These past few months have forced me to overcome a hoard of hard tasks that I have spent my whole life procrastinating and avoiding.
Naturally, it would be a lovelier tale for me to tell if profound events occurred to me that changed the course of my life even slightly, but this is not the case.
I have been pushed to have some of the hardest conversations possible with people that needed to hear of the consequences of their actions on me and been forced to listen to others tearing me apart to realise that there are instances whereby I am heavily flawed.
The endless loneliness made me obsessively gaze at mirrors and pick apart what is average and what is substantially horrible about myself. What is desirable and what is repulsive. What I would want to flaunt, and what I would prefer to remain hidden.
My life, however, has been transformed by a series of miniature steps that have led me through spirals and stairwells of inconsistent improvement and the occasional downfall. The proverbial “highs and lows” that philosophers claim ‘build’ people. These ups and downs have broken me past a point of being deemed broken: to a point of being an abstract art form. Broken but acknowledged as ‘well-put-together’, ‘beautiful’, or ‘well-done’.
One thing that has remained constant through this all is time.
Time that has not stopped for me to pick myself up when I have fallen, or time that has not sped up when I am anticipating, nor slowed down as I attempt to live in a moment.
This ‘time’ that is unaltered, unfaltering, unalterable. It has run the same every day, every hour, every minute, every second. The pandemic has not changed the setting of the sun, neither has it undone its rising and that makes me hopeful- the fact that time goes on. I could write the rest of this story as a complaint of how alone I have felt during the days of quarantine, how there are days I wished I were anywhere else but my room, or that I were surrounded by love that’s not my own. Or complaints about how the monotony became aggravating and with every passing cloud, I could feel my sanity subside. It felt the same every day.
To complain is, however, to show that there’s little or nothing to celebrate and I have a thing or two to be grateful for so I will not depress you with my immature miseries.
Being away from the noise gave me the incentive to speak to my silence. I finally sat down with myself, stared her down, and unpacked every emotion that had been held back. I learnt more about myself during these tumultuous times than I ever could during the simpler days. From my true passions to my faults, from my obsessions to my distastes. All the thinking was petrifying at first, but necessary all the same as it opened my eyes to the massive burdens I have been carrying on my back, that made me rhetorically question why my posture was so pathetic.I was dragging around the weight of my insecurities and my ignorance.As the days went by, I grew through holding myself accountable for my wrongs and learning to congratulate myself for my rights.
Beyond that, I learnt the value of giving thanks. Hearing of the thousands of people that were affected stringently by the onset of this pandemic opened my eyes to how often we take everything for granted, seeing as many of us have been blessed with the opportunity to never know insufficiency.
There reoccurs in me the idea that this will one day be simply a point in history. That the tough times, no matter how long they run, never last. Furthermore, I see hope in the future for artists and creatives, as during this time, they were vital to the necessary distractions. People turned to music, books, and films to escape the harshness of reality, even if for a while.
I turned to my pen and paper to teach me how to monitor my emotions and release my sentiments. I found solace in knowing that the words I scribble will forever remind me of points where i experienced the harshest of pains and the most beautiful of satisfactions. I also find hope in the lessons we all learn from the pandemic itself. That sometimes, to save yourself, you must first save others.
I spent a greater part of the year locked up in my room, trying to escape a confinement that I had forced myself in years ago. There’s the paradox. That isolation opened me up to a greater world than interactions ever could, and that is what made this period so extraordinary.
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