I took a commuter train every day to get to work. Most of us are women, working women, racialized, precarious, young, old people. Despite knowing a few faces, everyone else is somehow unknown.

Yesterday, my grandmother and a niece sat behind me and nailed me completely in their conversation. There was talk of a family member's divorce. It appears that one of the spouses, for over 30 years, has dedicated his life to the family, dedicating himself to housework, without immersing himself in the labour market, and raising, feeding and caring for two emancipated young people. The other, always away from home, has made a good way in his salaried work, reaching a well-paid position of responsibility.

Grandma observed: “But what is he going to do now alone? Who will do the food, wash the clothes and ironing, take care of the house? And how will he face loneliness, life, if he hasn’t worked economically?” Young grandchildren: “It is for good, grandmother, it is the decision of both, one of them will have to learn to be the man at home and the other the pleasure and to undertake a freer and more complete path”. Grandma waved. “Time will tell.”

When I got off the train, I called a friend to tell him what I had just heard. The friends, back: “What to read The cautises of the women of Marcela Lagarde: madesposas, nuns, sluts, dams and madmen or Patriarchate of the Wages of Silvia Federici, if in everyday commuter train journeys reality reveals that it is patriarchate for all people and in general an oppressive marriage of capitalism?”

In a few working days the commutes have taken me to a book. Today reality has put me in my place and, by the way, certain readings have turned me into flesh and bone materialities. That has left me a bittersweet taste. Sweet, because instead of reading in the book many closed and complete supports, we can digest open and life-related texts. Because they help us understand what happens to us. Because they allow us to identify what hurts us.

Salado, because train journeys rarely allow us to meet and understand each other. In these times processes of individualization and atomization or whatever, many times, because it does not allow me to rise from the mobile gaze or the book. Because we've become strangers perfect, definitely foreigners. Salty, because it's a question I've had many times in my head, "what happens to me and not what happens to us?", to feel so small. Salado, despite hearing the opposite recently, has been shown to me, empirically, without a doubt, that heteropatriarchy is the fundamental pillar of capitalism.