I feel like all I write about is death, but I’m not depressed. It’s just that the past 4 years have been constant reminders of life and death and questioning what it means to not exist. What it means to know one self, what it means to be another body in an ever densely populated world. On Sunday I saw my professor in an open casket wake. He didn’t look like himself. It saddens...
I’m nervous about planning out the rest of my year. Who am I going to stay with in Thailand? Do I want to go to Japan? What classes will I need to take? What am I supposed to do with my life? But sometimes, I just get too tired to care.