Small

I don’t know why but the post-Japan trip makes me inexplicably depressed. But when I try to pinpoint the depression I can’t. I’m not in Iraq, Darfur, no hotspot, not in danger, living in a comfortable apartment in downtown Montreal, one of the safest, happiest spots on this Earth.

So why do I feel so vulnerable? As if life could slip away at any time. As if I’ve been looking at the world through miracle glasses this whole time, refusing to admit that Bad Things happen all the time, to so many good people, and I have no magical protection against them.

Dunno why a trip half way across the world provokes these feelings, but it seems to. I guess it just makes me realise how truly small I am.

And a mosquito bit me. Asshole. Feeling better already. SHE WILL DIE BEFORE I DO.