It's all about the journey

I knew it was time to let go.  Three blocks was all it took for me to realise that I can no longer prolong my possession of my beloved pink suedes.  As I bid the long-serving flats goodbye, I recall the days they'd spent with me in Sydney and the many compliments they'd brought me on several occassions.

And a sudden surge of sadness overwhelmed me.  But I wasn't sure if it were my reluctance to part with the shoes that'd stuck with me through cold and then hot and then wet and finally cold again or the unexpected turn of events that cause me to stumble a little along my search for the right one or the buildup of the hoary drama at home that threatened to unleash an irrevocable outpour.  Still, I managed to hold it back.

Figuring a break would do me good, I took a siesta. but woke up with the worst headache ever.  Later in the evening, my doubts were addressed in a parable.  I had to transfer onto an unfamiliar bus route in an unfamiliar neighbourhood to get to my destination.  But like Murphy's Law, I alighted at a wrong stop.  I had a choice - I could either try my luck at the next bus stop along the road or cross over to the opposite one.  Strangely, I decided on the latter and heaved a sigh of relief as I saw the bus number I was looking for.  Thank God I don't have to hop onto a cab afterall, I thought.  10 minutes into the wait, I gladly flagged down the bus and told myself it was alright to be late once in a while.  The bus went around the neighbourhood in what I thought is basically a huge loop, went past the bus stop I was supposed to get on if I hadn't gotten it wrong earlier, went around another neighbourhood where I recognised a few familiar stops and finally, brought me to my destination.  By then, I was half an hour late.  While one may reason better late than never, I reckon it's all about the journey.