A Walk to Work

On January 15th, I wake up at 4.30 in the morning––such is my routine on the days I have a morning shift. My room is pitch black and cold. The radiator in my room is broken, so nights in January are something to survive. Walking into the kitchen, I look at the back garden from the window. I can hardly see the trees lining it as the night still conceals them. These winter mornings feel sticky and cruel. Every task, from getting up to making breakfast, requires more energy than I can muster. I move slowly. Reaching for a bowl from the top cabinet feels like a deep stretch that travels across my entire body. My muscles are sore, my body not yet recovered from the day before. On such mornings, January is a physical sensation.

I make my way to work after a morning that feels both too long and too short. When I step outside, sparkling snow creaks under my step. The air is cold, and it reaches my uncovered face instantly. My cheeks begin to ache. My breathing changes intuitively. I breathe in deep, long breaths, to help my body to get accustomed to the cold. It is dark and quiet––the neighbourhood is still asleep.

I walk along the riverbank, and looking at the icy water, I think about the life I’m living. In the past months, I have felt infatuation and love. More recently, from deep inside me all the way to the most superficial parts of my body, I’ve felt something sharper, something that could tear me apart if I were to only let it. I feel it especially under my ribs and as a numb buzzing in my head. It is a mix of warmth and intolerable yearning. It grows whenever I look around, wherever I look, as my surroundings constantly remind me of the source of these inescapable feelings.

Reaching the roundabout, I’m halfway to my destination. Before getting to work, though, I still have time to think. I think more about the emotions that are in me, and I find that they are unbearable, but that feeling them is a blessing. My wishes have been answered: I’m young and I feel it. My life revolves around relationships, both platonic and not. At this moment, looking up at the dark winter sky, I can observe my emotions objectively, as if from a distance, and deduce that feeling them must be good for me.

He had asked me about my biggest dream. I had replied by saying that I wanted nothing to change. I had wanted to be able to come home and hear the laughter of my roommates, to walk upstairs and join them. That is my dream, to keep on living this life that feels easy––this life supports me, gives me everything I need. If I could now add one thing to my biggest dream, I would say that I hope to forget. Still, I hope to never forget these feelings that I’ve been given. I feel richer than ever before, having in me, for the first time, these beautiful, strong emotions. They fill my small, unimportant days. Having the time to feel is beautiful. Understanding this, I know for certain that I’m living the best time of my life. Although it doesn’t feel that way, I am happier than ever.

My life is a combination of intense, unprecedented newness and comforting, warm familiarity. My body is young and eager to feel, to reach out into the world and to know and live all that it offers me. At the same time, I want to gather in a ball, be small and surrounded by the people and things I know. I want to enjoy this moment in life, even with all its contradictions.

Walking across the old train track, my headphones make a whirring sound, like they do every morning in the same spot. I’ve come to expect it. I’m almost there. One day at a time, I bring myself closer––without noticing it––to becoming someone new. I don’t need to do anything but live through my very normal days. As I do this, quietly and slowly, I grow more into myself. My brain and my heart develop in conjunction. As I use my key to open the backdoor of the store, I can sense that I’m on the brink of something entirely new, something that will transform both my mind and my emotions. In this sadness, too, I’m excited. Everything is small and inconsequential, yet incredibly important to me. I’m doing nothing, but I’m feeling everything.