Of license plates and identities

Stuck in traffic one morning, my mind wandered across the unfriendly exhaust fumes from the rickety space bus in front me, and settled on the vehicle’s number plate. It was registered ER 2555 B –the alphabet B being indicative of its age. Mehn! ! I said to myself, that trotro must have been licensed when Noah made his ark. What did it have to show for its age? A couple of missing windows (like the mouth of a nonagenarian), worn out tires, falling out seats, and a door that wouldn’t shut with a slight heave. But in its bus life, had this Willow brook bus achieved its bus purpose?

It’s interesting how people sometimes are quick to remind us of their age once they realize we’re trespassing a certain line of respect. They wear their B age proudly on their sleeve like a medal from the 2^nd world war. But if all we have to show for the longevity of our lives is some kind of number, then our lot would be pathetic indeed.

We’re helpless against the movement of time and age. The sand in the hourglass keeps draining, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do to stop it, or to slow it down. Each day has 24 hours, whether we lie in bed all day, or design complex algorithms that can change the world. We can make time a good servant, such that at each day’s end, we’re closer to our goals, closer to attaining perfection, closer to making the touchdown. Life hands each of us a blank script to decide how our life turns out, and each morning, a new page is turned in the book of our lives.

What would you like to be remembered for? I think of some names in my senior high school days, and what comes up is the girl who used to sleep in class. Other names come to mind, and the reaction is “o she was such a mean senior.’ Still others bring a smile to my face for the pleasant memories they evoke. The world should remember us for what we do- even if it doesn’t want to, we will ensure we engrave our names somewhere- not I was here some on a school wall that will be washed by paint.

As the wheezing trotro with the number plate B made an illegal entry and stuttered into our lane, I feared the tires would fall off as they looked like they were hanging on to the rim for dear life. Behind the bus was this inscription ‘with God’ and I smiled to myself even as I read it. It seemed the space bus was moving in faith, by trying to tell its passengers that due to the dilapidated nature of the bus, they could be sure the bus wouldn’t fall apart on the way only because they were with God. If that space bus could make it, then I guess we have no excuse. Surely, with the Deity Himself, we will definitely get to our destination and leave with a loud bang!

Tomorrow, we will both be a day older, and hopefully, a day wiser. How are you writing the script of your life?