What a strange life this is

Minutes ago, I was downstairs in the apartment at the kitchen table, eating some quiche Lorraine that Michèle had left Sakura and I for dinner. I was half-reading, half-digesting, and half-listening to Sakura and her friend speak in rapid Japanese on the couch nearby and it just occurred to me how nice and strange the moment was, to have just returned home from a week travelling to other countries, to be tired and eating good food in a French apartment listening to my Japanese flatmate speak. It just felt like little points on some map of my life came together, like it was something I would think about when I have long gray hair to put up in clips and lots of time to stare out windows and think about my life.