ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Another Monday, another late and crowed 7:34 am service on the Betoota MetroLine service into the Old City District.
Denise Susans hit snooze enough times this morning to find herself without a seat and pressed up against the door.
“I’m usually on the earlier train,” she said defeatedly.
“But I think there’s some trackwork or something. Apparently, there was a sandstorm last night and the Grosvenor Street station copped it,”
“Ah well. I guess I can try to read my book between those deep moments of introspection staring out the window, feeling as if my life is passing by just as fast as the trees are past the window.”
It is in those existential minutes that the 28-year-old wonders if it’s all going to be worth it in the end.
Spear-headed by a quality education at a nice, selective government school. Forged by tertiary qualifications from an institution were gum trees were planed by choice, not by geography.
At times, life was difficult growing up but never unmanageable.
Seemingly significant problems and challenges overcome previously pale in comparison to those she faces now.
“I just need a sign that I’m not just treading water out here in the desert,” she said.
“Everybody else seems to have it all sorted out. Sometimes, I feel like I’m drowning in life. Was it all worth it? The work I’ve done and sacrifices my family made to get me to where I am? Even my own sacrifices? I don’t know and it’s killing me,”
“Jesus Christ, I must’ve had a big weekend if this is what I’m thinking about on the train to work on a Monday.”
The MetroLine train then came to a halt between two stations and the guard did his melancholy duty to inform the passengers that there was yet another delay.
More to come.
