My train has started from a footboard in the Swedish forests, and my phone is already running out of power. Across from me sits a blonde Swedish girl of about 15 with her big make-up bag and is busy with her skincare routine. She endlessly brushes a large powder brush over her cheeks, straightens her false eyelashes with a black roller, combs her straight hair, lines her lips. Looks in the mirror. Looks in the mirror. Takes out the powder brush again and starts over. As if her natural young beauty itself doesn't overshadow all those layers.

I am apparently a prejudiced fellow traveler, a bag lady. I watch her and think to myself, as if I had forgotten all about neutrality and practice. Maybe it is the ego-worship my gaze responds to, maybe it is the anger at the tech giants' influence on young people's consumption, maybe her unawareness that she is painting over a naturally beautiful canvas. The oppression of the feminine.

My practice is zero, because I don't notice my own unconscious aggression. Just glare at her. A little hostile? That can't be ruled out.

I take refuge in my phone. But I have to limit myself if the battery is to last the entire trip through Sweden. There are no visible power outlets on the train. So I look at her again.

The girl puts the mirror away and takes out her phone. Another sleepy action, I think. Then she plugs the charger into the socket hidden under the table. I look at her in surprise. A battle is fought inside me, between the hard and the soft. The soft gives in and wins, and I smile gratefully at her. Eye, I say almost in Swedish, thank you very much.
As I plug my charger into the socket on my side, she has already forgiven me. Or maybe she never had any resistance to me. I project.

She smiles and sings, and in a friendly and open gesture she hands over a large bag of colorful mix-your-own candy. candy towards me and offers me a piece of candy.

Can I even say no, thank you? The sour candy in the bag is a bridge. She lays the planks across the deep ditch between us, and she leads me across. Gently. My breathing becomes soft, and I feel my heart, letting myself be led.

I choose the sourest gummy bear I can see in the bag. Yellow and red and sprinkled with sour sugar. I say thank you very much again and smiles at her. And when she takes out the mirror again, I take a bite of the gum, look at my dark reflection in the window and let the Swedish landscape pass by.