Here, now.

The first time it happened was when I dropped my coffee mug on the floor. I had just been talking to one of my friends about how well I was doing in quarantine and how I had actually been able to keep up with my school work. Yes, I had panicked a little at the beginning of the pandemic and the thought of not seeing my friends or going outside had seemed unbearable, but up until that morning everything was going surprisingly well. I felt good. I felt optimistic. And suddenly, seeing the coffee spilled all over my kitchen floor made all the negative feelings I had been suppressing spill out as well. I sat down and sobbed for a good 10 minutes, and the daydreaming state I had been living in shattered without me knowing why. If half an hour earlier I wasn’t too bothered about spending a couple more weeks inside, sitting there I felt like I wouldn’t last a minute more.

But I’m here, now, writing this - so obviously I did. In fact, it got to a point where I had no more tears left, and then I was okay again. I got up, cleaned my kitchen, and went on with my day. This happened in my first week of isolation – it has now been over 6 weeks of barely leaving my house. And I wish I could say that that episode was a one time thing, but the truth is that these bursts of despair have come and gone, sneaking up on me with no previous warning. In the middle of an online yoga class, while I’m washing the dishes, in the shower. It doesn’t matter if I had a perfect day or if I’ve been a productive, functional adult (whatever that means). One second I’m organising my makeup drawer and the next I feel like throwing all my eyeshadows out of the window. I’ve racked my brain about all the possible reasons this could be happening, and after thoughtful deliberation –and trust me, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it- I couldn’t really find an explanation, other than the fact that these have simply been the weirdest, most confusing months of my life.

I have briefly mentioned it to some of my friends and to some degree or other they have also experienced this. Sometimes we feel like we are mastering the art of quarantine and sometimes we just feel this deep, all-consuming feeling of anguish. Like our brain is closing in on us, when we already feel so restricted by the actual walls in our house. However, after six weeks I know that those moments pass, and when it seems like I will never stop crying I know, deep down, that I will. I read something once that said that when you’re feeling cold it is impossible to imagine what it feels like to be warm. But you do, eventually, feel warm again. The same way those times of distress always end up going away. Nobody really knows how to navigate this, so it’s normal to feel lost in ways that we’ve probably never experienced. When I got my heart broken for the first time, there were millions of people whose hearts had been broken before who told me how to deal with it. When I lost a friend, there were so many people I could turn to for advice, because they had been through it before. Now, we are all just turning to each other and doing our best to provide and find comfort in whichever way we can.

I have been trying my best to not shy away from my feelings. In fact, if anything I have been paying them extra attention. The other day I read an article by George Saunders where he talked about how important it was for us to observe the world, to bear witness to the things that were happening. We are usually so caught up in our lives that it seems hard to find time to do exactly that – to simply witness things, as they happen. But now, for all of us who are lucky to be able to stay home and have a little extra time, why not allow ourselves to surrender to these foreign feelings, without judgment, without expectations. This is completely new territory for all of us. All these emotions, these ups and downs – we’re all figuring out how to process them. So there is no right or wrong way to feel, but I do think it is important to be aware of these feelings. To document this new aspect of life that none of us knew of before. When it feels like the world is crashing and burning outside – and there’s not much I can do besides staying inside – I sit and I write. And by the time I’m finished the flames burn a little less.