Human at Work

There’s a kind of stillness that comes when you’ve run out of plans. It’s not peace. It’s a forced quiet, like when the body shuts down just enough to keep you breathing. In that silence, you begin to see how a system really works—not from the diagrams or the policies, but from the vantage point of the people it’s supposed to help.

Why can’t I do this?

A meditation on the thin line between having a home and losing one, and how the light still falls evenly, even when the world doesn’t.

The shelter was small—four rooms, four families, four worlds pressed against one another. A quiet choreography of women and children moving through shared air, each orbiting the others, each carrying a different kind of weight.

Then one afternoon, rifling through a stack of papers I wasn’t supposed to see, I found some official looking paperwork and—

Pain is feedback—the body’s alarm system for hidden stress. When we normalize that pain (“everyone’s exhausted,” “that’s just the culture”), we mute the signal.

Seven years ago, my life effectively ended.

Prefab LGS isn’t just a building system—it’s a structural metaphor for systems that are light, strong, repeatable, and resilient.

You work the day shift. You work the night shift. You don’t sleep. You sleep too much. You eat. You don’t. It doesn’t matter. You keep scratching for life, hoping like hell the light returns.