Good morning Paris

Sometimes when you’re waiting for the train, you stare at the rails dusty and stretching yet glimpsing sometimes, like you’re life, you take a second look and you think, should I jump?

I wait to trains often, every morning when going to work and when coming back home, 5, 6 days a week and sometimes when I’m fortunate to leave the office on lunch time, I take a short trip, just cause it’s not so full and one can take a ride, find a seat and have his therapeutic reflection of life in the price of a metro ticket and a sandwich

On Weekends, when not working, I like to walk. That’s a therapy of a different kind, depending on the weather, I like to meet those strangers you often see on the same metro platform, when walking, doing their shopping, sipping a short espresso, in the café on the corner o our street, looking relaxed and in love of life, not thinking of jumping under ant speeding train god forbid.

So I go back to my thought 2 minutes before the train from St Denis arrives to pick me to work. I have just a few minutes to think in the morning, sometimes I’m grasping the door of the approaching compartment just before the beeping siren tells you it’s closing and if you haven’t been run by the train you may possibly find yourself stuck between its hungry biting doors. Sometimes, the train is stuck somewhere and then I have more time. On my second daily train when exchanging lines, I usually have more time to linger; a less busy line, a less crowded train and less people who wait with you and may think of jumping.

I always wonder about those who wait with me there, do they also have this terrible thought crossing their early morning, not yet awake mind. I think sometimes loudly with a worried curious question mark popping between my eyes , I notice that some people are looking at me back, they may have a problem with this worried woman, that so early reminds them , life is not always so great. I try to correct myself and smile back one of my hinted, private, mysterious yet charming smiles, a gesture of good will to possibly convince them that I am truly optimistic, and that life can be not so bad if you are able to squeeze yourself between the masses and get safely and on time to your work.

On a good day, an interesting one with strangers communicating with you, I get a smile back, a silent smile , not totally convinced about this non written, non spoken dialog of 2 people who goes to a different work but aim to the same destination. I’m good enough with that smile. It means a lot in places like Paris, where thoughts of running trains and troubled water are crossing the path of total strangers

Mostly I get a little nod of the head and in some cases a roll of the eyes and the quick movement of a person hiding behind a paper or a book. Extremely kind people will tell me bonne journée, a good day, but that’s rare. Rare yet so kind, to hear a positive word at the start of a day, a minute before the train comes and picks you from your evil thoughts of jumping under its raging wheels

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