At the age of 12, I began to take the train which would shape my relationship with the city in ways I never expected. My mother could no longer drop me off at school because of her new job hours which meant I had to take the train alone for the first time, making the next morning very nerve wracking. However, I wasn’t the one to complain due to understanding she couldn’t control her hours.
That morning, my alarm went off at 6:30 A.M., and I got out of bed, already dreading the early morning routine. The night before, my mother and I had gone over my commute using Google Maps, which estimated my travel time at an hour. Seeing that time frame on the screen made me realize that I had to start waking up very early daily. I knew waking up early and taking the train every day would be a challenge but I didn’t complain. At 7:00 A.M. I left my house which gave me an extra 30 minutes in case I got lost. The private middle school I went to provided students with metro cards with three rides per day. Even though I had never needed to use mine before I’m glad I had one. Standing in front of the turnstile, I pulled out my Metro Card, swiped it, and watched as the number of rides changed from three to two.
Finding the downtown train was easy, but I double-checked my route using Google Maps just to be sure. My trip involved a transfer so I had to be attentive to know when I needed to get off. However, once I got on the train, I had no service, leaving me with nothing to do but look around seeing everyone doing something different. Everyone around me was in their own world—scrolling through their phones, reading, listening to music, or simply resting with
their heads down.
Once I got off for my transfer, the train station was confusing so I had to ask for help which was scary because I’m shy and 12 year-old me wasn’t the best with finding his voice. However, I overcame that obstacle because I would rather talk to a stranger than deal with my mother getting mad at me. As I looked around, I recognized the expressway my mother used to take when driving to my aunt’s house in Queens. It was comforting, as if the city itself was guiding me.
By 7:45 A.M., I was still waiting for my train and I began to panic. I knew I had to walk from the station to my school which made every minute feel like a countdown to me being late. Finally, at 7:50 A.M., the train arrived, and I got on. I sat down and checked my uniform and book bag, making sure that I had everything I needed. Five stops later, I stood up abruptly since I was already running behind. I had a ten-minute walk, but given the time—8:14 A.M.—I picked up my pace. By 8:20 A.M., I was at my school relieved. I texted my mother to let her know I had arrived safely, and she responded with a celebratory emoji. Over the next few days, the train became less of a challenge. I memorized my route and soon found myself among the commuters who effortlessly navigated the city’s subway system. I started listening to music on my rides, just like everyone else, and before I knew it, the train had become a familiar space.
As I grew older, my relationship with the subway and the city deepened. When I started high school in Manhattan, my commute from Brooklyn meant crossing boroughs daily. But by then, the subway was no longer hard to navigate.. I could go anywhere—school, events, or meetups with friends—without depending on anyone. Even my mother began asking for my help navigating the system for her own commutes.
The train represents more than just transportation; it symbolizes my growth and independence. It has connected me to the city in a way, allowing me to experience its rhythms, diversity, and energy firsthand. Through the subway, I have come to understand New York City as a place of movement, resilience, and endless possibility. Looking back, I am grateful that my mother pushed me to take the train. What once felt like an overwhelming challenge turned out to be one of the most valuable experiences of my life. It taught me how to navigate the city, solve problems, and embrace independence.
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