I am obsessed with the human condition.
I know there are halls filled with women like me. Halls filled with women without a remarkable plot other than they are here when they are not supposed to be. Halls other people don't want to walk down, but ones we never closed off to them. We have color in our faces, not from cherry-stained powders, but from melanin and perhaps a few slaps across the cheeks.
Yet I am still obsessed with the human condition.
Not in the monolithic sense, but in the nuanced, microbial sense that doesn't really care which hall you stand in or how you came to have color in your cheeks because in the petri dish it's all the same.
But it's still my hall and I will only find this condition I'm obsessed with, not by going beyond myself, but going further into.