Life feels like a series of meals had in which events then take place. Everyone here is very authoritarian in the most polite way. I can feel it when I ask for things and they say no. My mom said I came out of the womb with my own mind. I have always thought for myself. I don’t like to be told I can’t do something. We go to a neighborhood in which the river sweeps in a cold fog hung with moisture. It smells different here, different air and soil. It is the kind of smell you taste when you put your nose to a shell.  People’s faces look closed and composed but not in a NY way, more of an internal kind of peaceful way, the knowledge of a known world. I said to K so this is what it is like to live in a homogenous culture where everyone agrees upon a kind of unspoken code.  I see a Cy Twombly painting for the first time. it is titled NYC untitled. I think of my life back home thousands of miles away. I imagine I am a different person here with different desires and dreams. That my past no longer exists and I am free.

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