Late at night, I arrive at the station, waiting to change to the final train heading home. I watch train after train enter the station, grind to a halt and open its doors. Some enter, barely anyone leaves. As the green lights turn red and the doors close again, as the transformers and electric engines shriek through the night and the wheels finally start rolling again, I peer into faces of many weary travellers, some leaning against the windows half asleep, few talking to their neighbours, most deeply invested in their smartphone, all eager to arrive home. Each face tells the story of a day full of events waiting to come to an end, each a life to be lived that I will probably never know about.
Across the rails and platforms, tall buildings reach into the sky. Some show the brutalist uniformity of office windows that have mostly extinguished their lights, others show homes to those fortunate enough to afford such lodging. The apartment complex has been recently erected and its designers made the curious choice of outfitting each and every room with a single large, floor-to-ceiling window facing the train station. Contrary to the office building next-door, most windows are illuminated and surprisingly few are covered by curtains, let alone shutters, granting us weary travellers a rather intimate insight into the lives lived across.
For years now, whenever I wait for my final train to arrive, I travel to this station and, often half-asleep, wonder what kind of lives are tucked away behind, what stories are being written as mine ground to a halt, waiting. With amusement I observe how some have taken great care in picking just the right hue of light to match this fading evening, while others irradiate their home with light befitting sunglasses. Every once in a while, someone walks by, casting shadows on the curtains. Some even spend their evenings with sports, but most windows portray but a still life.
For years now I pass by this place, never deliberate or with intention, always briefly and transitory. Yet despite its transient nature, this non-place rarely fails to make me pause and, late at night, invites me to perceive my surroundings. To look into the faces of those around me, observe their stories, see their lives, their humanity, otherwise hidden behind the veil of everyday life.