Cycling to work

“Your hands are cold.” The madam hissed.

I nodded absentmindedly as she pulled me into the small office. I then took off my outer wear and straightened my tie while watching two tree sparrows chirping on the old windowsill.

The first one was dipping its beak into the rainwater collected in the depression of the window as its brother called to the sky, trilling high notes—before a thunderous rush and thrum of traffic drowned him out. I peered out through the window, and sure enough the red light had turned to green. I shot a questioning glance at madam, but she shook her head. The roads are really congested in the mornings, and sir will probably be late.

I turned and sniffed my coat, which smelled foul. But that was no surprise, I thought as I took in all the dust and exhaust that clung to it.

The miraculous part was in how the filth managed to stick onto my coat even after a cycle through the soft rain. I sighed, and thought that—

“Do take off that helmet.” madam warned. “You’re going to hit the ceiling fan.”

I obliged, and carefully hung it on the wall by the strap. And then the spotted dust stains on its shiny surface caught my eye. Perfect.

The madam saw my frustration, and laughed. “Ha! Of course you’ll be sooted black. You’re in the city, young man.” She tutted and threw me a damp cloth. “Don’t be so glum and wipe it clean. It’s nice to see young people stopping to think for the environment.” She beamed, and shuffled off to brew coffee. I thanked her aloud, a little too late.

As I wiped away, I soured on thoughts of how my peers had achieved their dreams, refreshed by the coldest blast of air-condition in their dream cars and the trends of their dream accessories. 

Many of them raced on, digging deeper into buying more and spending more for luxuries that boast individual wealth.

Meanwhile, I had tasted the polluted morning air and felt the noise of their dream cars strain against my ears. And then the small victory for the health of my world felt empty.

And cycling to work suddenly felt a little too insignificant to bridge the divide between the harm dealt and the help given to nature.

But when I placed a clean helmet back onto the wall, I realised how deep the madam’s compliment had reached into me. I looked at the windowsill and smiled at the perched sparrows that peered in quizzically.

Amidst the hubbub and rush of our lives, I realised that stopping—even if it’s just a second’s pause— is really the capacity for change. Change cannot exist without the ability to stop, because stopping the march of steady convention is the first step to reverse it.

But ultimately, strength is required to ride against the norm. 

Rest is required to build and rejuvenate strength to ride over challenges.

And so, I stopped and rested.