I wake up before the sun even opens its eyes. The alarm is still ringing in my ears when one foot touches the cold floor. Time is never enough in this city. Being five minutes late can mean spending an extra hour on the road, stuck in a sea of people all trying to move faster than you.
In this city, the fast ones win. The slow? They get stepped on, thrown aside, forgotten.
I brush my teeth while checking notifications. Breakfast? Skipped. Getting to the office matters more than a slice of bread or a cup of tea. I take the same train every day, stand in the same spot, surrounded by the same faces. Faces staring down, glued to their phones, shut off from the world around them. In that carriage, there are no warm greetings or friendly smiles—only urgency, haste, and exhaustion.
But there's no time to be tired.
Workers sleep little, dream big. Ironic, isn't it? This city gives you a stage to dream sky-high, yet barely leaves you enough time to sleep, let alone dream.
People say I'm still young. Supposed to be full of energy, ideals, and bright laughter untouched by life's grime. But what they don't know is that this young body carries a weariness that's never fully paid off. My dreams are big, but the time to rest is too short. And over time, those dreams feel like shadows: present, but always out of reach.
My job looks stable from the outside. Air-conditioned office, neat desk, a boss who always smiles in front of clients. But behind the scenes, there are shoulders close to breaking from invisible burdens. There are tears swallowed in silence inside restroom stalls, pressure creeping in like ants biting nerves. A job that looks stable, but hides heavy shoulders.
At the office or at home, my face still looks bright. But the truth? I'm exhausted. A tiredness I can't show because the world moves too fast to notice.
Whether I drive or take public transport, the fatigue is the same. Both drain time, energy, and patience. Sometimes I sit in the corner of the train, closing my eyes—not from sleepiness, but from wanting to disappear for a moment.
I've wondered if life was meant to be like this. But I push the thought aside quickly. In this city, time is money. And money is the only way I can survive.
People say life should be balanced—work, play, rest. But that's just sweet talk from motivational seminars. In reality, I've learned to sort things out and give things up. The longer I live in this city, the more I know when to sleep, when to scroll my phone, when to work nonstop. Life is no longer about what I want, but about what I can still do without breaking.
Today is no different. I step out of the office when night has already fallen, but the city still hasn't slept. Headlights glare into my eyes, the streets are still packed, horns blare in chorus. I walk quickly, like everyone else. Maybe because I want to get home faster, or maybe because I'm afraid of missing something I never even had the chance to recognize.
Day or night, don't expect much. This is a city that never sleeps, and the people in it have grown used to fighting off drowsiness just to survive.
This city doesn't leave room for stillness. Here, stillness means defeat.
And me? Somehow, I'm still standing.
Maybe because within my silence, there's a hope I haven't had the chance to voice. Maybe because I know there are many out there living the same life. Just as tired. Just as alone. Just as in need of someone who understands—but too hard to find them. And if you're reading this, nodding quietly in your heart… then maybe, my story is your story too.