Every morning, I take the metro to work, and again in the evening, I return home by metro. It has become such an important part of my daily life that I can’t imagine my day without it. I’m a regular commuter, one of those faces you might see every morning, quietly sitting by the window or standing near the door, lost in thought.
My headphones are always plugged in, but my eyes are always observing. I like watching people, not in a nosy way, but in a curious, gentle way. Every person seems to carry a whole story within them. Some look tired, some seem lost in thought, some scroll endlessly on their phones, and some just stare out of the window as the train rushes past stations.
During those 30 minutes of travel, twice a day, I see so much of life unfold right in front of me. I’ve seen lovers argue, friends laugh uncontrollably, people crying silently while trying to hide their tears, and kids running around, their laughter echoing through the compartments. I don’t talk to anyone, but I watch. I listen. I feel.
As an introvert, I find comfort in observing rather than participating. There’s something peaceful about sitting quietly in a corner and watching stories unfold around you. Every person seems like a character in a movie, except this movie never ends. It plays every morning and every evening, with a new set of emotions, expressions, and moments.
Sometimes I wonder, what must they be thinking? What are they going through? That young girl crying into her phone did someone break her heart? That man in formals staring blankly maybe he had a rough day at work? The old lady smiling to herself perhaps she’s thinking of her grandchildren. So many people, so many untold stories.
The metro is like a moving diary of human emotions. Every compartment carries hundreds of feelings; joy, sadness, exhaustion, excitement all traveling together, side by side.
There are days when I, too, feel low, tired, or disconnected. But somehow, this journey helps. Watching people reminds me that everyone is fighting their own battles, chasing their own dreams, and carrying their own burdens. It makes me feel a little less alone.
Sometimes I look at strangers and think, maybe one day, if life allows, I’ll write their stories. Maybe I’ll capture that small moment of raw emotion that no one else noticed. Because, in a way, the metro has become my muse. It teaches me about life every single day, without saying a word.
I’ve realized that the metro isn’t just a means of transport; it’s a slice of life. It’s where the city breathes, tired yet alive, hurried yet hopeful. And as the train speeds through tunnels and platforms, I sit quietly, watching, thinking, and smiling to myself.
My life in the metro may look ordinary to someone else, but to me, it’s extraordinary, because in those 30 minutes of daily travel, I see life happening in real time.