The Road Remembers Me

Left the apartment a little later than usual this morning.

I almost turned around because I couldn't remember if I'd locked the door. Stood there for a few seconds staring at it, trying to replay the last minute in my head. Couldn't. Decided to trust myself and kept walking.

The ride to work felt longer than usual.

It's funny because I've taken the same route so many times that I barely need to think about it anymore. Turn here. Slow down there. Watch for that pothole near the intersection. Stop at the light. Repeat.

And yet every stretch of that road seems to have collected a memory.

There's a spot near a small coffee shop where I remember getting caught in the rain one evening. I was completely soaked before I found somewhere to stop. At the time I was annoyed. Now it's one of the few commutes I actually remember.

A few kilometers later there's a traffic light where I once waited almost ten minutes because of an accident ahead. I remember being frustrated and checking the time every thirty seconds. Looking back, I couldn't tell you what I was rushing to. Just the feeling of standing there surrounded by motorbikes and helmet visors reflecting red brake lights.

Strange what stays with you.

The city looked different today. Not actually different. Just one of those days where you notice things you've passed a hundred times before.

An old man arranging plastic stools outside a phở place.

A woman watering plants on a balcony.

A kid in a school uniform trying to balance on the curb while his mother walked beside him pretending not to notice.

For some reason those moments felt more real than anything I did at work.

The ride home was slower.

The sky was already getting dark and traffic was building up. Everyone trying to get somewhere. Everyone carrying something invisible.

Sometimes I think about how many versions of me have traveled that road.

The one who was excited about a new workplace.

The one who was exhausted.

The one who spent the entire ride overthinking a conversation.

The one who couldn't wait to get home.

The one who didn't particularly want to arrive anywhere.

Same road.

Different person every time.

I stopped for a coffee before heading back. Sat outside for ten minutes and watched people go by. Nothing special happened.

Honestly, it was probably the most peaceful part of the day.

Now it's almost midnight.

I'll take the same road again tomorrow.

I'll probably notice different things.

Or maybe I'll be too busy thinking about something else.

Either way, the city will be there waiting, collecting more memories whether I pay attention to them or not.