The question comes up a lot, usually out of nowhere: "What do you want the most in life?" It's simple enough, and I'm sure most people have their answers ready. Success, love, fame, whatever. But for me? It's different. I don't know how to put it into words, but it's different.
I sit here, looking out the window, the world speeding by. "Freedom." The word slips out before I even realize it. It feels strange, yet... it fits.
What does it even mean, though? For most, freedom is about having choices—being able to go where you want, do what you want. But for me, it's simpler than that. It's quieter.
Freedom to live without someone always watching, always judging. Freedom to exist without interruptions, without the weight of expectations pressing down on me. A life where I can breathe, where I can move, and just be.
I let out a sigh, barely audible. Freedom. That's what I want more than anything. But it's probably the one thing I'll never have. Not in this world. Not with this mask.
A woman in her 30s, likely an office worker, looked up at the man in front of her. "Sir, will you give your seat to the child?"
The man, with a large belly sagging as if weighed down by years of indulgence, grunted,"Young woman, why should I be the one to stand?"
"But, sir, this seat is reserved, and the child has a plaster on his leg," the woman replied, her tone calm but insistent.
The man scoffed loudly. "So what? I'm old too, as you can see. And for the reserved seat, why does it have to be mine? Why not one of the other seats?"
At that moment, the bus driver slammed the vehicle into park with a jerk that made everyone sway slightly. The driver, a middle-aged man with rough hands and a cigarette dangling from his lips, stood up from his seat. His sharp eyes cut through the tension as he flicked the cigarette out the open door, the embers scattering onto the pavement.
He walked down the aisle, his heavy boots thudding against the metal floor, and stopped right in front of the man. A puff of smoke still lingered around him as he exhaled sharply, the faint smell of tobacco trailing behind.
"You got two choices, pal," he said, his voice gravelly and filled with authority. "Give the seat to the kid, or get off my bus."
The man opened his mouth, likely to protest, but the driver leaned closer, his presence looming over him. "And I ain't asking twice."
The passengers watched in stunned silence. The man's face reddened as he huffed and puffed but said nothing. With an exaggerated grunt, he stood up, muttering curses under his breath. He stomped down the aisle and off the bus, pausing at the door to glare back at the driver.
"This is why people don't respect drivers," he grumbled before stepping off.
The driver smirked, letting out a small chuckle as he muttered, "And this is why people don't respect guys like you." With that, he climbed back into the driver's seat and lit another cigarette, puffing calmly as if nothing had happened.
The man sat there, occupying the reserved seat with an air of entitlement. His belly hung over the edge, a clear sign of his unwillingness to sacrifice anything, even for a moment. The woman asked him to stand, but he didn't move. Instead, he mumbled something under his breath about his age and the seat being his right.
Typical.
He could stand, but he didn't. Comfort was too important. The seat was too valuable. And he wasn't going to give it up, no matter how trivial the situation was.
I glanced around at the other passengers. No one moved. No one spoke. They all looked away, as if nothing was happening. It was predictable. Avoid discomfort. Ignore what's inconvenient. Let someone else handle it.
The world functions this way, doesn't it? No one willing to make a small sacrifice, all because it might cause them minor discomfort.
The bus driver's voice broke through the silence. "Give the seat to the kid, or get off my bus."
The man hesitated, eyes narrowing, weighing his options. The passengers, too, waited for something to happen, but none of them would interfere. No one wanted to be involved. It was easier this way, to remain passive, to ignore the obvious and just keep to themselves.
No one wants to act. They all just wait for someone else to make the first move.
Finally, the man stood, his face reddening as he grumbled, muttering curses under his breath. He shuffled to the door and left, but not without one last glance at the driver, as though expecting something.
The driver returned to his seat with an air of indifference, lighting another cigarette, as if the scene hadn't mattered at all.
One person willing to act. That's all it takes.
The others? They continued to sit there, as they always would. In their comfortable, self-contained worlds. They won't change. They never do.
I didn't need to do anything. I didn't care enough to get involved. The world would go on, just as it always does, with or without their small sacrifices. I watched as the bus continued on its route, the same as before.
Comfort was a trap, and they were all too eager to stay in it.