Mangos in Training

So here we find ourselves six months later and so much has changed in our little mango world...

It's Monday, so naturally that means that I'm currently surrounded by the entire commuting population of the Gold Coast (apparently the 7.12 train is quite popular) and attempting to ignore my most basic of instincts to stand up with the rest of them. On the Monday train, I find the most comfortable place to be is wedged in, with the lower areas of my spine held up by the outstretched foot of one person, legs
in place thanks to the elbows of two others, face resting snugly against the outer window of the train, using my teeth against the glass for support. It's a very good way to form supportive relationships. If you're stuck crowd surfing on the top layer of tin-can travellers, reeling back and forth with the inertia of coming and going, always at the mercy of the people below you, then it is a bad day. These things you just learn. Truthfully though, the only real chair I have is sitting between the door of the train
and the back of someone else's chair which would be fine (it's the best spot to sleep) if there wasn't sixteen people standing around me. What I find strange is that a child in the same situation would make the common sense decision to sit down where there is room, rather than struggle to stay standing, one arm up holding on, two legs struck against the ground like it's a surfboad, hips swinging like Elvis, riding the crazy wave all the way to Brisbane. My favourite is guys who stand in the centre of the aisle, arms crossed without holding on, a stern look through expressionless sunglasses, facing the front of the train and daring it to turn and attempt to knock them over. 'Come on Train, I'll have ya!' A group of children in the same situation would realise that sitting down makes more sense – you can control your body better as the train speeds up, turns and slows, everybody is reasonably comfortable, and you don't find yourself in the situation of having someone else's crotch at face height, and at an undeniably too close a distance. You'd think it would be equally as uncomfortable to be standing in that position, but apparently not. Even in the rather submissive world of train travel, there is still a struggle to be on top.
Or on the bottom, sometimes it would seem. A lady in my first week had given me a taste of the ridiculous things humans as a collective do. Whilst a supporter of the 'everyone sits' rule, there is an exception – when the train is so full that sitting is physically not possible due to sheer volume of  travellers. Then it's probably rude, and definitely uncomfortable to be sitting. This lady in question (I called her the floor-sprawler) took it upon herself to take up as much room as humanly possible,  spreading her effects from one end of the floor to another, stretching her legs out, lying back,reading the god-awful excuse for a newspaper they throw at you at the train station (the price pretty much sums up the quality of that particular literary masterpiece), when it was plainly obvious that the rest of us were only staying so still because of how tightly we were boxed in together. Then she finished reading the insightful story about how summer days were hot in Queensland, and decided it was a good time to
do her taxes, or something – something that included a great deal of paperwork, her two attorneys (she took them from her bodybag sized backpack that she was resting on top of my foot) and an abacus. This the rest of us held up for her (it was a large abacus – you need a large one to do your taxed) by acting like a group  of human bookends. Needless to say when she finally packed up and left, we realised there wasn't actually anyone else even on the train – it had just been her crap taking up all the seats. At the same time as this, something else very strange was happening. An Indian man had worked his way into the corner I had been resting in a moment ago without me even realising. He had done this by getting close – very, very close. He would have literally been inhaling my exhaled Carbon Dioxide. And not facing an opposing direction like you do on a train, staring past one's shoulder at nothing, pretending like neither is there at all. No, this man was centimetres away from me, staring directly through me. So naturally, to stop us both collapsing from lack of oxygen, I moved every so slightly, at which point he made his.

The world of trains is a very weird one. It's a world of people spending two hours together every day without really wanting to. Everybody is just doing their own thing, having their own time in the company of a thousand others without acknowledging any of them. And I don't think anyone really has a problem with that either – it's just accepted. We all at least share the same view of wanting to work in
one lifestyle and live in another, that's our commonality, and the rest is just pleasant, warm, comfortable silence. Sometimes though you do get a sense of hopelessness amongst them, if you actually bothered to pay attention; with their neutral expressions and dawdling steps to anywhere they're going. I find the people who fall so desperately asleep that they have the mouths open, and sprawl out in their tiny space (as I find myself doing every now and then) or sharing a laugh with somebody attempting to decipher the stuttered, broken speech of the trains speakers, or even a spring still in someone's step – something to indicate life exists there somewhere. I think we can caught up too easily sometimes in ignoring each other - you could go a whole month without really seeing anybody.
But it can be very interesting what you do see if you just unglazeyour eyes. Like the man on the unicycle I saw the other week, riding to work – that no-one else appeared to notice. Wasn't that the greatest thing they had seen that day? I see a man everyday who could be a Colombian gangster, but probably isn't. The other day I thought I saw Saddam Hussein – the real shabby one they found in that hole. Another day I watched a couple talking to each other and they were both so happy, standing, chatting excitedly; then some seats became available and the girl sat down but the guy didn't, and her entire presence changed completely – she almost seemed like she was going to cry. There's people who don't get off chairs for others who really need to sit, and there's people that will speak up about it. There's others that are quite happy to ride the floor, and seek the best position against the walls whilst the getting's good. Everybody with a different story, a different type of morning, a different book to
read. It's earth, it's the human race, in microcosm of ancient graffiti'd steel and much-too-bright flouros. So you will get the ones that ignore each other, and those that will help when it's needed, those that will sit on the seats they brought with them despite there being plenty of seats available, and then there'll be those, like the guy next to me, who just won't sit the hell down! Seriously!

So you might imagine that our lifestyle has changed quite a lot in the past six months. Moving a family of five away from schools and friends and the only house we had known since becoming this crazy little circus, and back to a place we hadn't had a life since before all this had happened, when we were very different people, is quite a big deal. One we're still dealing with, slowly, inch by inch putting our life together to run like the old clockwork. It's trying to find that playground you go to because you know it so well, the video store that becomes yours – that set of places that you understand to be your
world and the routine of daily life that comes naturally all of a sudden. Of course, that takes some time, everything is always just a little different. But our little mangos are resilient, they adapt to new situations and make their world and find their happiness very easily where they can, as opposed to us adults. The main thing is we are doing it together and that's the only thing you can hope. Because at the end of it all, when looking back at this time in our lives, the only picture we should really be looking for is that our home was always where our family was – that's really the only qualifier. So at
the moment, I suppose it literally is running a bit like this train – it's pretty much on time, sometimes you miss it and have to wait another hour or until the next new moon or whenever it is they schedule these things, and every now and then it just doesn't get to where it's going at all and leaves you stranded on some unknown outer Brisbane suburb for who knows how long – it's just a learning curve
and until you get round it, things will just be just a little bit uncomfortable. Sort of like the verterbrae of the man I'm using as an arm rest.