i have lost count of days and dates. it’s not a surprise. i needed many alarms and checks to keep myself on track with the outside world before this lockdown happened. i know whuhun happened sometime in December 2019 but the new years night was a brilliant blast with my girls, while my boys were home. and then january I vaguely remember as a burst of adrenaline off and on with my new work beginning with clients. helping them understand themselves helped me understand much of myself. I don’t remember February very well; it was acutely ,achingly painful but march i remember as the beginning of a darker tunnel than the one i live in…
so I’ll date this day as any you want to,if you are reading this, because you must be alone too. and what day of the week it is, does not matter anymore.
what matters then?
were our lives meaningful only when sorted out by days and clocks. tick tocking our lives into compartments. even there, i did not have anything in common with anyone. my life is not sorted into hours and days. like that day my first born came into my life; i remember the labour of cajoling him into this world wad so long that I lost track of what day i came to be admitted and what day i left. he didn’t want to come into this world without breaking my being and my heart. and we stayed in the hospital for i don’t know how many days. they call it two weeks but i call it whatever number of days it took to place my sense of self and being far from myself.
so, how does it matter if we are locked down. we were never free.
inch by inch we recoil into ourselves and for many its terrifying. for me,it is comforting. i do not have to function. I can just be.
I raise my glass to this moment and say cheers to that moment that broke me from time and space. happy birthday son