A reflection after an unexpected turn of events amidst global pandemic.
The end of my school day is the start of a beautiful adventure — my daily solo commute.
I dash down the steps of the school building and push the heavy dark wooden doors of the Instituto Internacional. I make my way down Calle de Miguel Ángel, matching my steps unconsciously with the beat of the song playing in my headphones.
I take in my surroundings. I gaze at the cityscape, an infrastructural blend of modern and historic architecture. I pass little shops and restaurants, locals chatting over drinks in cafes and dogs walking their owners.
Bikers whiz by, narrowly avoiding pedestrians. The traffic of cars and motorcycles steadily roll through streets as pedestrians line up on both sides of the crosswalk, eagerly awaiting the forbidding red man to turn green.
There are crowds of vehicles and people — all on the streets in different forms and for different reasons but united in their daily commute.
From the streets of Miguel Ángel, I find my way down into the tunnels of the metro stop, Gregario Maranon, and onto the train. I’m heading back home on Line 7.
A bell chime rings through the speakers on the train, breaking the silence with an announcement of the next stop — “Proxima parada ... Alonso Cano.”
The train stops, the doors swing open and passengers who’ve reached their destination spill out of the cart and onto the platform.
Ding ding. “Proxima parada … Canal.”
New mixes of people shuffle in and out of the cart with each passing stop, bringing their uniqueness and stories along for the ride. Each traveler’s destination is a secret only they know but perhaps subtly exposed through their clothing or companions.
I see a woman in a business suit, phone pressed against her cheek — “The office,” I guess.
Then, there’s the group of preteens with backpacks and textbooks clutched tightly to their chest — “School,” I assume.
Ding ding. “Proxima parada … Islas Filipinas” — I’m home.
***
Now, back in the states, weeks after the study abroad program was cut short, I’m no longer in the temporary place abroad that I once called home. I’m quarantined — as everyone else should be — trying to make things work.
In my final days in Madrid, I watched my commute become less dreamy and more dreary. Instead of passengers innocently traversing to and from point A to point B, there was a lingering sense of caution that filled each cart.
As the days went by and COVID-19 cases rose, face masks and gloves became a more common sight. People did their best to avoid holding railings. There were even moments when an innocent clearing of the throat was followed by paranoid stares and shifty eyes from
other passengers.
Now in Madrid, the streets stand still and the tunnels of the metro echo with silence. Moovit, an urban mobility app, reported an 84% decline in public transport ridership throughout the city.
For the safety of the small percentage of people who still rely on the public transportation system, the Government of the Community of Madrid is ensuring that vehicles are disinfected daily and are working to maintain measures such as a permanently open entrance and exit to help passengers avoid touching door handles.
Life as we know it has drastically changed, and we are now living in a completely different state of reality. The transformation I saw in my commute, while a seemingly minor change in daily life, only proves how deep these changes run.
As I sit at home in quarantine, I not only reflect on life abroad but also on life before the epidemic, awaiting a return to normality and the routine of a daily commute.