. It had been abandoned, this was the gist. And to know that was enough. And, no, there was no way I could've saved it. I may have been simply curious, fascinated by the novelty of a ruined bus half-eaten by Nature.

Perhaps broken people are drawn to broken things. 

Ruin is always tragic in the beginning. It wounds. It hurts. It terrifies and angers. In time, though, it will regain a sense of normalcy, like a collective resignation that this is life now. It now includes this piece of useless junk. And so it goes on, and you become quietly hopeless; but then someone from the other side of the road will see you, and will take their time to inspect your scars, to understand you without knowing all the details; to go deeper without any real purpose but just because. 

And you balk at the thought, but they tell you: so what if they find more damage? Who cares if they never dig out something intact? They are not there to save you because, to them, you're not in need of saving – and this would mean a lot. They keep going, much like you do, and the quiet hopelessness starts to shift.

You start entertaining the possibility that you might just be interesting. You are worth someone's time. You are being smiled at. Heck, someone finds you beautiful.

You will never be completely OK. You know this. But for every kind word, and every gentle act, you start to feel useful, like you still matter even if you're a total wreck.

You may be as broken as that abandoned, ruined bus, but someday, someone will come along who will make you feel like you're whole again. You will realize then that as long as you exist, you have a purpose. This is the gist. And knowing this would sometimes be all that you need.
abandoned buses in the philippines

Storytime is a series of  stories about my most memorable travel experiences. Read more here.

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