I stared out of the bus, trapped. Knowingly trapped around fellow passengers—these other Asian immigrants…these other people who chose to take public transit rather than drive a car.

Once the automatic voice announced “North Fraser Way”, I pulled down to flag my stop. As I climbed down the stairs, I asked the driver, “How do I get back to the station?”

Nonplussed by all my questions, he said, “On the other side of the street.”

Intimidated, I nodded and mumbled, “Thanks.”

I hesitated at the corner of the intersection, watching the bus take a right turn and rush into the distance. This is it. I have to run. I checked traffic on the road and ran across the road…into dirt path with a sign that said “Dead end.” I had looked at my map multiple times and this was the only path. The dairy farm was on North Fraser Road.

The pain from stumbling off the sidewalk already had faded. The embarrassment was gone. Nobody was around me. I made it there. Walking fast. Chatted with a customer. Quizzed the employees. Then I took my cone and went back to the bus stop. Where to my surprise, I found wi-fi and to my surprise, the bus arrived in a few minutes. In less than an hour later, I was on the train. On time. Not late, not lost. On my way to Vancouver.