Eyes Across the Underground

I ride the underground daily, which is part of my routine when going to work. I love routines; they keep my mind grounded, help me focus, and keep me away from wandering thoughts. For those routines, I divide each area or location into positive habits to practice. For example, while on the underground on my way to work, I have assigned “reading” as the perfect time to get my head inside a book and travel somewhere else, to see other people in the connection of my imagination and the author’s, to laugh, to cry, to simply wonder how one person can write and imagine all those mesmerising stories.

Sometimes, though, I don’t read. I gaze instead—taking everything in, watching what’s happening around me, and somehow connecting, imagining why the guy in front looks so worried and anxious. Is it work? Is it that the rent went up? Is it that life is just too much right now? What about the lady with the angry face and an air of grandiosity, as if she’s better than everyone? I wonder what makes her look like that. A rough childhood? Lack of love? Or is it simply her natural expression?

My mom says that you can see people’s souls through their eyes. This is true if you are looking to look deeper and see the reality. Sometimes, it isn’t apparent unless you genuinely want to see it.

I understand how a great writer can develop many types of individuals and characters by observing, looking through their eyes, searching and connecting. I could say that when I wander around observing and don't open my book, I create my own stories just like reading; I can also laugh, cry, and simply feel! Real-life passes before me: the person running late, children finishing homework, parents ignoring them, lovers interlocked in the crowd, the sleepy construction worker, the elderly searching for eye contact to find a seat, and people experiencing homelessness who are often ignored. Then there are the smells—sometimes unpleasant, sometimes a strong perfume. Certain scents bring back memories, taking me back years or months. Most mornings, it’s coffee; in the evenings, it’s the tempting aroma of fried chicken.

Riding the underground is life itself, and it is often better not to be ignored but to be lived. Occasionally, though, life feels too heavy to notice. During my breakup, I couldn’t focus on anything—not books, not people, not even myself

A few months ago, during those rough times, I was unable to read or do anything really, but I had to show up in places, and I needed to ride the underground; I was so deeply sad that my time was spent thinking about me and my tragedy rather than connecting with what was happening around me, my mind kept going over my mistakes—what I don’t have, what I haven’t achieved yet, my imperfections. Anything my brain could think of to convince me I wasn’t worthy of love; I did not care about anything else; my mind had no space; it was overcrowded with all that negative load, and at some point, I could not take it anymore. I was suddenly sobbing on the train, embarrassed.

As I tried to clean myself and hide my sadness, I looked up and across from me sat a young, beautiful girl—mid-twenties, maybe. To my surprise, she was crying too. Our eyes met, and at that moment, we just connected; we didn't have to talk; we only saw each other and felt it. We shared our sadness—the warmth of our tears, the weight of our overcrowded minds, and the struggle to stop crying. But at that moment, we connected; our locked gaze felt like saying to each other, “Whatever is going on with you right now, I get it; you are not alone, and we are not alone”. The next stop was hers; we continued looking at each other while she stood up, left her seat, and left the train. She stopped; we smiled and waved goodbye to each other as the train moved. It was a magical moment that I did not understand then, but it made me feel calmer and accompanied.

As I write this reflection with a clearer mind, away from the turbulence I once experienced, I can now put in words the profound reminder that came with that experience: we often get so lost in our thoughts, worries, and pain that we forget to look up. But when we do, we find that the world around us is full of stories, connections, and people who, like us, are navigating their own struggles. In the grand tapestry of life, we are all just threads—important, yes, but part of something much larger and more beautiful when woven together. Perhaps the key is to remember that our burdens, though heavy, are not everything. Sometimes, the way forward isn’t found within ourselves but in the connections we make with the world around us.