I have never really gotten on well with trains. Today I waited for two and a half hours for a train from Lancaster to Philadelphia; originally this was because my train was running late. The platform was filled with college students going on fall break, which made me feel old and grumpy. Then, because it was so late, people from the next train got on my train because they wanted to be going. I was greatly annoyed, but the following train was empty and quiet, which was nice. Then a tree fell across the tracks and I got stuck between Lancaster and Philadelphia.
I can’t really think of a happy train experience that I have had. Usually my trains are late or stopped or diverted or have no electricity or smell like burning rubber. Once, when I was studying abroad, my friend and I got tickets on what appeared to be an overnight train to Scotland. Actually, we had tickets on trains during the night: three trains, to be exact. We ended up sitting in the Manchester-Piccadilly train station from one am till about 5:30 am, freezing cold and watching druggies get arrested. (Seriously. And when we tried to sit in the women’s bathroom, the attendant told us it wasn’t allowed.)
When we visited the UK as a family following my high school graduation, we took a train that had to be evacuated for some reason. I remember the conductor being surprised I read Jane Austen novels for fun. We had to be bussed to our destination, and I believe we missed our flight. My dad was not pleased. As I think back over my memories, I am consistently impressed and awed by what my parents were willing to do with us four kids. Seriously, we did so many things and went so many places.
When we first moved to Thailand, we took an actual overnight train to Chiang Mai from Bangkok with our multitude of trunks and suitcases (there were over 12, counting carry-ons and personal luggage). There wasn’t a luggage car, so these items were staggered throughout our car and people kept tripping over them. The train was old and slow, and I couldn’t sleep, partly out of excitement that we were FINALLY going to be in our new “home” but also because the train kept jerking and also I was afraid of being kidnapped. (Don’t ask me why. I just was.) Later, in high school, I took a train trip to Bangkok with my friends and we stayed up all night playing the longest game of Uno in the history of all things. That trip wasn’t quite as bad, but I much prefer a plane.
This week I have managed to take both a bus and now a train. I also helped my parents move some of their things. “It wouldn’t be a moving day without you!” my mom told me. As I dragged their boxes up the stairs I thought about how many times I have done this. I recently filled out an application that required all my addresses for the past seven years, and honestly, there are a few I cannot remember. Each move made sense at the time. I always feel compelled to explain why I do what I do. It seems crazy, I want to tell everyone I meet, I know, it is kind of crazy, but you just don’t understand…
Today, at this moment, all this seems so tiring. My normal is chaos, and boxes, and uncertainty. The theory I’ve been reading for fun and thesis talks a lot about space and place and identity. “Place as process” is an idea I can get behind. No fixed self. That is such a relief because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fix upon anything or anyplace.
Also, just give me planes. Planes are so much easier. And faster.
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