There are certain parts of me that never get warm, no matter how many layers I cover myself with. My hands. The tips of my toes.

I guess I've been talking about Indonesia so much that someone lost their temper with me today and yelled, "I've never heard of anyone having as much culture shock as you! Wouldn't you think you'd have gotten over it by now? It's been nearly two weeks! Christ!"

It might be true. Things are starting to settle. A stranger spoke English to me on the street today and I didn't start. I turned into the right lane on a deserted street at one in the morning. Tonight, I ate creative maki; tuna and scallions, shrimp and oranges and tempura, salmon and avocado and masago and crab. When I didn't cry right there at the table it was some kind of miracle, but when I thought about the miracle and what it meant, I almost cried right there at the table.