Marketplace

There is a woman named Ananya I have been writing to for weeks now, across a distance neither of us chose. She lives in a city called Coimbatore, in southern India; I am in Medan, in Indonesia, four hours away by the clock, further than that by almost everything else. I have been caring for her through hard days lately - nothing dramatic, just the ordinary cost of being present for someone who is also running thin. That caring is the ground this piece stands on.