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I have two hometowns — Hangzhou and Nanjing — and I often travel between them by car. The journey is inevitably bumpy, but I close my eyes to the rhythm of the wheels against the road, letting my thoughts drift back to those city buses that rocked in much the same way.
I attended primary school in Hangzhou. In the second and third grades, I took the bus to and from school every day. In the mornings, I was still bleary-eyed with an unfinished breakfast clutched in my hand. But by late afternoon, everyone came alive with newfound energy. We would sway dramatically from side to side to the swaying rhythm of the bus, share snacks that weren't allowed in the classroom, and race to press the stop button before getting off. Once, I was so engrossed in a chat with a friend that I missed my stop. I had no choice but to knock on the bus door while crying, then get off shamefacedly at the next stop and trudge back in the opposite direction.
Day after day, I watched the leaves along the road fall, sprout anew, and grow into full greenery. But to see true lushness, I had to wait for summer vacation, when I would cross three hundred kilometers to Nanjing and ride the bus to watch the plane tree leaves stretching freely across the sky along the old streets. In the blistering summer heat, sunlight filtered through the leaves, sprinkling gold onto the ground like a winding galaxy. Outside the window, vintage newsstands lay half-hidden beneath the shade, the plane tree leaves coated in a fine shimmer; inside, I gradually grew from a child into a young girl, putting on headphones, carrying my familiar native dialect, and taking my first step onto the journey of adulthood. Sitting on the bus, I often reminisced about those carefree days of primary school, only to realize that no matter which line I took or which direction I headed, the wheels could only roll forward. They could pause, but they would never truly stop — until the day their mission was done.
Today, with subways and ride-hailing services making public transit so convenient, buses are no longer a commuting necessity. Yet, I still like to pick a quiet afternoon, whether in Hangzhou or Nanjing, and hop on a random bus to wander aimlessly through the city. I gaze at the streets outside — some familiar, some transformed — revisiting the seasons that have quietly slipped by. At the same time, I remind myself that it's alright to lose your way once in a while. As long as you keep moving, you are going forward; and as long as you set out, home is a harbor you will always reach.
