1    “Sir, is this yours?”

        The Earth spins, endlessly, in its eternal rhythm. Time flows steadily, a well-ordered course. Yet, in the midst of this calm, it is the hurried footsteps of humanity that disrupt the peace.

        On a weekend, shedding the weight of daily life, I boarded a northbound bus, my heart filled with the anticipation of tranquility beyond the bustling world. The weekend bus was relatively quiet, but the city dwellers were busy, each immersed in their own digital realms, heads bowed over their phones, weaving connections from afar. The bus was a pocket of silence, devoid of conversation, even eye contact. Everyone seemed preoccupied with distant concerns—be it yesterday’s entanglements or tomorrow’s dreams.

        “Ding-dong!” The bus bell rang, signalling a stop.

“Sir, you dropped your card!” A voice beside me, authoritative yet calm, echoed in the tone of a police officer.

        I glanced down to see a small bag nestled at my feet. Leaning down, I picked it up, revealing several cards inside.

        “Is this yours?” I was about to hand it over...

        But the “officer” had already exited the bus, not looking back, striding away with purpose.

2    “Can you be sure no one took the money first?”

        The bus resumed its journey, but now I held a bag that did not belong to me.

        I pulled out the cards one by one, glancing at them from the corner of my eye: a transit card, a registration card, and a university student ID.

        I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.

        I scanned the faces of the passengers, trying to find a match for the registration photo. No one seemed familiar. Then, I input the address on the registration into my phone and used GPS to locate the owner’s home. Oh, it was nearby. Should I rush to their home immediately, or...

        In the midst of my indecision, the bus moved on.

        Should I get off at the next stop and retrace my steps?

        No, the youthful impulse I once had had faded. I pondered the most reasonable course of action for this detour on the path to mindfulness.

        I decided to take it to the nearest police station.

        Upon arriving at the stop, I approached an elderly man waiting at the bus stop. “Excuse me, is there a police station nearby?”

        “No, the station is either five stops ahead or five stops back. You’ll be too late or too early if you get off now.”

        “It’s alright.” The old man misunderstood my purpose, and communication is often a delightful misfire.

        “Is there a police station around here?” I asked the same question of a fellow practitioner at the meditation center.

        They inquired about the situation.

        I told them the whole story.

        “Why didn’t you give it to the bus driver immediately?”

        A sudden realization struck me! In my confusion, I had overlooked the simplest solution.

        “The nearest police station should be at Ang Mo Kio.”

        “Isn’t that farther than the owner’s house?” I muttered.         “Wouldn’t it be more convenient to return the cards directly to the owner?”

        “Oh, you only picked up identification, not money?”

        “Yes.”

        “Can you be sure no one took the money first and then dropped the ID?”

        I fell silent, admitting my naivety.

        “I suggest you hand it over to the police to avoid any trouble.”

        Meditation began, and compared to before, I now had a new task: how to swiftly let go of the cluttered thoughts from this morning.

3    Tossing a Coin, Is My Head Still Spinning?

        After a day of meditation, what had I absorbed? What had I let go?

        The sky remained gloomy after the rain as I began my journey home.

        I boarded another bus. The temperature difference fogged the windows, making the view outside hazy and dreamlike.

Should I go to the police station? Or should I visit the owner’s home? My mind was still tossing a coin, uncertain and spinning.

Visiting the owner’s house was a shorter trip. Another advantage was alleviating any doubts that might linger in the owner's mind.

        But would the owner be home?

        If they weren’t, should I leave the documents with someone else in the house?

        If no one was home, should I just drop the documents in the mailbox?

        I wasn't overly concerned that the owner might accuse me of stealing their belongings. Someone willing to show themselves in the sunlight wouldn’t harbor shadows in their heart. The owner was a university student; surely, I wouldn’t be facing someone belligerent?

        On the contrary, delivering the documents to the police station seemed to be more about self-protection than anything else.

        Suddenly, a not-so-funny joke crossed my mind. In New York, never help an elderly person who has fallen; they might claim you pushed them and demand compensation. In Paris, never pick up a wallet on the street; you might be accused of theft. In Beijing, don’t hand your phone to a stranger to take a picture; they might keep it.

        But that’s New York, Paris, Beijing... We are here in Singapore!

        “Fifty steps laugh at a hundred steps, ha-ha!” I seemed to hear a noise in the depths of my mind.

        Do we really need to live so complicated?

