spit it out

When you live in another country for a while, things just cease to be
weird. You grow accustomed to red bean paste and the
little-girl/DI/j-rock fashion aesthetic, red spit and street-fired snot
rockets, and live frogs and turtles in the supermarket. Brushes with death
by moto and bizarre stilted conversations with random strangers happen
daily. The use of squatters and chopsticks becomes second nature while
the overwhelming cuteness of the childrens becomes routine.

And your blog suffers as a result. So, for lack of an anecdote of note, I'd
like to say that I love each one of you. I miss those of you who aren't here
with me and enjoy those of you who are. I appreciate you so much.

Much love!