On the Train Back to Amsterdam

On the train back to Amsterdam, I hop. It is 10PM and, to my luck, I finally make it on time on the train. I search for my seat, get settled down, and take out my sketchbook where I scribble down the flow of emotions and feelings that strike my hands, and draw random sketches of people on the train. I surely cannot forget to take out my earphones and plug them in so my ears could plug out of the outer world. The song I always play on all my rides is now playing, “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron. Every time I listen to it, I imagine it as a play. So magical.

The train is divided into carts, each cart has four chairs; a pair opposing the other. I meditate, watching the surrounding carts, most of them have families. A family of two, four, and siblings picking on each other. It seems quite lovely how they are enjoying each other’s company, and each person is just roaming their own wonderland, letting the ticks of time pass by peacefully. In other carts, which are just like mine, a person sits alone, minding their own business, except that I was not minding my business. For some reason, meditating the other carts felt like I was in some way therapeutic.

I am wondering about what's going on in their minds. Are they happy? Are they sad? Is that boy frustrated, or does he just have an attitude? It is impressive how many different lives are led on that ride. Another thing that is also impressive is the thought of me travelling, at some point in my life, I was all about travelling and exploring the world. And now, here I am, hopping aimlessly from one train to another.

I think it is quite profound how we are all here, many people, different personalities, twisted minds, and lost souls, pushed into one piece of iron, the train. We are all letting the magic and tiredness of the ride get to us, allowing ourselves to live through it all.

It is now 12AM, and we have arrived. I could tell we had arrived when I saw the numerous bike paths; this city loves cycling. I do love its energy, aesthetic, and comfort. The conductor announced, saying, “we zijn aangekomen” which means “we've arrived,” except that I had to translate this, as my Dutch is still poor.

I am supposed to be meeting my sister once I’m off the train. I’m very much missing the warm familial energy and hearing her talk about pure nonsense. I think life is quite unexpected, who would have imagined that we would all go separate ways when we’re older?

But, speaking of unexpected things, what an unexpected life I am leading right now. We simply live on the hidden treasures of unexpected things, whether they are good enough for us or not.

We live on the aura of mystery because where is the genuine fun if the hidden is no longer hidden?
Fingers crossed.