It doesn’t come easily, this crashing into a place. I am not a traveler, not really. I am a creature of habit, slipping smoothly into routine.
From one country to another, I unfold and refold my clothes, placing them in the same stacks in different drawers. I buy similar versions of the same things, searching for the same products with different names. I find the same cafe, with its unfinished floors and its mismatched furniture. I order an iced coffee and sit in the same corner, watching different versions of the same world.