On a crowded train rushing across the Belgian border, a young woman writes Christmas cards. Impressed by the epistles she writes, I feel guilty about the fact that I no longer send self-written Christmas messages. Then I see her pick up her phone and type: “Write a Christmas card to my mother and tell her that I am proud of her and that I hope she will have more time for herself in 2026 and that in a personal tone.” With seriousness in her eyes, she copies the generated answer.
Lisa Havinga
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