Beneath the Urban Stars

1: Craving Connection

This would be a coming of age story, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm not a teenager anymore. It's funny how you're supposed to grow up at a certain age, and then afterwards it's just expected of you to have everything figured out. As if we truly knew what we were doing at some point in our lives.

I used to live on the bus, or so it felt like. Living in the opposite sides of a city does that to you. Even knowing that they were trying to open a new bus line, one that could take me faster home, my daily commute often took hours. The crowded bus was always filled with strangers coming and going, and I was just another anonymous face among them. Even though I didn't want to be. It's so dumb to think sometimes about how desperate we are to feel noticed. Special. I guess I have always been like that. So, I made a conscious effort to wake up earlier each day, ensuring that I had enough time to do my hair, makeup, and fix my clothing. It may seem superficial, but there's something empowering about feeling good in your own skin, especially during tough times.

''Fake it 'till you make it', they say. And I've been following this advice for a while now. I've been pretending to be confident and competent even when I'm not, hoping that someday I'll actually become that person. However, as time went on, I realized that this approach wasn't sustainable. I was always worried about being found out, and the constant act was exhausting.

And eventually I stopped caring about what they thought of me. It was a lost cause. Why did I even bother?

My attempts of keeping the little girl inside of me alive usually lead to nothing but disappointment. I often found myself yearning for a sense of purpose, a direction to guide me in life. As I sat on the bus, gazing out the window, I wondered what could possibly be the reason for me to take my rides so seriously. It's as if I was searching for something that I couldn't quite articulate. Perhaps a sense of adventure, a chance to escape the monotony of everyday life.

A part of myself wanted to romanticize something I knew I despised, to create a sense of excitement where there was none. I longed to feel like the main character of my own story, a manic pixie dream girl by excellence. I prayed to be discovered by the pretty boy with glasses, or the tough girl with the cool fade and tattoos. I imagined the rush of adrenaline that would come with such an encounter, a chance to break free from the mundane. Too bad all of that only existed inside daydreams and illusions.

So eventually I just rolled down from bed and dragged my clothing and the rest of my stuff to the bus. At first I started doing my makeup there in the mornings, and then not doing it at all. I lost the fear of falling asleep on it, of missing my stops or encounter weirdos along the way. Looking back, I realize that I was likely one of them myself, all just trying to make it through the day in one piece.

I had been feeling lost for some time, unsure of what exactly it was that I had lost. Perhaps it was motivation, or maybe it was something else entirely. The days all seemed to blendtogether, one indistinguishable from the next. It was as if my life had become a never-ending bus ride, with each day passing by in a blur and leaving me feeling like I was just going through the motions. The same thing over and over. Every wordstuck toeachother in my brain. It wasn't uncommon to lose track of time, of sense. Deja vu. It was as if my life had become a never-ending bus ride, with each day passing by in a blur and leaving me feeling like I was just going through the motions.