"Maybe all people are abandoned children. Perhaps birth is like being abandoned on earth by God."
- Yasunari Kawabata The Old Capital 
Or like running away. Here we are then, delinquents in search of adventure, impatient of safety, a galaxy of shooting stars. The self an assertion of independence. Mortality a coming of age.
At what point does escape turn into exile?
Robert Frost defines home as "something you somehow haven't to deserve". Who can blame us then, if death feels like home?
 translated from the Japanese by J. Martin Holman