        I stood up suddenly, deciding to take a chance. Even if I were misunderstood, it would just be another life experience, a way to settle an old debt from a past life.

        My swirling thoughts reflected the modern person's deep contemplation, or perhaps a sign of neurosis and a distorted personality?

        The drizzle began again, softly falling like a feather. It wasn’t enough to soak through my clothes, but it stirred an unsettling feeling within me. The narrow path wound ahead, and along the way, besides the sound of my footsteps, I could hear the pounding of my own heart...

4    After Quantified Exchange, Has the Original Motive Changed?

        On the other side of the mountain, it wasn’t raining.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself and pressed the doorbell...

        “Is Arda home?”

        “I’m Ah Da,” replied a young man who opened the door, correcting my pronunciation as he approached the iron gate.

        “Hello!” I carefully observed him; judging by his age, he must be the owner, though the glasses perched on his nose were not in the photo.

        “What’s the matter?”

        “Oh, could you tell me your birthday first? Then we can talk.”

        He didn’t hesitate, accurately stating the correct date.

        “You lost an ID this morning, right?”

        “Yes, at 8:15.”

        “Is this yours?” I pulled out the ID and handed it over.

        “Thank you so much!” He accepted it, his face lighting up with joy.

        “Sorry, I couldn’t bring it to you sooner. I had something to attend to……”

        “Wait a moment, I’ll get my phone.”

        “Oh? What’s up?”

        “Please give me your address.”

        I felt a bit flustered and provided a vague location without details.

        “At least let me express my gratitude; I want to call a taxi to send you home.” Perhaps he sympathized with my flushed face and heavy breathing after crossing the hill.

        “Don’t mention it. Just tell me the shortest way back down.” In this materialistic society, kindness is often expressed through money. But after a quantified exchange, has the original motive changed?

        “How about this? Come in for a glass of water or a slice of cake?”

        “No thanks, I’m in a hurry.” I made up an excuse. The truth was that I was observing a fast today, not eating after noon.

        “At least give me your phone number so we can be friends.”

        Unable to resist, I entered my number into his phone.

        His cat, sensing the harmony between host and guest, approached me, rubbing against my legs, seeking attention.

        I remained unchanged, and the ID was still just an ID. What had these extra steps changed?

5    The Driver Roared: “Look What You've Done!”

        I boarded the bus again.

        Habitually, I took out my phone, eager to fill the fragmented moments.

        A message from Ah Da appeared on the screen.

        “There are still good people in this world; I’m so surprised! We must meet again.”

        “No need to thank me. In my rush earlier, I forgot to ask if you suffered any financial loss?”

        “No. My credit cards and cash weren’t in that bag.”

        “Next time, remember to write your phone number on your bag for emergencies.”

        “I will. Got it.”

        Suddenly, the bus turned sharply, and with a loud crash, a boy’s “Pepsi” spilled onto the floor, the brown soda bubbling as it spread across the aisle.

        The driver turned his head at the red light, roaring, “Look what you’ve done! Who’s going to clean this up? You?”

        The boy lowered his head, unsure how to respond.

        For the next five minutes, the driver incessantly scolded him.

        The boy’s clumsiness was the cause; the spilled Pepsi was an accident, something no one wished for.

        The driver’s tirade filled the bus with tension. The boy didn’t apologize in time nor did he attempt to get off early to escape the driver’s wrath. The bus was silent, the air thick with the tension of the battle between good and evil. What could I do?

        Looking around, there was no mop in sight. Should I give the driver a tip to help with the extra work? If I did, would that only fuel his anger, leading him to misinterpret my gesture as an attempt to silence his righteous indignation? In an environment lacking cultural refinement, it seemed that any action would be unwelcome. Or perhaps the driver was merely seizing an opportunity to vent his frustrations from city life?

        There are many problems in the world, many of which are actually unsolvable.

        Even after meditation, I might not have the immunity to harvest more peace.

        Night fell, the streetlights standing guard, focusing on their own tasks.

        The bus passed under the dim glow of the lights.

        At my stop, I jumped off and sent Ah Da one last message...

        “I’m home now; I only spent 12 cents on this last bus ride.”

        “Ha-ha! Thank you for saving me the taxi fare and for this extra journey.”

        I could almost hear Ah Da’s hearty laughter echoing in the air, yet my heart was still pricked by the sight of that bubbling Pepsi. The chaotic soda spilled everywhere; did the bubbles multiply?

6    Epilogue

        In this chaotic world, all one can do is this much.

        So much, yet so little...