One way or another, I’m living by myself in a bungalow in East Hollywood, recovering from pneumonia now. Something surreal about this combo, like an ominous tropical vacation, makes me think of Death in Venice. When I was coughing my face out for the past few nights and had constant shortness of breath, I thought I must have caught Covid. Later the doctor in ER confirmed that, I’m the rare few who got pneumonia but not Covid, don’t know if I should call myself lucky. Pneumonia - what an old fashioned sounding disease, says grace. About a week and a half ago, I moved to Los Angeles. I still couldn’t wrap my head around this, fact. Maybe I was considering less of this fact, but the fact that I no longer live in New York. “I no longer live in New York” - is still so hazy to me. I was feeling ocean of emotions during my last week in New York, somewhere, although took me a few years, finally feels like home. This is still new. I somehow still feel like I can walk to friends who live close, meet up with people who I retreat the most to, the dearest few who became the pillars of my life, those that I grew so clingy to. But then I remember, oh I could probably only FaceTime them now. My biggest fear is that sooner than later, we’ll become digital blobs to each other. I guess I was so dramatic also because this leave feels like a prophecy of a bigger leave in a not so far away future - that I might need to leave United States soon, that after my current visa I might not be able to secure another one. How am I going to cope then if I’m so dramatic now. It’s overwhelming to think that it’s just half a month away from the end of this year now. The dazzling sun here makes me feel feverish and disoriented. I’m so far away from snow now.