Train of thought

Trains are time vacuums. Once you're inside and seated (if you're lucky enough) you enter into an enclosed space where you can get lost inside your head for 45 minutes. That's the case for me: with or without earphones; seated or standing inside fighting for space. Twice a day, I ride a train and then, I slip into my own blackhole of varying thoughts.

I like trains. They're like my own personal coccoons. It keeps me sheltered from the outside world even for just a few moments. Here I can brood about a range of topics, from the most minute like what to eat for lunch to the most complex ones such as how can I afford that MA. Or better yet, I daydream. It's my favorite pastime nowadays. I can conjure up a luxurious vacation in my mind, smile to myself, and linger in that moment. Sometimes, I busy myself looking at the shoes of my co-passengers, thinking about how they came to have those shoes. I make up stories about who gave it to them or if they bought it themselves, what kind of persons they are: whether the loafer-wearing college boy seated next to me is a nerd or is there an adventurous facet to his personality hidden beneath, inconspicuous to the naked eye.

For 45 minutes, twice a day, I enter a meditative state. It's almost like me-time until it's time to get off, cocoon time's over. Trains and their ability to suck you into your own blackhole. Trains as 'thin' places. Me and my 'thin' places. They get weirder and weirder each time. I get weirder and weirder all the time.