The Love-Hate Relationship with My Daily Commute

Things are constantly changing, and the hectic office life can be a bit stressful, but this much daily travel is now like me having no spare time for myself. And why so? Because I have to travel to the office for around five and a half hours daily, and then back home. This travel is somehow good for me because it keeps my mind away from overthinking like everything, but then on the other hand, it makes me tired like fuck.

I get to pause my thinking, I get to be calm… but with a tired ass.

Then the daily dispute on the metro. I hate travelling through it; people don’t leave any space. As a writer, I have to be a people person, and I am… but that depends on my mood. I can’t entertain anyone after the hectic office life, and we have to wait for the metro station from the office. Because guess what? The mere distance, overloaded with traffic, which usually takes around 20 minutes to commute from office to Huda City Centre, takes me around 30 to 45 minutes after office, just because of traffic. And then, yes, I can spend on rapidos for some time only… because it is fucking expensive.

By the time I step out of the office, it’s like the whole city has decided to move at once. The air smells of dust, exhaust fumes, and that faint burnt smell from food carts cooking roadside pakoras. My ears are already ringing from honks layered over each other, drivers leaning out of windows shouting at no one in particular, and the occasional blaring siren slicing through the chaos. I speed-walk to the station because I know if I miss that one train, the next will be more packed than a jar of pickles.

The metro ride itself feels like being packed into a moving box of human noise. Someone’s phone is blasting a reel on full volume, another person is talking on a call like they’re auditioning for a megaphone job, and there’s always that one stranger who somehow manages to step on your shoe and elbow you in the ribs in the same motion. My bag digs into my shoulder, my legs ache from standing, and the smell of sweat, damp clothes, and perfume fighting for dominance clings to the air.

When I finally get a seat, it’s like winning the lottery. My shoulders drop, my grip on the pole loosens, and I can finally put my headphones in to drown out the chaos. Sometimes my playlist syncs perfectly with the ride, a slow song as the train glides through an empty stretch, a beat drop just as we rush into a dark tunnel. I forget I’m in a crowd and just… breathe for a few minutes.

But most days, when I reach home, my body feels like a sack of bricks. My brain is too tired to think, my stomach is running on just water, and my patience for human interaction is down to zero. I scroll aimlessly through my phone, not even processing half of what I see, and then it’s suddenly midnight and I’m setting alarms to do it all over again.

And yet, there are rare moments that keep me going, catching a sunset from the metro window, feeling a cool breeze at an open platform after a humid day, overhearing a stranger’s funny conversation that makes me chuckle. Those moments feel like tiny life rafts in an ocean of exhaustion.

I tell myself it’s temporary. That by September, I’ll have my evenings back, my weekends will feel like weekends again, and I won’t have to measure my life in train stops and traffic signals. But until then, I’m here, surviving on coffee, music, and the stubborn hope that this commute will just be a story I tell one day.