Because what I was good at—what I was rewarded for—was control. And control is a skill that rarely tells you when it has started to take more than it gives.

     

So you compress. You edit. You hand people the thirty second version and hope it's enough.

     

My brown hair and blue eyes allowed me to opt out of the finer details of Japanese society.

     

“Where did I put those damn acetaminophen pills?” I yank the kitchen drawer so hard it comes off its rails and spills across the floor. Reza rushes in, horrified.

     

With each fold, the map became smaller very quickly. Oceans I once imagined sailing through were reduced into inches.