I don't know how to dance a measured dance, meeting the beat of tradition's music, and swinging to meet a partner's arms. I don't know the feel of his arm around my waist guiding me in the steps of the time-honored past. I don't know the sweet peace of families sewn into my dress or braided in my hair.

I don't know who my blood is. I don't know what my race is; my skin seems covered still by the soft cheesy membrane I was born with, moldy and crumbly like mealy little warts. Even my time seems distant, as if I am living behind smoked glass.