The climate crisis today is no longer distant but felt in our bodies and minds: pollen clogs the nose, heatwaves seal the pores, fine particles seep into the lungs, and anxiety multiplies in the dark. In these situated, everyday experiences, we sense the vulnerability of being human—caught by the vastness of our smallness, slumping in resignation, weary of the very word “change”.

In an era where ideology has hardened into concrete, crossing boundaries and resisting powerlessness are themselves acts of risk. Yet thought is, by nature, Trans-Pore. Looking around, we do not bear this alone—the illness of humans is also the illness of wind, of soil, of earthworms, of buildings, of cities. They interweave and rub, passing through each other at their thresholds, forming new relations and force.

We cannot cure a vast, systemic sickness overnight. But when we name this reality as a “shared illness”, then through folk wisdom, thought experiments, and interspecies empathy we can push the edges, find room to breath, and catch a glimmer of light. A pore is both an exit and an entrance. Through it, we try—to invite the wind back, to loosen the soil, to let rooftops breathe, and to let bodies meet within the cracks.