I've always felt that life is surreal and dreamlike. It felt strange having to walk on a street, to lay my body in horizontal when sleeping, to apply lotion on my palm and shampoo on my scalp, to put on shoes or wear a bra, to sit in a restaurant and swallow its terrible dumpling, to adore a fat cat sleeping in a mosque, to hug a bride and pat the groom’s shoulder, to make a dentist appointment, to complain when somebody cut the line in front of Takoyaki stall, to have a conversation of courtesy with an old man on the train, to pay for a roller coaster ride, or to argue with an uncle whose name I couldn't remember. It feels like there was never a day I didn't feel strange about living. On some sunny or rainy days, I daydreamed about another reality that perhaps exists, a universe where I never feel strange about being there. ...and then the pandemic hits. Hard.. What was then feels strange, now sounds blatantly ordinary in my faulty memory. The ordinary that I long for and ...