Travelling in Transitions

Travel was a communal thing for me when I was growing up

We’d all get in the car and go to known destinations that’d form a constellation in my heart

There was Home, the grocery, the church, the school we made for ourselves, and the park

These were all parts of the manufactured and falsely researched ideals that dictated travel

Meant to fit the designs of scheduled paid work through street timers and prioritized car lanes

Travel was communal for me, but the standard was individual. That was only something I learned when I was older

 

My first trip alone on the train was not alone

I wanted to know what it would be like to travel on the TTC subway without people I knew

It was me, a couple of passengers, spaced out and masked up

This was all new for us

I had no clue where to sit, exhausted from my trip

 

My seat was behind a barrier

From there, I witnessed an assault

A man rushed onto a cart next to us to jostle a woman

While the rest in that cart dispersed

Leaving the woman alone

 

She came to our cart

We didn’t budge

The man followed and was tackled

Violence subdued? I’ll never know what we call justice ensued.

 

This is not the ending of the story for many who take a train

It is not a promise or guarantee

It does not begin the same as mine, with cars that flow in the schedule we have fabricated

 

Some stories are like Nirbhaya, the night shift worker, or the unseen care worker

They all have the same goal: they want to make it home

 

Home is where we all wish to be, and it can be if we dream of futures that guarantee