Train Travel Thoughts from a Window Seat
I’m not a writer, but there’s something about train travel that makes me feel like one.
Recently, on an ETS journey from KL Sentral to Sungai Petani, I found myself lost in thought. The train's gentle sway and the ever-changing scenery outside the window sparked a stream of reflections.
Whenever I travel with my mother, she always lets me have the window seat because she knows I like to watch the world slip by. It’s that view – the passing lakes, small towns, and scattered clouds – that often inspires the kind of quiet thoughts I’m about to share.
As we passed through Bukit Merah Lake, with water stretching out on both sides, I was struck by the tranquillity. It reminded me of how train journeys often provide the perfect backdrop for introspection and daydreaming.
I’ve often thought about how many great writers were inspired by trains. Agatha Christie wrote about mysteries on the Orient Express. J.K. Rowling famously dreamed up the idea for Harry Potter during a train ride when her mind wandered and sparked something magical. Paul Theroux found stories on tracks spanning continents.
I’m no Christie, Rowling, or Theroux, but when I’m on a train, I feel like I could be. Maybe this is how travel inspires creativity – even when you’re not an artist. A moving seat, a quiet hour, and suddenly, my mind is doodling things I hadn’t planned.
The last time I took the ETS from KL Sentral to Sungai Petani, it was supposed to be just another trip home. But something about being in motion again – rolling steadily northwards through the Malaysian countryside – made the thoughts flow. I didn’t plan to write anything; I rarely do. But as the train glided past Bukit Merah Lake, water stretched out on both sides like a calm mirror, and I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
What is it about train travel that opens the door to this kind of clarity? Maybe it's the way time slows down. You're not rushing through terminals or anxiously checking your gate. You sit, you stare, you listen. Even the announcement voice – reminding you, again and again, about the "final destination" – starts to feel like part of a poem. Slightly ominous, maybe. But also comforting in its rhythm.
I saw little moments that I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. My mother asked the stranger beside me if we could swap seats so we could sit together – only to realise, after the awkward shuffle and the journey started, that the seat beside her was already empty. The elderly couple a few rows ahead bickering, quietly but intensely, about a bag that was sticking out of the overhead compartment. The couple behind us rustling through their plastic bag of food after hearing us loudly struggle to unwrap our slightly-squashed buns.
Train travel has its own kind of rhythm – and its own unspoken rules. It's the kind of shared chaos that only happens in confined public spaces, but it’s oddly comforting. No one was in a rush. Everyone was, in some way, settling in.
There’s no clickety-clack anymore with the ETS. It’s smooth, modern, and quiet. But the silence gives your brain more space to wander. Maybe too much, if you're prone to overthinking. I had time to wonder why trains are such a natural space for ideas – notebooks, novels, entire daydreams.
By the time we arrived in Sungai Petani, I hadn’t written a word. But I had written many in my head. I had a few blog post ideas, including this one, rolling around in my thoughts like marbles I hadn’t quite caught. And that, I think, is enough for a train ride to count as productive.
So, the next time you’re planning a trip, consider taking the train. Don’t worry about being productive. Just bring a notebook. Or don’t. Bring snacks that don’t crinkle too loudly. Or don’t. Let your mind drift. Watch people swap seats without a word. Watch the landscape shift. Watch water appear on both sides of the tracks like a scene in a movie.
You don’t need to be a writer. But if you’re anything like me, you might start to feel like one anyway.
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