It was beginning of the year 1995 when this particular train arrived at the platform. Knowing I don’t have another choice I crawled inside the wagon and it instantly moved off. The first few years of the journey passed me in a blink of an eye, astonished by the speed I began to worry the ride will end soon but the train prevailed through all.
Once I learned how to walk I was able to look out the window and see the world for the first time. Frightened be the size of it I just stared and soaked in all that I could. When I comprehended the language, that’s when I met the driver of this strange machine. He told me that now we are able to make stops, and while the train stops I am to leave and make memories before we go any further.
And so I did, equipped with a camera, notepad and voice recorder I left the train each time it stopped. Trying to remember as much as my little mind could, I made pictures of my parent’s faces and recorded their laughter, made my first sketches of the land and learned how to write. At the end of each day or sometimes just a moment, I boarded the train again, storing all the memories away in the next carriage.
The driver talked to me again, he said the memories are what fuels the machine and it is what will allow me to grow, therefore for the indefinite amount of time this train will run I should make as many as I can. I was stopping more and more often since, remembering faces, voices, songs, images, smells and feelings. Making a note of them all I gathered them all, first candy first bike first fish caught. First laugh, first tear and first scream all recorded in some shape or form sitting in the rear wagon.
Fleeting moments caught in time filled the wagons, not all were happy, nobody is ever truly happy there were also first fights and first bruises, first streaks of blood and a collection of scars I can’t store away, only carry them.
This Express 95 keeps rolling through life, through the sun and rain and through the snow and pain. People board it to sit with me for a moment and then leave. Seeing places pass by and not a single one is the same even when returned to. After a decade I left the mainland looping tracks few times on an island. Two decades later the rain still goes strong on the uneven surface, we make less stops now but each more significant, each new memory will fuel the train for years to come.
After 23 years we are moving forward gaining speed and adding other carriages. The newest wagon, it is always engulfed by a semi-shadow, in there I will take some of my old memories and repaint them with my new thousand words.
Slowly getting back to writing here, I have a lot of ideas for new posts it is just the matter of finding time without distractions to write them.