Nodding

Am I still overthinking? Absolutely. It’s clinical, I’m sure of it. I just want to feel better. Is that too much to ask?

A woman across from me on the train is slowly drifting off. Her face radiates calmness and carelessness but, of course, I don’t know what possible worries she might have. Still, I’m a little bit jealous of her. I suddenly realized that I had not done my hair this morning. As I open the front camera of my phone to witness this, a speck of sleeping dust falls from my eye and onto the screen. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d probably make myself laugh right now.

Everyone seems tired on this train. Except for the man next to me who nervously checks his printed paper every five minutes. It shows a route for public transport from Rotterdam to Schiphol in Amsterdam, with departure times marked in neon yellow. I keep feeling like the man is about to ask me for confirmation that the next station really is Schiphol. Don’t worry, good man, this Intercity Direct train only goes to Schiphol as the next station. I wonder if he’s been on a business trip? Or was it a voluntary vacation to the Netherlands? As a Dutch person, I never quite understand why people would want to go on vacation here. Maybe I am just used to all the joys that this place brings.

My hands and lips are dry, but I’m sitting too tight in my seat to reach for my lip balm. I realize I haven’t brushed my teeth and I smell like black coffee. Is this how depression starts? Don’t worry, I’ve showered and put on deodorant and perfume. I probably just stink a little from my mouth. But that’s probably how 50% of the people on the train will smell now. And if not, I’ll just keep imagining it, so I feel less gross.

Different views of the outside world rush by through the window of the train. There’s so much dirt on the windows of the train, it almost looks like the country is wrapped in an icy mist. It’s winter, but this image is really shaped by the grimy windows. I stop to wonder how many times a year a train actually gets washed. And if it does, will it go through a carwash for trains? A carwash that never ends due to the length of a train. A symphony of water spouts and those colorful spinning brushes. It must be fun to watch.

We arrive at Schiphol, and the man next to me stands up. The woman who was sleeping so peacefully wakes up and rushes to the train doors. Everyone has a destination to reach, just like me.

I dream with my eyes open, fueled by black coffee, of a warm bed with lots of pillows. Two girls nod their heads in approval as they drift off to sleep. I’ll reach my destination this way.