I actually had the option not to take the KRL to Taman Ismail Marzuki (TIM), but I decided to go anyway. I’d been feeling stuck, and whenever that happens, I crave something new. New places, new faces, new perspectives. It’s my way of remembering to appreciate the small things that already make life whole.
I thought that if I couldn’t come up with fresh ideas, at least I could open myself up to spotting new experiences or maybe opportunities. For me, that means starting with something simple. So I set myself a little experiment: take the KRL during rush hour, head to the library, and stay until evening. Just to see what it feels like to live a day in the shoes of a career woman. Leaving in the morning, coming back at night, right at the end of the month, when offices are usually drowning in deadlines.
At Kebayoran Station, my little experiment almost failed at the very first step. When the first train arrived, the crowd was packed so tightly that I couldn’t move. The thought of forcing myself into that sea of bodies, getting wedged at the door, barely able to breathe. It terrified me! I let the train go. Then the second one came, just as crowded. I told myself I couldn’t keep waiting for an easier ride. This was exactly the reality I had come to witness.
So I pushed myself forward. I slipped through the crowd, bumped into a few people, and finally found a small space. It wasn’t comfortable or spacious, but it was enough. In that moment, I realized that opportunity sometimes just means refusing to step back.
The trip was unexpectedly lively. On the MRT, it’s rare to hear people chat, but on the KRL, women were everywhere, sharing the ride with friends, catching up on work stories, packed so tightly they could hardly move. Some were talking about their children, already juggling family responsibilities in the early hours. Still, most of them had their phones in hand. No matter how crowded it got, they still managed to scroll, as if their bodies had been trained for this routine. For real!
When I reached Tanah Abang Station, a large crowd suddenly got off and stopped right in front of the Cikarang / Bekasi platform. At first, I wondered if this many people really traveled all the way from Rangkasbitung just to work in Bekasi. Surely some did, but could there really be that many?
It turned out they weren’t waiting for another train at all. They were simply using the cars as a shortcut into the new building nearby instead of climbing the stairs. And of course, I followed them. I had been watching their movements from the beginning. How could I not? This was exactly what I meant by spotting opportunities. For regular commuters, it might be nothing unusual, but for me, it was a new lesson in how people adapt to their surroundings.
In that moment, I noticed that commuting is almost a skill in itself. It’s not just about getting from point A to point B. It’s about endurance, adaptability, and the small routines that make the trip easier.
From there, I switched to TransJakarta toward Cikini. That part of the journey was familiar, but the atmosphere was different. On the bus, most seated passengers fell asleep, while those standing looked quietly out the window. Because of the mixed seating arrangement, with some seats sideways and others facing forward, made it easier to observe people. Still, there wasn’t much conversation. The women-only section was silent, and the only hints about people’s destinations came from the uniforms they were wearing.
Sometimes silence says as much as conversation. People don’t always need to talk. Their tired bodies, their uniforms, and even the way they lean against the windows already tell the story of their day.
I arrived at the library an hour before it opened, so I wandered around TIM, finally taking the time to memorize the layout I had never fully explored before. When the doors opened, the place was still quiet, except for one woman who rushed in with a laptop and documents, almost as if she were afraid she might not get the best seat. Position really does determine performance.
By evening, it was time to wrap up. Since this story is really about the commute and not what happened inside the library, I’ll skip those details. On the way back, I rode TransJakarta to Lebak Bulus and once again observed the women around me. Their faces were tired, their bodies heavy. Most were asleep in their seats, while others scrolled aimlessly through their phones. It was the quiet exhaustion of the city at night.
And there I was, playing career woman for a day. Pretending, observing, learning. The trains, the shortcuts, the silence, the small talk. All of it reminded me that experiences or opportunities don’t always appear in big or dramatic ways. Sometimes they lie in the smallest details: in how people survive the crowd, how they create shortcuts, or how they keep moving despite the weight they carry.
Spending a day inside this rhythm also made me notice how much toughness the city demands, especially from women. Every commute means squeezing through the crowd, staying alert, and carrying exhaustion as though it were built into the dress code of the city. Over time, that constant pressure can make people seem hardened.
But strength shouldn’t mean losing gentleness. Women shouldn’t have to wear themselves down or build a hard shell just to survive the road. Still, I have nothing but respect for those who endure this life every day.
I know most of them don’t work because they love their jobs, but because life demands it. That resilience deserves more than admiration. It deserves change. And maybe that’s the true lesson from today’s little experiment.
Even when I was only pretending, the weight was real. For the women who live it daily, their strength is both ordinary and extraordinary at once.
