“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”
Then, as the subway doors begin to close, I hear the one sound I look forward to every day: Ding-dong.
My weekdays begin about an hour earlier when my alarm wakes me up. As I fight with my body to get out of bed, I wake up next to my niece. Some days, I have to get her ready for pre-K while my mom and my older sister return from their night shifts. On those days, our morning routines start the night before: I make sure we both bathe, brush our teeth, and have our schoolwork ready for the next day.
From the moment I get home from school in the afternoon to the moment I leave the next morning, I juggle my household responsibilities, like babysitting, with my academic ones, like doing my homework and studying for the next big test.
People on my block are often playing loud music, and our upstairs neighbors sometimes sound like they are training for a marathon. Not only do these outside noises get under my skin, but my head can feel noisy, too, because my mind is always thinking about what I have to do next.
But as soon as I step onto the train car, everything seems to get a little quieter, including the thoughts in my head.
I take the 4 train from 167th Street in the Bronx to Brooklyn Bridge–City Hall in Lower Manhattan. The ride should take about half an hour, but that’s only if the MTA is having a good day. A sick passenger, track maintenance, or the dreaded “train traffic ahead of us” announcement can make the commute much longer. And yet, I’ve come to savor the ride, no matter how long it takes.
The only thing predictable about my commute to and from school is that it is always unpredictable. Not one day is the same. I’ve seen passengers dancing, singing, rapping, running from the cops, cursing out conductors, and vomiting all over the train car. Learning to love my commute is something that took time, but once I did, I came to accept all of those annoying little things as part of my city. So, in a way, they are a part of me, too.
My commute is hardly unique. The average New York City high school freshman spends 31 minutes getting to school, though some students commute significantly longer, often taking some combination of subway, bus, ferry, and foot. Thankfully, our student MetroCards give us four free taps a day. In an essay for The New Yorker, the “Saturday Night Live” comedian Colin Jost reminisced about his own 90-minute commute from his home on Staten Island to his high school in Manhattan and how, even to this day, his time in transit “frees his mind to be creative.”
For me, my commute frees me to let go a little. You see, before I step foot onto the train, everything is up to me. Will I wake up on time? Will I get my niece to school before the bell? Will I miss my test? But the moment the train starts moving, all those worries fade into the background. For the next 35 minutes — give or take — I have no responsibilities, no duty to do anything for anybody. The train is the one place where I am just another person moving through the city. My job is to merely exist.
As a teenager, I often feel hyper-aware of everything I do at school. I worry about what people are going to think about my hair, my outfit, the way I speak, etc. I see my classmates every day, and one stupid thing that I do could stick with me for the whole year. On the subway, though, I don’t worry about anyone’s judgment. I don’t know anybody, and nobody knows me.
Growing up, I’ve always had to deal with problems on my own because everyone around me has had their own struggles. At home and at school, I have to be strong, caring, welcoming, responsible, an honor student, the first in my family to be college-bound. I carry the weight of my family’s sacrifices and expectations every day. It’s how I was raised, and all I know how to be.
I hadn’t planned on going to a high school so far from home. I had ranked 12 high schools from first choice to last, but little, delusional eighth grade me assumed I’d get into one of my top five choices, meaning I hadn’t put much thought into my other selections.
Even though my high school, Manhattan Early College for Advertising, was not among my top choices, when I was admitted there, I knew that everything would work out. Brooklyn Bridge–City Hall — that would be my new stop on the 4 train, just about every weekday during the school year for the next four years.
The subway constantly reminds me that life is always moving, always changing.
Being underground forces me to disconnect from social media and be alone with my thoughts. At first, it was uncomfortable. But over time, I started to rely on that relative quiet to prepare for my day. The repetitive clatter of the train wheels drowns out all the other noises and pressures in my life.
It’s honestly the only time I have to myself. On the subway, I enjoy reading for pleasure without feeling like I should be doing something else.
Books are my way of escaping reality. “Dance of Thieves” by Mary E. Pearson, “These Violent Delights” by Chloe Gong, and “The Poppy War” by R.F. Kuang are some of my favorites. On the train, I can fully immerse myself in the struggles and experiences of the main character.
By now, I know exactly where to stand on the subway platform to get a seat. I know by heart which stations are the busiest and recognize the way people start adjusting themselves when they hear they are about to approach their stop.
When I’m sitting down, I notice the little things, I see people in all the different stages in life. There are little kids trying to balance themselves as the train jolts forward, teenagers like me probably headed to or from school, exhausted-looking parents holding their children’s hands, and elderly riders resting their eyes.
I remember after one really stressful day at school, I was struggling to drown out my thoughts on the train. I didn’t want to bring the anger I was feeling home with me. As I was approaching my stop with music blasting in my ears, I noticed a mother with a note sticking out of her lunch bag that read, “have a great day mami I made this with a lot of love.” And just like that, I completely forgot why I was so angry, and the only thought I had was to get home to my family.
The subway constantly reminds me that life is always moving, always changing. Whatever might feel overwhelming in the moment suddenly doesn’t seem so big.
I spend almost six hours on the train weekly. That’s a lot of time, but when I’m on the train, it feels like time stops. My worries no longer feel so heavy when I’m underground.
And sometimes, I crave just a little longer to be frozen in time like that.
But then I hear: “The next stop is…”
And I come back to reality, where time doesn’t stop for anybody in this city, and I rush out of my subway car.
Ginger Roger Ceballos is a high school junior at Manhattan Early College for Advertising. As the youngest of six siblings, she’s learned resilience, adaptability, and the importance of forging her own path. Born in Puerto Rico and raised by her Dominican mother, she moved to New York City when she was 6. Today, she embraces the rich cultures that have come together to shape her identity.
Listen to an audio adaptation of Ginger’s essay on an episode of the PBS News Student Reporting Labs’ podcast, On Our Minds.