Speechless or a storyteller?

On the 16^th of March, for the first time, I went on a train journey in Prishtinë. Oddly, the night before that morning it started snowing. I had my doubts of taking the train, and then the snow made it feel even more surreal.

Finally, I found the station. The station was small and the inside seemed as if abandoned. The only two useful things were the wooden benches and the schedule on a piece of paper, hanging on one of the front desk’s windows with none behind it. I took a look at the schedule and decided to go to Drenas. A town I have never been before and to be honest, that was not the reason I chose Drenas. If place matters, then does the travelling really matter?  

Photos by: Vildane Kçiku

The train arrived announcing the passengers by a horn. A bunch of people were getting out. Women helping other elderly women to get out; children waiting for their parents to pass the rails as enthusiastically as they did. Then me, and a lot of others waiting to hop in. Bizarre, isn’t it? How every entry is an exit somewhere else.

As anywhere else, there were strangers. This time they were sitting right next to me. A man and a woman. I did not intend on eavesdropping but unconsciously I noticed they were discussing some contemporary problems. They resembled as old friends, as their conversation was flowing naturally. Later on, an older woman joined them. Immediately, they found themselves in a conversation of three. I smirked at the fact of how fast they started chitchatting, as I knew for myself I could not. Let’s just say I am more of an observer and less of a social butterfly…

We left the station. I started noticing some rail shakings and then horns, whistles, shouting. I was sitting by the window, taking the view in, and for once, I felt as if I were living in a book written in the 1800s. Now, I had a picture of those book descriptions. It felt good to have a chance of living a part of my imagination. It felt… almost normal. Oh, and the landscape! Mountains meeting urban, the contrast of green fields and white mountains. Once again, I was proven life is not always black and white!

As cars were passing by, the sight and the feeling became familiar. A memory of when I was little flashed through my mind. One where I was travelling by car with my family and we saw a train passing. I remembered how I used to imagine of the people inside the train and what they must have felt. The excitement that it gave me remained within me. Only now, in introspective, I remember that the little me used to visualize the older me travelling by train. I could feel the inner child in me exulting.

I notice how today, perhaps there is a child in one of those cars, feeling the same way as I did once about trains. The difference now being that this time, I was the people in the train, I was the girl behind the other window. Today, the little me was another kid, I thought…

The next stop was my stop. I started becoming more aware of my surroundings. How time is a strange thing. As if this journey was all set, all mapped out. All written once. Only for me to reflect on me. In hindsight, I notice how this train journey brought me a fresh yet an aged perspective. Now, it was my turn to leave. My exit was someone else's entry.

Photo by: Ronë Avdyli

  

Vildane Kçiku