Here We Are

Is this the point when we can look back and say it was like a bad dream?

When businesses, schools and workplaces had to close. When there was debate over what was considered essential services. When everything that could suddenly went online and things that we never thought were possible or normal suddenly became widespread and rampant. 

I remember the early days of our country’s version of a lockdown, and I feel terrible to admit… I remembered feeling happy. 

Ok, relieved, to be exact. 

I was relieved that I didn’t have to deal with the pressure of showing up at work after crying for most of the night. I was relieved that I didn’t have to use extra energy to function outside of home. I was relieved that I didn’t have to deal with the anxiety with what people thought of me so much, because.. There were no people to deal with, for some time at least. I was so thankful that the bar of what it meant to be a functioning human being had been lowered and felt much more attainable for a period of time.

And of course I felt terrible for having felt this way because I also knew people were suffering. Dying. Families were unable to be united across borders. Livelihoods were being lost. Frontline personnel were being suffocated. And yet, I felt relieved that I didn’t have to physically go to work.

Over the next 2 years, I realise I wanted that sweet spot. The sweet spot of the pandemic still being a THING – so that we couldn’t open up fully, but being able to open up enough so that we could do the minimally normal things like going out for a meal, meeting some people (Eg: Therapists) and have small-enough gatherings. 

And now that the restrictions are slowly but surely disappearing, I am frankly quite terrified. 

Because it means that there’re no more excuses not to have workplace gatherings, face-to-face meetings, to conduct large-scale projects, to have to go on staff retreats and bonding sessions, and company DnDs. It means there’s socially acceptable reason why people should be having lunch alone, or why we should not be seated around a communal table.

And I feel terrible that I am feeling this resistance around things going back to normal, because it’s what everybody has been working so hard for over the past 2 years. It’s what everybody should want… right?

I think the real issue is that I need to stop using the pandemic as an excuse to embrace what I want.

I don’t need a pandemic to help me protect my personal space and downtime during lunch. I can set up those boundaries myself.

I don’t need a pandemic to happen to only make myself available for selected gatherings and meetups. I know which types of interactions are most meaningful for me, and what kind of people recharge, rather than drain me.

I don’t need a pandemic to rationalise my energy levels and how much I want to put out there in the world. I can embrace how much I want to give, how much I need to rest, and what’s the optimal level of functioning for me.

I can learn to do all that. Myself. Without needing a pandemic.

*Deep breath*

Here I am.

Writing.

So. I might have become one of those people who returns to their blog after a long hiatus.

I dust the digital cobwebs away and put my fingers to work. As these words flow I’m not really sure what will come out. We shall see.

Even though I haven’t been blogging, I have never stopped journaling. The physical act of writing has always been therapeutic for me. I think it has something to do with having an impressionable teacher during my formative school years. She insisted that we learn how to write in cursive – for what reason, I will never know. But I do know that it instilled in me an appreciation for beautiful fonts and handwriting, something I try to maintain. As I think about it now, I feel immensely grateful to the teacher who bothered to get her 8-9 year-olds to practice writing cursive ABCs daily in a penmanship notebook which she mandated them to bring daily. One of those things which would never count for marks in a standardised test, but which bring back precious memories and feelings.

At the end of our time together, this same teacher wrote an individualised letter to each of us in – you guessed it – cursive script. A testimony to her love for beautiful handwritten script and her love for each individual student in her class. Years later, when I became a teacher and wrote individualised notes to each student, it was with her example in mind, because I remember how she made each one of us feel so special and seen and cherished, and I wanted to pass some of that on.

I don’t know how I ended up reminiscing about a teacher whom I crossed paths with almost 2 decades ago. It really shows how we cannot underestimate the impact we make on people, even if we don’t feel that we’re making much of an impact at that time. Every little thing we do does make a difference, and sometimes its especially the little things – like your love for cursive script – that can make the biggest difference in another’s life.

The Self Remains

She misses the Self she used to be
The one in her tower
The one who hid behind walls
The one who trusted in blocks of independence and solitude.

She misses the nostalgic landscapes of her inner world
The expansive fields
The idyllic hills
The vast oceans of unparalleled depth.

No one in sight.

She misses being so sure of what the Self was so sure of.

Where is she now?

Exploring.
Learning new ways of being.
Uncovering new ways of seeing.
Discovering new ways of building.

She is grieving the loss that comes with change, even as they bring her learning and growth.

She realises she is still the same.
The Self remains.

The REply in my head

“Did you know? She declared that she has a mental health diagnosis.
I’m having second thoughts about having her come in to work here.
What if she can’t take the work? What if she has too many issues?
What if she needs more supervision and that means us taking more time to support her?
Maybe it’s a good thing for us if she doesn’t get the job after all.”

