Landing in New York felt less like travel and more like a dimensional shift.
I stepped off the plane carrying a private secret — a very new, very fragile pregnancy — and an overwhelming sense that I had been dissolved and reconstituted somewhere between continents.
The sensory cleanliness of JFK stunned me.
The geometric order of lines.
The sterile fluorescent lighting.
The absence of unsolicited commentary.
My brain, permanently rewired by South Asia’s emotional immediacy, kept waiting for someone to interrogate my life choices.
No one did.
No one even looked twice.
It was both liberating and disorienting — like being handed a new identity before I remembered the shape of the old one.
UnderTheRock Diaries 