Gateway to Home

Today was a long and exhausting day and today was that kind of day. A day where the tiredness
comes in both forms, physical and mental. A day where a good night’s sleep or a full body massage or
a cup of warm barley tea won’t be sufficient.

The station I am at somehow reminded me of going on an adventure. The unfamiliar wide hallways
are the compass and the ticket I bought seems to be the clue to where I wish to be. The gates are the
key to arriving at the right destination, yet, it might lead me to somewhere I can’t even imagine. The
wonderful smell of the pretzels and bagels on the opposite side of the newspaper stall wafted around,
inviting me to come. I walked across the grey tiles, across the monotoned walls with pamphlets and
brochures that read job vacancies and baking classes on its surface.

The clock hanging above the ticket booth stroke 11 pm and I found myself sitting on one of the
myriad white wooden benches with iron handles on both sides. The cold and icy gusts of wind
brushing against my skin and seeping through my clothes caused tears to well up in my eyes. My
blurry vision caught read newspapers flying all over the tracks, fluttering in the air. However, the
station that night was in utter peace – an old man was sipping his heated coffee while sitting on top of
his luggage, some worn-out looking workers in their uniforms were chattering, a street musician was
strumming a loving melody from his guitar and the rest of us were pretty much indulged at the
moment.

I thought the medicine I needed was friendship, fun, sleep or perhaps, alcohol, but it was this. A
moment of silence and tranquility. I closed my eyes for a brief second to hear the howling sound of
the winds, the heavy footsteps of a woman, and the crumpling noise of plastic bags. And I opened my
eyes only to see dimmed fluorescent lights, rustic tracks, and cracked flagstones. And the station is
still the same old place it ever was. Grey above, grey below, and a tunnel of black.

Soon the rail squeals and everybody looks so eager to hop on. The old man started picking up his
luggage, the workers began calling their wives and I too packed my bags. And I thought people would
exchange parting words of advice and greetings, but again, it was almost midnight. I got in and sat
next to the window, the foggy window. Behind all these tired faces were excitements, delighted to be
coming home. In a few seconds after departure, the platform became deserted.
 Another World

It was a bright, peaceful morning as I strolled on the grey concrete towards the station. The walk that
morning was pleasant and I crave for an undisturbed commute. But to my surprise, I entered into utter
chaos.

As I walked in, I couldn’t be more stunned to see only a sea of moving, bustling people. I could
hardly even consider them as human beings. They were all absent in expression and emotion as if they
were chasing the time as if they had nothing left behind. The whole station was nothing but a
landscape of a lifeless monochrome. White floors, white trains, and white ceilings. A moving crowd
of uniform black suits and black suitcases.

The throng was swarming like bees, making it almost impossible for me to push through this
madness. People jostled against me with no regard; my fingers couldn’t even keep count. Walking
through the masses of stuffy sweaty suits made it unbearably hard to breathe. Moving without a pause
has become a necessity. The abstract movement of these self-centered people who ignored the
presence of others made bigger disarray, and as if they were forcing me to become one of them.
Pushy, ignorant, and exasperating.

I would be lying if I said I was not scared. I was. I was anxious and wary. There was no place of
solace. Everyone seems to be living in their world, all heads were focused onto their screens, onto
their personal lives. They were all so fast-paced and I feel I was going to require a major adjustment.
Everybody was in such an eagerness to get in or to get out. Even the so-called educated people all
behaved illiterate.

Was time going that fast? Was it critical to walk so swiftly? There was no one in suits that did not
race to the food stalls, making endless queues. This place now reminds me of working overtime with
selfish colleagues, uncomfortable as it gets, at least for me. It was like the station had swallowed
every resident in the city.

The station though is quite an interesting place. It’s a mixture of people with different moods, jobs,
dreams, and untold stories. People from all walks of life are one in this station. As the brakes of the
train hiss and screech, the whole crowd seems to be involved in a synchronized dance, moving
towards the same goal. Now a strange energizer was added to the hype of the people. But the train
engulfed almost every other passenger, including me. I entered the train with a heavy sigh, expecting
the same at the next stop. And after, the platform looks so lonely, it looked casted-off.

Group: Jennifer A, M. Cecilia, R. Navellio