On what I want to be when I grow up, and on how the world changes, way too fast, translated…
My old home is in a valley with the hot spring of the horizontal highways, the children from the four tribes all go to the same school, I’d started taking the busses in the first grade. Back then, the tickets were fifty cents, and, I’d loved standing next to the ticket collecting lady, watching her take the tickets, cut it, receive the fares, make changes, whistle, and direct the traffic too.
and of course, they don’t look like that back then, not my photograph…
Toward people that I liked, I’d always had that those lips of sugar, I’d greeted her as I alighted, “Good morning, older sister!”, and when I get off, “See you tomorrow, older sister!”, and not long thereafter, she’d given me a special seat, only allowed ME, to sit next to her. As the passengers alighted the bus, I’d, helped her collected the tickets, made changes, sorted through the stubs, felt, that there were, treasures, hidden inside her black purse, much more interesting than my textbook that’s for sure.
Becoming a ticket collector on the bus became my very first goal I’d set for myself, the ticket cutters’ “click, click” sound had that feel of growing up to it, and the beeps out of her whistles, she’d directed the driver which way to go, turn here, park there, back up, everybody riding on the bus followed her lead, and in the eyes of an elementary school student, she’s miss-do-it-all, even that hat that comes with her uniform looks so good on here too!
I’d worked as the ticket collecting lady’s assistant for two whole years, until I transferred. On the day I walked to school, I’d told my dad with this firm tone of voice, that I am, destined, to become a ticket collecting lady too. But, before I grew up, this top notch job got, buried into the flood of history, nothing is as it once was anymore.
photo from online…
So, this would be, a prominent memory of yours, isn’t it? Seeing the ticket collecting lady at work, how she’s in control over EVERYTHING that’s going on on the busses, it gave you a goal, and, although there are no more need for these ladies who rode along in the busses, collecting the ticket stubs now, you’ll forever, SAVOR the memories of helping that older girl on your bus rides to school…
Life, the Obstacle Course 