Life is not easy, but it is still beautiful.
Due to a herniation between the fourth and fifth lumbar discs affecting my ability to walk, I finally managed to schedule a rehabilitation appointment. However, I was disheartened to learn that the location was in an area far from my home and difficult to reach via public transportation. Sensing my difficulty, the thoughtful staff member handling the appointment offered to help transfer me to a medical center closer to my residence. However, this would mean waiting an additional four months for an available slot. The question arose: should I endure the inconvenience, or take immediate action and book the current option? Ultimately, I decided to secure the initial appointment. Later, I discovered that my health insurance also covered transportation services, which brought me great relief. I promptly registered for the service, feeling much more at ease.
The transportation service system is quite extensive, reportedly involving over fifty companies in its operations. As a result, each ride feels like opening a mystery box—you never know what kind of driver, passengers, or situations you’ll encounter. As the saying goes, "You can’t have it all." The upside is that it’s free, but it comes with its own set of trade-offs. Over time, through multiple rides, I’ve experienced quite a few moments that left me silently asking the heavens, “Why…?”
Mystery Box #1: Three Women, One Marketplace
This is a shared ride service, so sometimes additional passengers are picked up along the way.
On my return trip after a medical appointment, I opened the car door to find a passenger already seated inside. The driver first dropped off the initial passenger, then drove around for quite a while to pick up a third passenger, followed by a fourth shortly after, all within the same elongated area. No wonder I kept seeing the same road signs repeatedly. Logically, after picking up the fourth passenger, the driver should have proceeded toward the next drop-off point—me, as the second in line. But to my surprise, the route took an unexpected turn: the driver headed in the opposite direction to drop off the last person picked up, heading straight into the city center! It was clear that this arrangement was problematic, especially since this was a peak hour and traffic jams were inevitable. How long would this trip end up taking?
▲ During the author's shared ride experiences, chance encounters with others became opportunities to hear their stories.
Three women, one lively scene—these three female passengers were enough to create a bustling marketplace of conversation during the long traffic jam. Naturally, the chatting mode kicked in. This time, I encountered two very talkative women. One, with a Central or South American background, spoke in long, flowing streams of words and sat in the front passenger seat. The other, an African American woman sitting next to me, had a unique, raspy voice with a rhythmical tone that made her speech sound almost like rap. In contrast, I was notably quiet.
To fit in, I decided to join the "marketplace" and turned to the woman beside me: "Listening to you talk is like listening to someone sing!" She responded with a surprised "Oh?" followed by a hearty laugh. Success—I had blended into the group! Though I don’t smoke, I learned that both women were smokers, so I seized the opportunity to ask their opinions on e-cigarettes. The topic unfolded, and they turned the question back on me: "You don’t smoke?" I replied, "I’m allergic to smoke (truthfully, I just hate the smell). I’m just curious why people choose e-cigarettes." Ultimately, the consensus was that e-cigarettes are just as harmful to health. Finally, we reached the destination of the "rapper." She seemed eager and ready to light up a cigarette, so I joked, "You’re finally free!" Amid laughter, we continued the ride to our respective homes.
Next, I chatted with "Ms. Chatterbox," and naturally, the conversation drifted to food and faith. It became evident that she was undergoing some form of psychological therapy. As an unmarried single mother who had her child as a teenager, she had endured a difficult journey, including overcoming addiction and surviving abuse. She told me, "Can you believe it? I’m not even thirty yet!"
Everyone has a unique story, and as she shared hers, I sincerely affirmed her journey. She choked up, thanked me, and tearfully expressed her gratitude to God: "I believe in God. Without Him, I wouldn’t be here." Through her, I saw someone who had taken a detour in life but found the courage and passion to start anew. At the end of the ride, the driver asked, "Do you mind if I drop off Ms. Chatterbox first?" At that point, what meaning would there be in saying, "No, you can't"?
What should have been a 30-minute ride home unbelievably stretched into two and a half hours! By the time I got back, I was utterly exhausted. Despite the frustrations of the shared ride, there were also lessons to take away. In daily life, I don’t often encounter people with whom I can have such conversations. Sharing a car felt like a serendipitous meeting, as though fate had brought us together across great distances. The three of us, an unlikely combination, could be described as a “once-in-a-lifetime encounter,” with little chance of crossing paths again. Yet, all things work together for good, and through this experience, I witnessed a story of grace. In hindsight, it was actually quite meaningful!
Mystery Box #2: The Pirate Driver Who Finds Joy in Hardship**
Scorching Heat and the Pirate Driver Who Finds Joy in Hardship** A heatwave hit, with the real-feel temperature soaring to nearly 39°C, and I found myself in a car with broken air conditioning. I asked the driver, "Is the AC broken?" He replied that it was just too hot outside, then rolled down the window to prove his point. But that had nothing to do with whether the AC was functioning! After a brief demonstration, he rolled the window back up, trapping the sweltering heat inside the car. In the passenger seat sat someone who seemed to be a friend of the driver. From the French navigation prompts and their conversation in Haitian Creole, I deduced they were from Haiti. Both seemed entirely unfazed by the oppressive heat, clearly more heat-resistant than I was. Meanwhile, the car’s “AC,” which was supposed to blow cold air, churned out a relentless stream of hot wind. The stifling heat inside the car was unbearable, and I felt my blood pressure rising with every passing minute. Silently, I prayed, "Lord, help me!" Desperate for relief, I rolled down the window and, to my amazement, found the outside air "cooler" than the sauna inside the car. How could this car be used for passenger transport? A week later, my worst fear came true—I encountered the same driver again on another scorching day. I recognized him immediately by the scarf tied around his head in a style reminiscent of a Caribbean pirate. Not many drivers would choose such an outfit in this heat. Thankfully, it seemed the AC had been "repaired." It wasn’t icy cold, but compared to the last ordeal, this trip was a mild comedy rather than a tragic one!
On the way to the rehabilitation center, as usual, we encountered a traffic jam and were stuck in place. Suddenly, a young woman appeared on the sidewalk, dressed brightly, with long, sleek, and beautiful black hair flowing past her waist. She walked gracefully, catching everyone's attention. The driver turned his head, his eyes fixed intently on her, exclaiming, "Wow, what a beautiful girl!" This was quite the contrast to his earlier complaints: "I’m so exhausted, driving non-stop all day!" It was as if he had found a glimmer of hope in the midst of despair. The sight of this stunning passerby seemed to sweeten his mood. The girl’s timing couldn’t have been better!
As we continued the stop-and-go journey, the car came to a halt at a crosswalk to let pedestrians pass. Suddenly, the driver burst into laughter. Curious, I asked, "What’s so funny?" He pointed out a man with a unique look—sporting big, curly hair and strutting in exaggerated platform high heels. Amused, the driver gestured enthusiastically to mimic the scene. I had noticed the man too but was so irritated by the traffic that I lost the ability to see the humor in the moment. Reflecting on it, I realized how pointless my frustration was. Since I couldn’t change the situation, I might as well take it in stride. If the driver wasn’t stressed, why should I be?
The reactions of this young driver gave me something to reflect on. If life is full of setbacks, as the saying goes, then for him, endless traffic jams are his daily bread. Yet, even in the midst of being stuck, he could still find moments to admire, to laugh. That’s the fuel that keeps life moving forward!
From the young driver's attitude, one phrase stands out: "Life is not easy, but it is still beautiful!" The same sentiment can certainly be applied to ourselves, can’t it?
