The last few days have been hectic. It’s all a blur. I remember sitting in an amphitheatre, my thoughts focused on all the things I had to do, all the things I had not done, all the papers I had to write and the tests I had to get right.
Then, the email, the Damocles sword that announced the end of this scene, the drop of the curtain, and all of us, actors, taken aback by the reality that was to come.
And now, I’m sitting here, in my parent’s living room. My dad tried to cook a pizza, but turned on the microwave for three minutes instead. Confusion, that’s what pulled the traits of his face when my mother told him that is not how one cooks a pizza, and we laughed.
We’re laughing in this apartment, in this town, in this country, and I was not here three days ago, I was not here.
I didn’t expect to see this appartement so soon, to see my childhood home and my room. Oh my room, that is not really mine anymore, just a temple of pure nostalgia and of who I used to be before, but now… Now in my own room I feel like a stranger and maybe that’s the biggest danger, I’ve lost my benchmarks and I don’t know why I am here, who I am here.
They didn’t give us closure. They took away our final months and we weren’t prepared to say goodbye.
It’s no tragedy. I have a bed, a roof, hot water and enough to live for months comfortably. I have the warmth of my parent’s eyes and my phone is right here, I can talk to my friends and my cousins far away, everything is just fine, just fine.
But I’m lost in my head, underwater, trying to catch my breath, in this labyrinthine process of thought. I’ve been moving for the past days, in and out of appartements and train stations, my eyes constantly looking at my phone for the news, for the next crisis, for the new instructions and my heart has been beating so fast it doesn’t know how to act now.
I’ve hugged many to say goodbye, and punctuated every hug and bye! from afar with a “see you soon” as if it were an automatism, awkwardly using generic expressions that seem to not belong to these current times.
I’ve hugged some more than others, and yes it’s not right, and yes, there shouldn’t be any contact but give me just this, just these 5 seconds of warmth, 5 seconds where I don’t have to know what the next news and crisis and instructions are going to bring, 5 seconds of blissful ignorance.
I’ve kissed, hugged, danced. Three days to channel into my body, mind, and heart all the things that make me happy, to print them in the back of my head so they never leave, not like all of us.
And now I’m sitting on this sofa, in my living room and my mom told me to keep a journal for the next few days. Things have to be real, written, black on white and then they will be calm. They will bring us certitude.
Maybe.
And so it is Day 1.
I will keep the warmth, albedo-like, I promise.
Day 1.
So true