The wind in Montreal`s subway station is always felt. It is so strong that throngs of passengers cannot push or pull the door of entrance open unless they are forced to clench their teeth and cling on to the heavy, thick metal frame of the door. People, without a single day excepted, complain about the wind. I was one of them.

       It was told by one of subway station staff that the strong wind is caused by the underground trains travelling from the opposite directions at high speed. Once a train is thrusting into station, an immediate strong wind rises, and then almost all the passengers awaiting on the platform force their eyes half closed and leave their hair gone with the wind chaotically. I am one of them.

       It is my daily work on the way to McGill University that I stand against the wind in the subway station while I am waiting for a train on the platform. I cannot miss such a relief. At the moment of my being bathed in the strong wind, my half closed eyes blur my view but compensate me with a mental picture of the pair of big, shining eyes and the black long hair radiating the smell of shampoo or always catching the light in the station. Gone with the wind, the black long hair creates a look loyal, peaceful, and determined.

       Subway was the only transportation we depended on and made life run. Vegetables, bread, meat, as well as juice were purchased in the supermarkets near subway station. While we were walking back to subway station, the big backpack bulging and stuffed with food and water heavy bent our waist. I never heard complaint when she was in her early twenties.

       Now, every time I am alone in the subway station and indulge myself in the strong wind, I still have to half close my eyes, leave my hair gone chaotically, or make a big effort to open the door, but I love the wind.