The ferry ride from Riga to Sweden was quiet, gentle.
The sea was calm—gray, endless—mirroring the stillness I felt inside.
I spent many hours perched up high, watching the ship’s wheel turn and the water boil beneath us.
Thoughts came and went, bitter memories churning again and again, like old wounds opening in the salt air.
But the sound of the ocean, the cries of sea birds, and the rhythmic hum of the ferry took those thoughts and carried them away—if only for a moment.
I kept silent, listening to the waves, the machine’s heartbeat, and the soft murmur of passengers passing by.
When I arrived, Sweden greeted me with a sigh—green hills under a pale sky, a cool breath of something new.
I stepped off the boat at midnight.
No hotel booked.
No plan for sleep.
In the worst case, I thought, I’d sleep on the street.
I didn’t care—
I was too tired to care.
I walked toward the city, suitcase trailing behind me like a loyal dog.
Any place with the word hostel on the window became my lighthouse.
I stepped into the first one I found.
A man covered in tattoos and piercings looked up from the desk.
“Yes,” he said, “we have beds. Did you book in advance?”
“No,” I said.
“Do you have bed sheets? We don’t provide them—unless you pay five euros.”
I said nothing, too tired to protest.
He looked at me—my face must have told him everything.
“Okay,” he said finally, with a small smile. “I’ll give them to you, no charge.”
That small kindness felt huge.
It was late—too late.
I stepped into a dorm room with sixteen beds, each one claimed.
Languages mixed together, sandals lined in chaotic rows.
After I showered, I saw a sign:
Don’t put your backpack on the bed. Hygiene reasons.
I smiled.
For me, that rule was always reversed: I never put my bag on the floor.
I kept it clean, washed it weekly—
I knew the world could be dirty enough without me adding to it.
I slept one night in that room.
No meal, no plan.
The next morning, I walked the city in silence—
too tired to think of anything else,
too full of yesterday’s echoes
to worry about what would come next.
