All The Ways We Commute Home

One of my favourite things to do when I travel is to get some time alone and find a place to sit near a busy public transport hub. It could be the edge of a fountain, a small eatery with chairs outside, a staircase or even simply leaning against a wall out of the way of people in a metro station. And I wait for rush hour. And then I watch people on their way home from work.

I study their faces carefully to try and read the story of the day they’ve just had. Are they gaunt, tired with dark hollows under their eyes? Maybe they lost in deep thought, a faraway look in their eyes? Are their faces stuck into a phone screen or book—anything to pass this liminal time faster so they can be home already? Or perhaps they’re chattering animatedly on a phone with a friend, a sibling, a partner or a mother?

A father thinking about his mortgage and bills. A new mother thinking about her baby in her first week back after maternity leave. A parent picking up their kid late after school because they were stuck in a meeting. A helper brushing the hair off of the face of their sleepy charge, thinking of their own child miles away. A brother on his way to the masjid for Quran study. A middle-aged salaryman rushing to eat his snack before stepping into the metro station. Primary school kids on their way home after tuition classes with backpacks too big for their slender shoulders. A young woman retouching her blush as she gets ready for a date. Tourists who had no idea about how busy the rush hour gets here, caught in the crosshairs of local commuters. Colleagues giggling about the day’s antics before they part ways.

So many lives, so many stories. It is here—in the intersection of night and day, of a 9-5 and the hours that follow, of switched on and switched off—that we see a true reflection of our shared human experience. The reality of growing up. The lies we’ve been told about adulthood. The dreams hidden in the back of our closets. The wings of responsibility that have become heavier than the flight itself.

And yet, we have a place to go back to. We have someone worth doing this for. The hardships are balanced delicately by God with the gift of joy and laughter from those we hold dearly.

And so we move—we never stop moving. A blur of faces, limbs, coats rolled free of lint, straight-pressed dresses, polished leather shoes, chewed on nails, perfectly coiffed hair, broken phone screens, freshly applied lipstick. All rushing home in the quickest way we know how.