Every time I get off at Joyce-Collingwood station, I feel like the train has dispatched me at the outskirts of a battlefield. I watch it whiz past me as if it can't wait to leave me behind, taking my lighthearted thoughts of school and work with it. You won't need it where you're going, the train tells me and I begrudgingly agree. I do not have the luxury to worry about ordinary things like ordinary folks do for I am no ordinary girl. I am a soldier and I come home to a war zone every night.