Before the end of the traveling that took me back and force form home to my high school everyday, I didn’t aware that one simple ride can mean so much to me.
I studied at Sacred Heart High School, both junior high school and senior school. The school locates at the town next to the one I live. I had to take school bus everyday to go to school and to back home. All the school bus can go into three different categories: fancy, normal, and remnant from WWII. It depends on your luck that day to take which one to go home or school.
The first day of junior high school, I had a good fortune to take the bus drove by the one they called “crazy driver.” All I remember is that the anaesthesia of right hand that held tightly to the survival handle for the whole 15-20 minutes ride.
The days went on; sometimes I did get a seat, sometimes didn’t.
Every single day passed in this kind of careen. Only, the uniform changed their colors, from pink to orange. I became a senior high school student just in the change of the orange uniform without noticing.
Outside the window of school bus was, is, will be the same and familiar scenes of pastoral. I always love the scenery. It might sound doltish, but, take a look at every single different sun rise, sun down, clouds, flowers…etc stored me a lot of beautiful memory. When the air is humid enough, you can clearly see the mountains’ shadow squarrosed on the far eyereach to the horizon. The seasons cycle in the expectation, and emptiness. Expectation is there for the rice to grow up soon and bring us the green sight along the country road. Emptiness is there when the rice is cropped, but the emptiness is soon occupied by the yellow flowers(油菜花) and other short-term crops. For years, these fields are farmed by generation after generation.
The biggest change is the seat next to me on the bus, the one who accompany me to examine the changing details of seasons.
At the beginning of the senior high school I made a good friend on the bus, a school sibling.. She is a year older than I, holding a dream to become a doctor. She graduated from school a year before me. The seat became empty.
Then, I met another school sibling. She is a year younger than I am. We together saw the same view that the graduated sibling had seen.
Now, my seat is vacant.
Every time I can’t stand the stress from exams, I would think of the vacant seat. Years went by, how many school siblings also saw the same scenes of the farms? How many of them also took the bus? They all survived the big exams and went on their journey to university, to other county. The vacant seat and the same, familiar scenes are all encouraging me to go on in their unheard whispers.
In the way go home, I and my friends chat all kinds of subject, from cartoon music to science. One can talk freely in the ride with scenery racing past outside the window. Take a trip to the school in the morning breeze, and take the same trip to go home in the sunset. The trips were sometimes terrible with the monotone reciting whispers of English vocabularies or Chinese poems that remind me of the coming tests. Sometimes, it’s a blessing trip to slip to other routes to a friend’s house and have a nice afternoon.
The last day of the trip, sunshine, the singing of cicada, and the blue sky celebrate my graduation. School played the song “Time to Say Good-bye” to remind us taking up all the courage one could have and saying good-bye to our friends, teachers, and this school.
Take a look when I got off the bus that day, my seat was really vacant.

It’s the end of the trip.
But the end of a trip is the open of another.

Now, I have took what I gained from the 6 year ride and go on the train to here.


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