Cry on public transport. I watch myself in the window of the glass. I stare directly at the person who stares back at me. Eyes sunken and swollen, welling with tears. Jaw clenched, neck craned to the side to face oneself and take in that person for everything they are in that very moment. My hands rest in my lap, clutching my bags with a weak grip, feigning toughness if anyone tries to snatch them from me. My hair falls down the side of my face, tresses pressed against the seat behind me and tucked loosely at my ears. The skin of my face is slick with tear trails and to the untrained eye, I look sweaty. It is summertime, after all. I am a complete and utter mess who deserves the world despite the pain and progress that weighs heavy in my chest. Cry on public transport.

You can be crying and someone will still ask if the seat next to you is free. You will say, yes, you can sit there. And they will say nothing to you, and maybe even move seats at the next stop when they hear you sniffling and realize you aren’t sweating. But still, they sit next to you for a short while. You are a person, getting from one place to another, just like them. Your pain is real and needs to be felt, but the train won’t stop for you. Keep going.

Crying on public transport is good for you. It reminds you of your humanity and insignificance. The world is infinitely large and you will heal with time. So, let yourself cry on public transport. I want to see more people crying on public transport. I’m tired of being the only one. What good is it to hold it in front of strangers? If anything, crying in front of strangers is so freeing. They have no obligation to comfort you, nor do they have the right to shame you. Open the raw wound in a neutral space and you will feel your skin turn over anew.

You will get to your destination regardless.

Take care,
Andre Kim Kessel