Inside the rather dingy metro station, men in suits lighten up the atmosphere. They are headed to Georgetown for work and I only get to see them come and go. You see, I go to the opposite direction to catch my 9 am class. If I were a careless woman and didn’t mind missing class, I would ride with them and see where they’re headed to. I am not careless however; in fact I am very punctual and quite paranoid when it comes to making it on time. Let me just jump to what I really want to write about. I want to write about the little memories Nura, Swati and I are making on our little tours on buses and metros. We encounter old, creepy (please don’t be offended if you think you are old) men who stare at us, scrutinizing our every move because we are teenagers and rebels? We also run into hotties, or attractive boys if you want to be traditional, and wonder if they are single. We make random, yet surprisingly sophisticated and intellectual conversations and move on with our day. You could say we are the average teen, talking about guys, Hollywood, books, people, fantasies, obsessions and so forth. But what we see is shared only by us. No one, not even the old man who thinks he can read our minds knows what we think, what we plan to do with our lives.
Inside a rather empty metro, I look a the black watch on my wrist, the one my older brother bought from New York. Time is important these days. So is every little second that passes, every second that we see those men in suits, every second that we see a life we all want to live. I see the metro and I think Paris, Belgium, a tour de France. I think cities and packed subways and…maybe men in black suits!
The point is, life is too short my friends. So the next time you get on a metro, watch carefully. Things happen too fast…