Literary Articles Essay

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Tulips By: Lorelie O. Tarvina It is quarter to 3’oclock in the afternoon: a lonesome Saturday, for my friends aren’t around. They are on their own weekend holidays. The other day, I was surrounded by them; today, I am alone completely. I keep on checking my watch while standing on a bus stop. It’s already 3 in the afternoon! “What took the bus so long?” I murmured. There comes a middle-aged man carrying a bouquet of dozen exquisite tulips. He silently stands near me and wait for the bus. Finally, the bus came! I get on it but it’s quite occupied—Saturday routine I guess. It’s full of different commuters: some are conversing senior citizens, and some of them are laughing so hard that makes their falls teeth fell out of their maw; some are veterans who are talking lightly with their head cap on—their hands articulate a scene of war which they had survived; mothers with their sleeping youngsters beside them; teenagers busy chatting with their latest DOTA battle: who does the first kill—they keep on saying it’s a GG; and some are merely scrolling their phones. I find a vacant seat on the right row of the bus. I sit on the side near the window and fix my bag on my lap, then vaguely open the window to let the breeze in. The middle-aged man with the lovely tulips sits beside me. I look at him and he smiles—I simply bow my head in a polite mode of response. The struggle of time can be seen on his face, a hint of gloom in his eyes, yet a genuine smile curves in his lips. I can’t help myself but gaze at the lovely flowers on his hand—they’re so beautiful. My mother used to buy a bouquet of tulips and arrange it magnificently on a vase. This man’s wife is so lucky, I thought. What will she say when she finds out that her companion has attractive flowers for her? I wish my father bought a flower for my mother too. I never see him do that to Mama. Next time, I’ll buy a
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