Faith

I was quickly stalking through the streets, hoping that I had properly committed to memory the path to Ms. Lan's house. I was due at 9:30 to take Michael's place and tutor two young women who are preparing for language exams. The city was wide awake by now, and I leaped from street to sidewalk, dodging potholes and people and cars, winding my way through tight spaces and jumping around bicycles.

I must have already acquired an aura of non-tourist. I was hardly hassled as I usually am, to buy knickknacks or motorbike rides. Donning dark sunglasses, I refused eye contact with others and purposefully made my way down the busy road. I wasn't pausing to consult a map, or stupidly staring at signs. I had a place to go, dammit. The city bustled, as if it had never slept - simply perpetuating the endless cycle of honking horns, motorbike engines revving, people yelling and laughing and shouting from their storefronts.

And, had I not faced the possibility of being plowed down by a bike, I almost stopped in my tracks at a sudden sight before me. His orange-brown robes gently swimming around his body, a middle-aged Buddhist monk was slowly, silently trekking barefoot in the street. How calmly and peacefully he set one foot ahead the other, as if time were passing in a world different from the loud and chaotic one around him. Deliberate footfalls, from the tips of his toes to his heel he grasped the earth, felt it, savored it.

I had no idea where he could be going. As far as I knew, there weren't any temples or pagodas in that direction. I would have followed him if I could, but I knew I had only mere minutes to make it to my destination. So, I quickened my pace, passed him with a look, but maybe next time when I'm not playing my little part in this mess, I'll follow.