I listened with my heart in my mouth, thankful that we were speaking on the phone and not in person. I felt my heartbeat getting faster. I felt myself wanting to defend… Who, what, I’m not sure. But I felt like I had to defend something.

“I was there too”, I wanted to say. “I still have bad days. I know what’s that like. I don’t think it’s fair that her abilities should be judged just because she declared her diagnosis.”

I ended up only speaking a version of the last line, rather half-heartedly.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to discriminate… I mean, many people with mental health issues manage really well with medication and stuff like that.. Right?”

“Hmm… that’s true.”

The conversation ended, I went home and sank into bed, wiping away tears of shame and anger. The reply I wanted to give, wished I had given, churned on in my head.

“I was there too. I know what that’s like. Don’t be so quick to dismiss or judge people who struggle with mental health issues.

You didn’t know this, and there were times when I just wanted to drop the masks and tell everyone. But I didn’t. Because I was too afraid of comments like the ones you just made.

Did I affect the team negatively, even when I felt that my life wasn’t worth living?

Did I require extra support to do my work, even when I came to work after crying intensely the night before? (And while we’re at this, what’s wrong with providing extra support for someone who may need it?)

Did I create extra work for everyone, even when I believed I was useless and a fraud and had pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes?

Your words are hurtful and shame-inducing because they speak to the darkest parts of me. The parts that tell me I’m not good enough, the parts that I tried so hard to conceal under a facade of efficiency and confidence.

In a way I admire her for declaring, whatever her reasons may be. At least she doesn’t have to hide that part of herself anymore.”

Zoom Fatigue

I am tired of seeing my friends and colleagues in squares on my computer screens.

My ears are tired of hearing distorted and sudden bursts of sound through the earpiece.

I am tired of dealing with technical difficulties and latency.

 

I miss interacting with people face to face – which is an unlikely thing for me to say, I know.

Ok I guess I should edit that. I miss interacting with some people face to face ;p

 

 

 

Constants

There are 24 hours in a day.

The sun rises and sets.

The law of gravity still applies.

All seasons change.

Water evaporates.

All living things die.

Time will march on.

This too shall pass.

 

In a world where there isn’t much we can be sure about anymore, constant things suddenly seem a lot more precious.

 

 

 

A Whole New World

Today I went out for the first time after the latest new measures were implemented in the country, asking everyone to remain at home as much as possible.

Public parks are one of the few places people are still allowed to visit. They haven’t been shut off… yet.

Everywhere we look, there are reminders that we are living in a totally different and unexpected world.

Everything has changed too fast and too much.

Perhaps its all we can do, to hold on to little moments of physical freedom.

Inhaling the beauty of greenery around us, embracing the expansive blue of the sky, and sighing in quiet joy with the morning shadows.

 

Looking Ahead for Hope

It’s just one month, I tell myself.

After one month, things will get better.

You’ve booked a staycation in May (with flexible cancellation dates. Just in case).

You’ll get to meet your friends again and sit in the cafes to have coffee and people watch through window seats. In the meantime, you can still journal at home. You can make art. Music. Read. You have Zoom. And Skype. You can finally do all the online courses you’ve always wanted to do but never had the time for. You’ll have all the downtime you’ve always dreamed off and not have to feel guilty about it! You’re not going to be bored to death. You’ve always been able to find things to do at home. It’s just the mindset of having to stay at home now that’s making you anxious and feeling trapped. And that’s understandable.

It’s ok to feel scared and anxious, AND also remember that we don’t have to panic and that this will pass. We’re in the storm now, knowing that this storm won’t last forever.

Hang on!

This World Now

I haven’t been here for a long time.

Today is a work from home day, and I suddenly found the time and inspiration to come back to this space. Or maybe something in my body just told me that I really needed to. I really need this outlet today.

It feels so surreal, this world we are living in now.

I feel small, powerless, and so not in control.

I see everyone encouraging each other on social media and posting things about taking care of our physical and mental health. And reminding each other not to get swept up in the paranoia and anxiety of the times.

Which just makes me feel more anxious, really.

I have turned off notifications for most apps on my phone.

I am working on allowing all feelings, which can get really uncomfortable.

On the brighter side, I am enjoying the slowed down pace of life, the emphasis on meaningful connection, and the time we have to reflect on what truly matters.

I don’t think the worst is over.

I hope for strength and equanimity.

The Voice

“What makes you think you can help others when you can’t even help yourself?”

Excuse me, voice in my head. I’d like to let you know that I’ve done plenty to help myself. I have asked for help. I have reached out. I have made certain changes to my lifestyle. I’ve been courageous enough to ask for more help. I’ve been working on voices like you, who may have developed at some point in time in my life for some purpose which is no longer relevant and hence does not benefit me anymore.

The fact that we are still on this journey does not mean that I have not done enough.

It might simply mean that the journey is still ongoing, that the process is continuing, that we are truly all works in progress.

Trust the process.