It's the longest summer and the shortest year thats not quite over yet. A world stricken by a climate crisis, a pandemic and populism-fuelled culture wars. From the busy Manhattan go-getters to the distant Andamanese tribe, we have all been affected. And yet, even when the word 'positive' means something bad, against the odds we find those few moments of peace. For some of us, the light at the end of the tunnel brightens a smile onto our faces with thoughts of happier days to come. For others of us, we find peace in what we have now. Somehow the swirling chaos has erred us to stop for a moment and realise what is actually important in life; to experience that overdue epiphany of how lucky we really are. I think I finally understand the thought process behind homeopathy -- not that I'll be trying it anytime soon.
Early February. In a few short days, the best part of my university experience faded into the ether. That second half of the final year, like the most satisfying and delicious last drop of a milkshake, was the part I was most looking forward to. It would encapsulate everything the 18 year old me had pictured for herself when she came to university: the final celebrations, the caps, the gowns, the whole kit and caboodle. Thrown back home in a scattered hurry, forced to leave my friends and the wonderful city I loved behind without proper goodbyes. As the escalating situation abroad loomed like a sword of Damocles, I was relieved to be with my family again, at least sharing the uncomfortable lodgings of uncertainty. Kind of like when I felt poorly as a child and all I wanted to do was snuggle up and watch cartoons, my Mum or Dad popping in every so often and calling me 'Sweet Pea' with a teaspoon of Calpol. For those first few weeks I was on a precipice, feeling like Jeeves as internal questions pestered me day and night. How will I pass my exams? How will I get a job? What if I catch something and pass it on to my family? What else can I do but pace up and down, fretting constantly? Of course all of us answered that last question. Because we didn't fret constantly. Just as changeable as the chaos outside, we found that we could be worried one minute and calm the next.
A warm bowl of porridge with my favourite toppings: blueberries, strawberries, milled flax n' chia and a dollop of raspberry jam made by someone special. That Raiders of the Lost Ark parody from the Simpsons where an infuriated and rotund Homer falls down the stairs, alike the rolling boulder. The new skincare I ordered arriving in the post, flush with free samples. The joy -- yes, the joy -- of being stung by a bee that overflew from a lavender bush, an overt reminder that bees are still going strong despite their recent decline. Making a lamb rogan josh from scratch and reaffirming my belief that there is no substitute for a home-cooked meal made with fresh ingredients. An equally fresh breeze, Poppy dog at my feet and sunlight penetrating verdant canopies above my head: an image I have always associated with heaven on earth. These fleeting moments of happiness follow no algorithm. They come and go in a completely random pattern. Wonderfully frustrating and frustratingly wonderful. Sure, a defined schedule of moments would yield that anticipation we all miss but then our lives have never been a macrocosm of some rigid itinerary.
I have wished for better days but then I have been blessed with experiences I never would've wished for. So thank you, 2020 -- no, really -- for 5 seemingly daunting months in a house full of laughter, my furry best friend reverted to her puppy-like ways, a 2:1 in my degree and the ability to run 5k.
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