[Last modified: November, 19 2024 01:38 AM]
Taking the Victoria Line every day to school has become such a routine that I barely notice the details of the journey anymore. The route feels like a blur—station names like Highbury & Islington or Euston announced in the same monotone voice day after day. It’s almost like my body has gone on autopilot, navigating the crowds and platforms without much conscious effort. But despite the familiarity, there’s something about the experience that always makes me have a lot of feelings.
The train is often uncomfortably warm, even in winter. The stale air seems to cling to your skin, and the faint hum of the air conditioning never really makes it any better. It’s the kind of heat that creeps into your mood, making you irritable before you’ve even realized it. I find it hard to focus—whether it’s reading something on my phone or just trying to zone out, I often get distracted with novels so I started listening to music. My attention drifts, and I start noticing the people around me instead.
There’s always a fascinating mix of passengers. Sometimes there are homeless people on the train loudly asking passengers for money, walking briskly despite leaning on crutches. Occasionally, I even encounter strange individuals holding out a wad of cash, asking if I want any—though no one else in the carriage ever takes it. As I sit there observing all this, I often feel a sense of dissociation, as if I’m merely a spectator to it all rather than someone living in this environment. This feeling deepens my sense of sadness.
Physically, the journey can be exhausting too. When the train jolts to a sudden stop or takes a sharp turn, everyone sways together, like awkward dancers in a crowded room. Standing near the doors, I often feel a gust of cold air from the connection between carriages. It’s strangely refreshing but also makes me feel exposed, almost vulnerable. In those moments, surrounded by strangers yet completely disconnected from them, a wave of loneliness sometimes hits.
By the time my stop arrives, I’m left with mixed feelings—relieved to escape the train but already dreading the same journey tomorrow. The Victoria Line may be a part of my everyday life, but it’s never just about getting from point A to point B. It’s a space where my body and mind are constantly reacting, adapting, and quietly reflecting.