Rush Hour

I just had a really funny thought. I read a scientific study somewhere about different genetic athletic abilities that have been tracked and observed between some ethnicities, and some traits are more prevalent in some populations than others. Europeans were more predisposed to  building muscle mass. Asians were good at conflict and stress management, which explains why all martial arts are from Asia. And Africans and Hispanics were stronger at endurance, for example, long distance running. I’ve seen that happen, when I spend time with latinos I always get tired first. Everyone always tells me I spend too much time in bed.

I was stuck in rush hour on the subway at Medellin, and nobody was stressed. That was so bizarre to me because in Canada, people are miserable and pushing each other and extremely impatient and incessantly try to calculate the fastest and most efficient way to get home. The Colombians, in latino fashion, were happily chatting with their friends, on their phones on social media probably interacting with friends, on whatsapp messaging friends, on video calls with their friends, you get the picture. I think some people were actually making friends. And the rest looked totally relaxed as if they didn’t care at all if they were here or at home. 

The crowd was massive. Starting from about a 100 meter-radius to the metro entrance, the line was crawling. I try to stand in line for 5 to 10 minutes but my impatient, efficiency-wired brain gets the best of me. I groan, palm my face, and turn around. I decide to try to wait it out at a cafe for an hour. It’s raining, I’m cold, this is objectively horrible. I wait a whole hour drinking the same cup of tea twice with more water, until I think, that’s enough, I will go back. I approach the station and there is no change. Actually I think there are more people and the line is even slower. Once inside, and on the platform, it was just a giant block of people. You can’t see the platform floor from any angle. A subway car would arrive, already packed, a few people would fight their way out of the subway, while more people try to pack themselves into it, not caring if their arm or leg is outside the closable limit of the door, just trusting their own insistence alone that they will get on this train. 

For some strange reason, a completely empty subway car shows up. People start cheering. I’m nervous because I’ve heard too many sensational news stories about people getting trampled in crowd stampedes. There are people of all ages, students and older workers. They are either cheering or laughing at the people who are cheering or at the ridiculous situation. I think they know something I don’t. I don’t even try to move my legs, when the subway doors open I get moved from point A to B, from the platform to somehow deep inside that subway, like I am moved by the holy spirit, I am moved by the human river. This is what everyone is laughing about.

 I think there is a short round lady behind me, I know it’s a lady because I can feel her breasts completely squashed on my back, trapping my hair and I’m forced to look up at an angle and not move my neck at all for most of the ride. There’s a tall student in front of me apologetically squeezed against my whole body, embarrassed and trying to create space and totally failing to. I’m embarrassed for him but I smile apologetically, as if saying that the situation is futile. A girl in front of me with pink braces keeps giggling and it’s hard to stay annoyed and impatient and not laugh too. The very loud and active men who have dangerously squeezed themselves against the subway doors are having the most fun, heckling each other. There are older women heckling the men back. I think they are flirting, I am confused. When the subway suddenly moves and stops, I don’t need to hold onto anything or worry about falling, there is nowhere to go. 

I am so worried I won’t be able to escape when my stop comes but no one is worried, so I stop caring too. I have no reason not to worry, no one is able to get off on any stop. Magically, when my stop comes, a row of women in the middle start moving, yelling the stop name ‘hospital!’ And I get on that conga-line. The men guarding the front doors are cheering us on, pushing us out and patting us on the back.

I got home so exhausted I had to recover for over 24 hours. I have been tired and in a bad mood about the rush hour trip for an entire day. I have been irritated when people try to be nice to me. But it clicked now. I finally realized why latinos are never in a hurry, not to leave this subway, not to get home, and why they are always late and nobody cares. I understand why they spend more time outside than resting in bed or the couch or somewhere comfortable. There is no destination of rest. They are just built for endurance.