Commute is to travel some distance between one’s home and place of work on a regular basis. . . . So then a commuter must be the one doing the commuting. Here, that commuter is me.

Commuting fascinates me. It has from the moment I started doing it a few months ago. I see many of the same faces heading to the same places; we must live near each other, what with us taking the same train, but we never speak or get to know each other. Always moving, always forward.

The strict monotony of the journey lulls us all to sleep. We don’t see anymore. See the colors, the craftsmanship, the plight of the poor. We don’t feel anymore, the exhilaration of the city, the anticipation of the travel, the joy of wellness and the freedom to move.

These photographs are a story, the story of one commute. The images were all taken on the same day. I left for work in the dark, and I returned home in the dark. I rode the train. I frequented my desk. I got lunch. I went for a walk. I rode the train again. It was just a day, an ordinary day, but here it is, captured in this essay of light and texture.


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