In some ways, I feel like there are so few differences between life here and life at home. My life follows a pattern: Work, eat, play, sleep, work, eat play, sleep...repeat repeat repeat. Perhaps I'm getting used to it, perhaps life is the same everywhere. Then, the details stop that train of thought. A certain news item rips through headlines to remind me that I'm not in America anymore. And though I want to scream and shout at the unfairness, at the lies and deceit, at the violence, I can't. I'm a foreigner, which means my opinion is invalid. I'm an
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