Walking along train tracks is therapeutic. Everyone should try it once at least once in their lives, and preferably go back for a refresher every couple of years. Like a pilgrimage.
Trailing the straight predictable lines will remind you of your own plans. Hopes and goals included. As you walk the rooted metals, you cannot help but think of the foundations you are, or hope to be, building your life upon. Tracks are to the train what principles are to our lives. How do we live; how does life run– according to your beliefs and thoughts. Often built so deep and long before you were ever aware of them. At the end of the walk, my old shoes were completely shredded by the stones (uhu glue kept it together). My legs tired from negotiating the uneven gravel and sharp metals, soul properly left raw. It felt good.
Any other quiet walk in nature, you say. I passionately think not; trudging alongside rails for hours is a qualitatively experience from meandering in unmarked greens. Tracks are tangible. People love the tangible. It helps them to hold (on) better. It reminds them better. Hold on to what, or remind of what, you ask? Anything that might be dear to the particular walkee, anything pertinent that week, that time in his life. That’s the magical interaction between a person and his walk and the terrain.
The regular rungs of the tracks mark space and time like the wooden prayer beads (念珠) of a monk. Or a pearl rosary.
Plus, there’s an inherent romance accumulated through hundreds of years in the very notion of train tracks that has come to mean journey and reflection.
I say singapore should keep the tracks. Show your support at the green corridor website. A hidden retreat and balm for people who seek a different kind of treadmill post-workweek.
We walked that day. Weeks after the last train. The day before the tracks were to be closed.
Other than the surprisingly crowds, my friend and i were wondering why there seemed a strangeness to the scene. Then we realised– it was 100% singlish in the air.