my hands are cold and my hair is still slightly damp underneath from last night’s shower, falling in haphazard waves past my shoulders. i’m wearing a thick sweater with stripes, and thick stockings too. when i tiptoe across the wood floor, my feet make only the slightest shuffling sound. i sit at the desk chair and sip on cafe au lait from a can – it tastes thick and sweet on my tongue. everything one needs for living is within a few feet of me; a bed, a fridge, a range, a sink, a rack of clothes, a computer, family photos, a tea kettle, eggs, yogurt, chocolate. the apartment is just barely larger than two queen beds pushed together, and there’s a bathroom near the front door that’s smaller than that of a cruise ship. the morning light shines through the frosted glass door onto the two pallets lying next to each other on the floor, reminiscent of the sleepovers we had together as young girls. only this time, we’re twenty-something, two grown-ups in a tiny apartment halfway across the world in osaka, japan – a city that is foreign and faraway to me, but that is home to her now. it is altogether daunting and lovely, and as i step out of my jetlagged state and begin the trip with a clear, bright day, i feel peaceful and fulfilled. the morning is quiet, imperfectly perfect, sweet and slow. i realize it is the raw moments like these that are so ceremonial in their way. xoxo