exulansis
Back from five months at a research station in Antarctica, you answer the third person who asks how it was with "cold" and start talking about their kitchen.
The odd intimacy and distance of other people whose lives run parallel to yours.
Back from five months at a research station in Antarctica, you answer the third person who asks how it was with "cold" and start talking about their kitchen.
The urge to cover your face when someone else embarrasses themselves and does not seem to notice.
Your friend texts that she passed the exam you failed last month, and after one sour second you are honestly glad for her.
The sting when the coworker who coasted all year is called up at the holiday party to collect the bonus you wanted.
The new hire, months in, who still does not know whose mug is whose: the slow, ongoing mismatch of a person and a place that never quite fits.
A cousin in Guadalajara grabs the karaoke microphone at a quinceañera, misses every note of a ranchera, and the whole table stares at its plates.
The small lift when the car that sped past you on the shoulder turns up a mile later, pulled over, with a police car behind it.
The jolt of seeing a stranger at a bus stop as the center of a whole life, with its own errands and debts, that you will never hear about.
Watching a wedding photographer shout poses at guests who are trying to eat, and wanting to hide under the table on his behalf.