On this veranda—neither fully outside nor inside—I feel an inexplicable sense of stability. Over time, the veranda has come to serve a role beyond just a space for me. Existing in an ambiguous size, my room’s veranda stands between the exterior and the interior—neither cold nor warm, neither dangerous nor entirely safe, neither noisy nor truly quiet. It lingers in a state of in-betweenness, undefined yet present. Why is it that I find such comfort in this ambiguous space? Retracing the uneventful moments of my daily routine, I try to grasp the fading traces of things gradually slipping away from me.