a year of lockdown

I find myself nostalgic for our mundane journeys and grey carparks. I long to sleep listening to the train station schedule. However, fear poisons the possibility of a normal ruotine and completing the piles neglected work. The white shirts and black slacks have hidden away. I don’t want to be taunted by unfamiliar faces or hear their voices- too many unnecessary problems. However, I miss the focused atmosphere of education. My few friends and I discuss the news when we get the chance. These talks make me feel lonelier in my own home. On rare occasions, when my house is silent, I like to acknowledge my blessings: a garden with fresh air and sunlight without putting others at risk; multiple rooms and only three other people to deal with. We can afford enough food without waiting for our next wages. We have endless entertainment, social media (countless songs echo in my head at this very minute) as well as limitless hours to pursue art, beginning thick books and to write. Seeing the same faces is draining. Although we have been in close vicinities for a while, I haven’t seen much of my father. I suspect he sits in the car to get 5 mins of peace. I envy the countries with a more dominant left party. On one hand, this crisis is urging me to grow up and work in the NHS and directly help those in need. And on the other, I want to join the government and give a voice for those who share my opinions. Part of me- although i don’t want to admit it- wants to hide in cowardice and move to better country. While writing this, i have taken multiple breaks for no less than twenty seconds because the words are flowing through my brain and onto the page. Eid is coming up which I’m conflicted about. Exercise no longer exists as all energy belongs to exams. As we are spending all time in the house, we are looking after it much more. I want to leave. There are those who aren’t social distancing at all and putting the lives of the innocent and hardworking in grave danger. Unlike them, I have my priorities in order. I’ve been reading new releases from my childhood favourite authors and there’s an underlying shame when i don’t recognise the inside jokes or the old plot lines enough to appreciate the new character development. I’ve become an outsider to the world I spent my adolescence praying to be a part of. The sun rises and sets gracefully and I’m trapped reliving the same day. Some periods I feel anxious, claustrophobic, paranoid and I can’t compromise this safe, hygienic environment we’ve built so diligently just for a delivery. Other times i want to let the virus infect me while my immune system passively watches the chaos. Seven weeks ago all eyes would be on the bay window, glaring at the rare padestrian. There was an unappreciated beauty to feeling like an exhibit in a Natural History museum. Now people have been celebrating like it’s New Years Eve. Surely there’s nothing to be celebrating. We can live without salons and schools and retailers and cars but, not without convenience stores. It takes a pandemic to reveal people’s true character and intentions. I wake up to the clear sounds of bird songs and sleep under visible stars.