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“Sometimes, grief comes in floods, needing space to push forth, wrecking everything in its path, and reclaiming liminal space. And other times, grief manifests in everyday minutiae, little changes in the world's making--one less stack of laundry, a quieter Sunday evening, a broken cabinet that will remain unfixed. You can't pass a Volkswagen on the road without feeling an ingrained tug or seeing a puzzle on the dailies as an affirmation of the complexity of relations. These are the weight of man's doldrums--losses that cascade as we continue--that change the curl of our current. Perhaps the I too gets lost in grief, the way smaller bodies of water like streams and brooks, and temperaments--smells, sights, sounds--get lost when a river dies. Even if you understand the anatomy of its making--that it is natural--to comprehend that what exists can get lost is a reckoning indistinguishable from living.” — Johanna Michelle Lim