Let The Good Times Roll

I love my bus drivers. Yes, I met a few arrogant ones and a few that totally hate their jobs; but the majority of them are sooo nice and friendly. This evening one of them tried to make up the lateness by honking furiously at my next connection, which was on the verge of leaving the bus stop. The driver stopped to let me in thanks to the honking code, but not before he teased me by pretending not letting me in. It is 7.26 pm, I have been on the road since 6.06 am, yet I am grinning from ear to ear.

You know what can possibly topped that? A fellow passenger that said to me: "So glad you made it! I saw you running and I was hoping you can catch this bus." This was a cool unassuming African-American whom I always saw on the same bus, but never thought she actually give a damn about me. And oh man her smile! She was genuinely happy to see me manage to catch that bus instead of waiting for another 30 min. I mean come on, I got my bath waiting for me at home. And my bed too.

I think it should be mandatory for people to experience public transportation for at least a good 6 months or so. Here in LA the public transportation was pretty good, at least compared to Jakarta. Yes, there are some sketchy routes, and the transfer policy for some busses makes it expensive to ride on. But you'll learn oh so much. Last Sunday I learn that "Get off me you Trump!" could be considered as a valid insult. I learn to keep my head down when there is alterceration or shouting match. I learn to keep to myself when there's sketchy people around.

You know what else I learn? I learn that the smile on a young man's face when I said "thank you for chatting with me" was priceless. I learn that you can help people easily, from teaching them how to use a new app to finding a route with your Google map. I learn that it feels oh so great, being about 8000 miles from home, when somebody (a.k.a the bus drivers) said "Sorry you're late for work, will you be ok?". Like, the busses are pretty much my limo, albeit one that I shared with 20 something people. And don't even start with the jaw dropped gaze and various "Wow, you're beautiful!".

Public transportation is a place where you learn to be human, where you learn about other humans. Where else can you see the true face of humanity other than when you were stuck with a bunch of them inside an unpredictable iron beast. This time no cheating too, it's as assorted as Bertie Botts All Flavored Beans, ranging from caramel to earwax. And lest forget about patience and some good ol' zen exercise. Finding your zen when you are in a warm sweet smelling (yoga) studio is easy; finding it in a crowded bus with various chattering noises while trying to decide on whether you should stop at the next stop and Uber yourself instead because you are already so damn late would be an interesting challenge, yes?

We humans are annoying piece of sh*t. This much is true. No matter how good you are, no matter how sweet you are, someone is bound to hate you. But the opposite is also true. No matter how pathetic and agonizing/aggravating you are, someone is bound to love you, someone is bound to see the good in you. However, this is a matter of perception. It's back to how you want to see people, or to be exact, how ready are you to see people; not just physically, but to see them whole as human. This feat requires understanding, a big heart, an even bigger mind, combined with the smallest ego you can maintain. Will you, for instance, cried loudly (in your mind) about how useless and trashy and a waste of oxygen is the dirty (and seemingly) homeless man in the back seat who keep ranting throughtout the trip? Or will you feel sorry for him to be in such pain that he had to let it out to the world like that?

Taking the public transportation, for me, is almost second nature. I am a very social being (with extremely introverted personality) and I enjoy being with people, being amongst people. Crazy people on the bus scared me, and I have to admit there are many times I wish I could drive and own a car instead of spending hours on the bus. At the same time though, these people on the bus are my family. A sort of broken dysfunctional family in which we don't even know each other, but still a family. And ideally, that's how the world should be. We are all family. Regardless on how we are taught to think or how we look, our fear, our emotion, and our hopes and dreams remain the same. 

Tomorrow I have to get up by 5.40 am, and probably wont sleep till 10.40 pm. I could use more sleep. But hey, I could also use all those smiles and good vibes from my commute. Let the wheels on the bus go round and round, let the train on the track go clickity clack, let them serve the people and become the artery of the city and its surroundings. And baby, let the good times roll.

Good Morning Los Angeles

Good morning Los Angeles, I love you today.

For the first time ever I see a cloudy, chilly Los Angeles morning. It seems kinder and less menacing than the usual harsh sunny Los Angeles mornings. It makes me feel good and full of hope. I can do this. I know I can do this.

I like LA for all its worth. It is full of diversity and thriving with life. The downtown area is enchanting and fun, while our little neighborhood is full with families and children's laughter can be heard from the alleyway on sunny afternoons. It is far more alive than any other cities in US that I have ever been to, and so far, far more exciting. There are always new things to do, new museums to visit, new adventures to experienced; it is a place where taking home your pizza in whole is an adventure in itself. But I am so far from all of those. Even though we would roam the city now and then, I stayed home most of the time trying to write and get my life in order. Slowly but sure the loneliness is killing me, and as now I have give up full time writing and focus on trying to get a job instead. I have no friends here that I can talk with in daily basis, and I barely meet anyone except when I go out for an errand. The only way I can be a part of the community again is to join one, yet I am struggling to do so. A job would be an ideal gateway to the community, but I have been wallowing in despair instead. 

I have always seen myself as the dream maker, and I love it. I lured and wowed my clients, promising them a slice of heaven and delivering that promise to them. All of these were achieved with minimal tools/equipment, and with a carte blanche from my superior. I can do whatever I want to do to ensure the customer's satisfaction, so I did. It was creative, it was challenging, it was fun. Yet here in LA, I have yet to see any job vacancy that came even close to what I did back home. Everything seemed so dull and repetitive; and I can't imagine myself, after being so used with making dreams come true, to be another anonymous copying and faxing and filing, or making countless phone calls to 'leads' and tried to assigned them to a service they do not need. I can't help feeling in despair, that from being drive by chauffeur to fancy resorts and helping to make weddings worth thousands of dollars come true, I had to resort in being the small fish, or even tadpole, in the pond. Which I never did in the first place. I had the luck to somehow manage to land myself in good companies, ones that are considered 'better' than their competitors. I am the posh girl, or was.

It is ancient history, though. Here I am, not in Bali or Jakarta. Here my English skill is not my trump card anymore, as it has been since my professional years; here it is a hindrance. Where before I used my English to get my foot in the door and let my professional skills slid by as an afterthought, here I have to convince my future employers about my professional skills and hope they won't make too much fuss about my imperfect English. If I can sell a $1500 short-time photography package by emails only (and to people that live thousands of miles away), then I can 'sell' myself as effective as well. Even if I had to start from the bottom, I know I am smart enough to race myself to the top. I can do this. Isn't it amazing on how big of a difference the mood of the sky could make? I know I won't have such determination if I started the day with the heat of Los Angeles sun blasting through, yet this outcast weather showed me that the city is conquerable, that there is still hope.

I want to do more in this city. I want to be successful in this city, at least successful enough so I can do simple things that I like, such as eating ramen at Little Tokyo or visiting all of Los Angeles' museums. I want to have friends and feel how it is like to be a part of this community, this vibrant city. I want to feel home in this city. All of those require me to snap out from my despair and to conquer my fear, to courageously go where I have never gone before. I am scared, I am frightened, I want to go home. Yet this is my home, at least for now; and I refuse to let life and fear defeat me. I will stumble along the way, crying in despair: "No more, no more", but I will and I have to keep on moving. This is my life. I can make it work. I can do this.