City rails
Beneath the bustling streets of the city, hidden from the sunlight and the daily hustle, lies a world of transition and waiting. Metro stations are like silent temples of modernity, where the rush of trains and the murmurs of announcements are the only music. Here, deep underground, the paths of countless people intersect, and the stories of their lives find a stage in the brief moments of travel and waiting.
I stand on the platform of a subway station in Munich, waiting for the next train. A man, whose right hand is a state-of-the-art robotic prosthesis, catches my eye. His face is distinctive, marked by years, but his eyes speak of determination and deep inner strength. I wonder how it happened. Was it an accident at work, a technical failure that changed his world? He wears his prosthesis with such ease that I sense he has decided to keep moving forward in life, despite the setback.
„It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.“
– Audre Lorde
People around me move in a constant stream. On the escalators leading down to the platform level, I see people gliding up and down, as if floating. Their movements are synchronized with the crowd. I see a woman with a headscarf. Her eyes dart back and forth, as if she is expecting someone.
At the exit stands an attractive street musician in a short skirt, holding a violin. She plays a melody that drowns out the noise of the metro, creating a melancholic yet beautiful atmosphere. Her music tells stories of joy and pain that resonate in the hearts of the people around.
I see an unusual shop with the name „Frau Hund“ (Lady Dog). The display is curious and catches the attention of passersby. What might be behind this strange facade? The name alone leaves room for countless stories and speculations.
A group of young people are talking loudly and laughing on the platform. Their faces are full of enthusiasm and joy, the excitement of spending time together is contagious. They seem unaware of the silent dramas around them, or they choose to ignore them.
A child runs past me laughing, followed by his mother, who is a bit exhausted but smiling. This simple, innocent laughter echoes through the station and reminds me of the carefree days of my own childhood before life dealt its blows.
As I stand and wait, I think of the guest workers who came to Germany in droves in the 70s. How must they have felt when they stepped into a foreign world whose language and culture were unknown to them? Were they full of hope for a better life, or filled with fear of the unknown? Did they also stand in such metro stations, uncertain but determined to find their way?
The trains come and go, announcing their arrivals and departures with loud whistles and announcements. Each train brings new stories, new faces into the station, and carries old ones out. It is a constant flow, a never-ending dance of arrivals and departures. In these moments, I realize that the metro station is more than just a place of transit. It is a living, breathing entity, a serpent, a mirror of the human experience.
Amidst all these people, all these stories, I find a strange comfort. I know that I am part of this great whole, even if most do not see me. My own struggles and worries become lighter for a moment as I become aware of the commonality of all human experiences.
The clock shows that my train will arrive soon. The day is coming to an end, and the crowd begins to thin out. The trains run at longer intervals, and the sounds of the station become more subdued. I rise from the bench, smooth my coat, and step onto the platform. The metro station, this place of constant coming and going, remains behind, but the stories I witnessed today stay with me.
I know that in the coming days, I will return to once again witness the human drama that unfolds anew every day. For in the silence of the metro stations, I find a kind of peace, a connection to people and their stories that helps me continue on my own path.
