Before I get on the train I am a vibrant hue: a colorful girl whose laughter jumps out from the rest. Stepping off the train, I cross the bold yellow line that starts a race into the bigger world. The patter of purposeful steps and noise of animated conversations urge my mind to catch up with the rhythm that pulses throughout the crowd and surges inside the hearts of each. Intent eyes and smiles that were not on their schedule distract from the clay tile floor that silently bears each person’s weight. The still dark walls patiently wait for us to determine the difference between where we think we’re going, and where we are actually heading. They stand, silent and gray, as a backdrop to the bold mural of life swishing past them, while glinting metal poles reflect the distorted images of those who pass.

Gripping the handle of my violin case a little tighter, I move toward the pristine red bench that beckons me to sit. Glancing around I hear a little voice twitter from not far away, its pitch cutting through the flat voice of the conductor and the rumble of trains: “Look, Mommy! There’s a violin!” A brief smile from her mother and a little push not to stare is all she receives for this brilliant announcement as the crowd sucks them along. I glance in their direction, only to quickly look away: I have learned the unspoken rules of the station. We all move together, but we must also busy ourselves separately. We are a vibrant mural of lives, colors, emotions, but it is simply too hard to make the plunge into another person’s life; we continue to walk separately, our lives barely brushing and our minds refusing to touch.

A tiled wall at the far end of the station reflects the emotions and experiences moving below. It stands as burst of light against the gray surroundings: a collage of brightly colored tiles blend together to create the picturesque scene that covers an entire wall. The bold colors stand firmly next to each other- they don’t mix, they merely touch. The separation begins to fade as you move farther away and see the picture for what it is, but the unmixable colors continue to stand firmly next to each other. Each tile is separate, yet blended as a whole; each hue is different, yet beautifully contrasted with the next; each life is its own, yet we are all painted together into one setting.

A violet girl bustles to the stairs without making eye contact with anyone, while a royal blue college student swaggers over to join his friends’ boisterous conversation. A deep black toddler screams his disapproval to an amber grandmother who is feebly attempting to hush him, while a chestnut man slumps leisurely on the bench to read a newspaper. Together we make up one breath-taking picture of dark and light colors, emotions and experiences, yet we remain separate. There is some invisible line that has been drawn between us - we dare not cross it, for the danger is unthinkable. Something holds us back. Something prevents us from making eye contact with the person waiting two inches from us or merely starting a conversation with an intriguing stranger. Some observe in silence, others simply ignore those around them. From the red bench, I notice the lack of connection despite the bustle and noise. I determine to be different: I will love.

Before, the train station appeared cold and gray in my eyes. I feared its towering walls, its constant noise, its sleek darkness; now I see beauty. I see beauty in the collage of lives, the mix of feelings, the experiences that cross momentarily. Our jumbled colors create the beauty that is mirrored by the scene depicted on the wall. Many scurry and tip-tap to their destinations, some wander as their eyes flit around to read the clean, bold signs. A woman clicks along with highlighted hair swishing behind, unaware of the tattooed arm that barely brushes hers. Glancing eyes and smiling wrinkles blend together to create one heartbeat, one color, one collage. Yes, we are many, but we are also one - and that is our beauty.

Though many do not notice the surroundings, I love this building that holds such movement and collision. I feel the air circulate around me, dense with feelings and scents. I brush by a man who smells of cigarette smoke, a woman sweetened by the flowers she holds. A baby wails his indignation causing heads to turn and glance at the squirming bundle with his reddening mother. Though we keep to ourselves, we are there together. The intimacy and separation grasp at each other. There is beauty despite the dull grays and cold metal. There is movement; there is life.

The mural that paints itself in the station is not blended, but it is fascinating. The unspoken boundary will not remain unbroken: my bright color will begin to mix with the rest. I will speak and love. I will find humanness in a gray surrounding; I will not pretend to be alone.

We are not alone.