We are all refugees now, in this pandemic. We have travelled to a land we might have heard about but never expected to visit. The practice and habits of this culture are strange, but we must adapt if we are to survive. How long has it been since we have seen a smile? How long has it been since we have had a conversation that is neither muffled by a mask nor shouted across an open space? What has happened to secrets? Are lovers left with only looks?

We are all immigrants now. We connect and reconnect with family mediated by technology. It is better than the delays of mail for the generation that fought the war, or the crackling, hollow echo of a bad phone connection for the generation before computers. We can now at least see each other when we meet in cyberspace, which, for some, is more frequently than we met before. We used to save our time, stories, haircuts, or new relationships for a reveal at annual family gatherings. Now we are all immigrants, seeing each other fleetingly, comparing our respective worlds with curiosity as we puzzle at different social practices merely a state border away.