Loneliness.

This description of loneliness is excellent. By necessity, travelling abroad I have spent a lot of time alone. But I was only ever really lonely in one place: Milan. And that was a weird thing, to be lonely there – in Italy, where all of your friends are jealous of your life. Perhaps it is like being lonely in New York City.

What did it feel like? It felt like being hungry, I suppose, in a place where being hungry is shameful, and where one has no money and everyone else is full. It felt, at least sometimes, difficult and embarrassing and important to conceal. Being foreign didn’t help. I kept botching the ballgame of language: fumbling my catches, bungling my throws.

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