Descriptive 9: Describe the sight and sounds in a traffic jam on your way to school. It is 6.45am on a rainy Friday morning, I was holed up in the enclosed red and white feeder bus, safe from the torrential rain outside. The raindrops pitter-pattered on the metal finishing of the bus, making a rhythmic tune suited for tap dancing. The tough rubber wheels of the vehicle anchored it firmly on the slippery and flooded ground. Looking out of the misty fogged up windows, there was a long train of vehicles of different colours, shapes and sizes ahead, and the bus was merely one of the many vehicles lining up from the Malaysian checkpoint to the Singapore checkpoint.
The bus was packed to the brim with Malaysian citizens making their way into Singapore for work or school. The air in the bus was humid, tinged with the acrid smell of sweat. There were many little conversations being held within the bus, and in that small enclosed space, details of every conversation could be heard clearly. The commuters were staring at their watching every few seconds, some were tapping their feet on the ground impatiently and some made sounds of exasperation as they were about to be late. Every now and then, I would hear the smartly dressed Indian man beside me mutter profanities under his breath. Everyone was rushing for time, and so was I. It seemed like the rain was in a rush too, moving at high speeds from the dark clouds above the ground, yet the traffic jam was far from easing.
The box-shaped vehicles on four wheel edged forward slowly like a snail, somewhat like the tortoise racing with the hare, and the finishing point seemed so far away. After sitting on the driver seat for what seemed like hours, incessant drivers would start to blare their car horns, venting out their frustration on the drivers before them. Yet this did not urge the vehicles in front to move faster, and instead, triggered a series of horns in response. That coupled with the rain, was akin to a thunderstorm gone wrong. While all the bulky vehicles were stuck in the lines, unable to maneuver their vehicles in any direction, the slim motorcycles weaved in and out of the gaps between the stationary vehicles, their engines sputtering clearly in the midst of all the noise. The rooted motorists could only watch in envy as the motorcycles crossed the immigration gantry with much ease and speed.
Minutes ticked by, and the traffic was still at a standstill. A handful of passengers who could wait no longer, alighted from the vehicles and started trundling across the huge puddles made by the rain, towards the Singapore checkpoint. I did the same too. There would always be a sudden shriek as someone stepped into a puddle, splashing dirty water in all directions. The never-ending road finally came to an end. After checking into Singapore, I made my way to school. Crossing busy roads and walking past speeding cars. Leaving behind me the chaotic landscape, where it belonged.
(written in '09 during 14 essay pia time)
what we could have been, 10:38 PM.
