crossroads

1

the yellow sky slowly sinks down to greet the blue that reflects the ocean beneath it. the white clouds' transformation is almost complete as a few peach-colored spots are visible on the feather-like edges. seagulls gawking as they fly to the sky that you're looking at while leaning against the bright red yet rusty railing. the breeze that the sea blows lightly kisses your cheeks, making your hair flow along with the ends of the white top of today's uniform. the corner of your lips is signaling to your brain that it is tugging up, to greet the new day with a positive light like the ball of fire that is crawling up somewhere on the edge of the horizon of today. it makes a smile on your face, just perfect enough to make you feel good, and a muffled rumbling sound came from behind as it remains before falling into its normal state.

turning around to see the digital clock on top of the station's name, seeing the 07:30 with a blinking 'on time' words right beside the set of numbers, you see the blurry train coming closer and closer as the brake screech the rails beneath the pit the train will go by. people all around you—all uniformly wearing formal clothes with different types of bags on each of their figures—stood behind the faded yellow tiles on the edge of the platform as the train cars smoothly stopped in front of all the passengers, followed by a hiss as the door opens. the announcement coming from the speakers stops as the train settles down.

the commuters step into the train, some looking down to be careful of the gap. commuters of all ages and genders, from the most preppy to the most extravagant. all you can observe from your corner of the train car, but you choose not to. leaning against the small width wall between the seats and the sliding doors, you faced the door as it is closing. picking up the phone from inside your skirt pocket, wired earphones already plugged as you trail the wires up to the rounded buds already in both ears since you left home, you greet the music app interface and play the korean indie music playlist that you've curated, peeking from the corner of your eyes at the ocean, slowly getting left behind as the train runs away beside it. the place where you will stay for the next five minutes.

it took 1 hour and 22 minutes, give or take, and three different railway lines every weekday for you to commute to school from home. waking up at 06:30 to prepare yourself and help prepare with mom. by 07:15, you have to go to the station to get the 07:30 train that comes every 15 minutes. tirelessly exchanging from junction to junction to junction of hallways of people every time you walk to ride the various trains, making you able to sense the changing tracks one right after the other, like a sixth sense, by hearing how the metals clank beneath your feet as the train went by a large junction full of complicated tracks near seoul station. and always being able to know when to walk on the inside or the outside part of the sidewalk when you have to turn or cross a crossing.

for the longest time, you thought your legs might give in after a couple of times commuting for kilometers every school day. nonetheless, your legs have sustained, knowing that it has adapted to your overall main variety of mobility: walking. gaining the ability to sustain because of the small town where you are from, the ability coming from playing with friends on the asphalt road of the neighborhood, the sandy surfaces of the beach as it overlooks the blue space full of water, or the soft prickly tingles of the grass on the green rolling hills.

looking up at the morning sky, you see a few rays of the sun protruding out as it is covered by the high rises and tall towers, a much different view from home where the buildings are two stories high and the utility poles are the tallest structures existing there. you grip onto the straps of the backpack on your shoulder, seeing the enormous set of buildings behind bushes, trees, and brick walls with silver fences in between. crossing the last black and white stripes of the morning, you view cars driving before and after you crossed, cruising to the entrance of the complex. a few of their backseat windows are thinly tinted, making the people inside visible—all seem to be around your age. stalling to breathe, your pace slows down from the stable walk that you kept out on the road and transits between rail lines, readying yourself to face the same things you faced every day since the start of the second year.