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i started earthlings by sayaka murata because i always had this sensation of being… out of orbit. not exactly tragic, not exactly poetic either. just a constant misalignment, like if the frequency of my existence does not synchronise with the rest of the world. as if everyone else received instructions for “how to be human”, and mine got… misplaced in some bureaucratic void. at first, the book felt almost intimate. natsuki as a child, so lonely, so misunderstood, it was uncom

sometimes i think my lack of self-belief is my most reliable system. it is like my internal gravity is slightly off, so every time i approach confidence, i just slingshot around it and end up back at “perhaps i am not built for this”. i watch people who move through life certain of their own brilliance, and it feels like observing a strange species: homo affirmativus. they glow like radioactive lab experiments gone right. yet i wonder if they, too, have late-night malfunction