In a room cramped with people, full of laughter, loud exclamations, storytelling and booming music, I can hear the sound of personal space bubbles bursting. It is like balloons popping, thrilling and destructive. Mine is still intact. No tight hugs offered, no warm, wet kisses, no rough hands claiming mine or soft slaps on my shoulder. I watch a couple as they sway to the rhythm of the music, wrapped in each other’s embrace, locked in each other’s gaze. There is gossiping in the shadowy corners and whispering, the kind that tickles the ear. I am utterly unnoticed. I gravitate to the door and sit on the edge of the balcony alone, 13 stories above the Earth.