Falling ill while living abroad represents a huge responsibility. There’s no mother giving me hot agua de panela with lime right before sleeping, no father coming to my room to ask me how I’m feeling, no Himura running to my fainted side on the front yard, covering me with a sweater and blocking the sun from my face. It’s up to me whether I can take enough care of myself, whether I can get better soon or not. As I feebly glance at the sunset from my dizzy bed, I feel the crushing weight of loneliness, the diametric distance which can only be breached through words—and even words are not enough.
Suddenly, a friend shows up at my doorstep with bananas, vitamin C, and a few recommendations.
I’m such a lucky person.
Thank you so very much, Cora.