I stood in the queue at the post office and wanted to go home

Dear Delyara, Nothing dramatic happened. No one was rude. No one cut in front. It was just a normal queue on a normal day, and I could feel I had nothing left for one more public space. The fluorescent lights, the small talk behind me, the woman in front asking fifteen questions about parcels, my own arms already tired from carrying too much, the background weight of everything else still waiting at home — all of it made me feel suddenly fragile in a place where fragility looks ridiculous. So I stood there doing what women do. Appearing fine. I smiled when it was my turn. I said thank you. I walked out with stamps and a receipt and the strange private shame of having almost cried in a post office because life had already touched me too many times before lunch.