Rituals 

When it comes down to nothing, I find myself going to literary characters for advice on how to calm down and avert anxiety. Praying makes me cry; I am certain I am always within God’s sight and He knows my heart and head, so I go instead to some rituals.

The ritual of walking, roaming around the city, its parks and its cobbled streets. The French idea of flanêr and the anonymity of a busy city going about its own life

The ritual of eating, the way Murakami’s characters eat in a matter-of-fact way, feeling the texture of each dish and absorbing the goodness of nourishment when everything else feels parched.

The ritual of just being, and being comfortable with being alone in a crowded place, not talking, not texting, not connecting to anything on the phone, but simply being part of the setting at present and hearing everything around.

Perhaps tomorrow I can be myself again. Today, I can be nobody, nothing, and nowhere at all.