I haven’t read for a long time. I mean, between my work, boyfriend and dog, I hardly find the time to sit alone for a quiet read. Even though I commute for 3 hours every day, in the morning I’m too sleepy and in the evening I’m way too tired to enjoy a good book. I also take the morning train with a friend so I’m practially never alone. Today I took advantage of the fact that my friend missed his train so I took out my Hermann Hesse’s old copy of Kurgast (En el balneario in Spanish, my boyfriend had chosen to get the Spanish translation and not the English, even better for me, that way I get to read more in Spanish). For thirty minutes, I was so intensely delved into the philosophical thoughts of Hesse that I lost sense of space and time. It brought back the pleasure of disconnecting from everything around me. I guess that is what I was afraid of. Being alone and taking the time to roam inside my head. We never do that. I never do that. Always obsessed with the frenzy of trivial information travelling at the speed of light, so that we are kind of afraid of withdrawing from the outer shell of superficiality and dive into the depths of our selves. I must confess that I was so shaken by this moment of morning epiphany that I went to a bookstore in the station, while waiting for the next train to go to work, and started looking at magazines. Suddenly, I felt an urge to buy one, in case I finished the book early, or two, in case I got bored reading in just one language, then I ended up taking three so that I would have enough material to read for the whole day, maybe the whole week. Upon paying my three magazines, with Hermann Hesse’s book under my armpit, the cashier said to me: “Buen viaje”. She thought I was going on a long trip, otherwise, why would I buy that many magazines? I smiled to myself and thought, well I am travelling.. inwards.