But different. Back to the apartment staring at things that belong to me, belong to the owner, or belong to the flat itself. Looking for a feeling of home or identity in my private world.

and a little rusty...

Despite the increased addiction to my bed, my own first apartment has forced me to grow quickly. "Alone," here is in no way a bad thing. Yet on the first day I found myself staring at objects asking for some kind of response... or conversation.

I was also considering naming this post, an incredibly made-up adjective, "Reverse-Culture-Shocking". Coming back to New York/ New Jersey felt like seeing ghosts. A bunch of ghostly people in a ghost town. It didn't feel dead, more like back from the dead. The signs looked fake, the money felt worthless, the food tasted so familiar it was almost tasteless. It felt so neutral, it was foreign. My friends had the same beautiful smile but slightly older, yet our conversations wer