Far From Home

When I got off the bus, it was darker than I expected. Standing under the streetlight and looking around, an inexplicable unease welled up inside me, and I questioned why I had left my city to come here. As a young doctor, after finishing school, I had come to this small town for my first mandatory service assignment. Having been accustomed to being greeted by family or friends after every trip in my city, the fact that no one greeted me or even recognized me surprised me and created a little bitterness. The rush of people to greet each person getting off, the hugs, the kisses, even made me feel a little jealous. I watched the elderly people, their daughters who had married off to the big city and their grandchildren returning with them, kissing their hands, embracing them, and then heading to their cars with large trunks. As the crowds thinned out, the weight of loneliness increased even more. How was I going to live here? Where would I live, where would I shop? Where would I go for morning runs, where would I meditate? Where would I have a drink instead of my favorite coffee shop? Most importantly, who would I confide in, who would I gossip with? As the questions weighed heavily on my heart, I suddenly checked to see if there was a taxi that could take me to the hotel. The government had built a 19-apartment housing complex for healthcare workers. I would be staying in the city’s only decent hotel tonight and going to the hospital where I would be on duty tomorrow. Taking a deep breath and hoping everything would be alright, I started running towards the taxi ahead.