quelquefois

Many times last week I have been on the verge of tears. Then I tell myself to pull it together. Breaking down alone in New York City—how cliché is that? Unacceptable.

However, I can’t deny that I was churned by emotion heavy circumstances. For example, there’s the tiniest possibility that I might not be able to bear children in the future. I am also racked by loneliness. I am constantly subjected to loneliness at work, where none but a few ever speak to me. I do menial work, but such is life as an intern. Because of this, I have all the more time to think about how unsatisfied I am with everything, to think about all the other things out there I could be doing at that moment.

New York City has such a polarizing effect on people. When I started to write about how I felt last week, I was determined that I was unhappy. I couldn’t wait to go home, or even to go to China, to leave this exhausting city. However, this week I feel less of that. In fact, I don’t know what I feel anymore. Writing about how I feel has become a struggle. I stare at this text box for hours, not knowing what to write inside—sometimes feeling wholly uninspired to do anything but watch the cursor blink. Because I still feel that way, I will leave it at that. I know that in retrospect I will be able to reconcile my thoughts.