It's been a long, long year and COVID-19 hasn't killed me yet.
This is one of the moments where I feel like I have much to pen down to make up for the events that have happened since my last post ages ago, but at the same time, my life has been nothing but ordinary the past year, which means there's little to write about. In fact, I've been so out of touch with writing things that this feels strange.
2020 started with massive potential, after all it's the end of a decade and a year where the numerals were aesthetically pleasing. It was a year decorated with long weekends and the first year in the zodiac cycle. Epic plans were made to travel around the globe, yet again. I had dreams to be realised - more places to visit, more breaths to be taken away. Not insinuating anything, but someone out there decided it was okay, maybe to just release a little vial of malice into the world to gauge human resilience.
It was not okay. It's not.
The world shut down. It's still shut, even now. I've even been locked out of my home (372 days and counting) and thrown into an abysmal state of mundaneness. I'm pretty sure the lot of the world can concur that our lives have normalised into a rigid state of tedium and monotony. Everyday is a reminder that there's nothing to look forward to. This global pandemic serves not only as a grave reminder that humans are merely pawns in this vulnerable ecosystem but alas also probes the deepest of thoughts - what do we live for; what is life?
Thoughts that revolved around those questions drained me mentally and emotionally as I struggled to justify living through each and every day without anything to look forward to. My introversion cried for social interactions. I must emphasise that we're constantly our own victims with overthinking. It hits us when we're most vulnerable and to be stuck in a state of life deprived of a life, it's only a matter of time before being overrun by our inner voices. Of course, optimism kicks in and attempts to fend off these real, yet thematically negative thoughts: self-denial that things will get better soon.
It buys us some time to lull and sign our lives away into a routine cycle whereby the highly sought after "work-life" balance takes precedence. We become moulded and accustomed to live our lives the NEW normal way, bereft of the realism that there's still nothing to look forward to. It gets better. We don't think too much. Our expectations are lowered to be satisfied with the abundance of TV shows, the gradual resumption of the closed-off, isolated economy.
Yes, we're okay, of course we are.
And then one fine day, when your mind caves and realism gains the upper hand, you're forced once again to duel the same foe and it will all come back to haunt you, stronger than ever. We've lived through this void and mediocrity. We're living in this void and mediocrity. I suppose that's been the highlight of the past year, and this year all together.
But what is next?
But what is life?
The questions come back to haunt.
Wait, hold those thoughts, please.
I've got to finish my work, and this episode, and think of what to have for lunch tomorrow that I haven't already had today, or yesterday, or the day before.
Wait it's April next week? Oh yay, nine more months to the new year.
And it's Wednesday already! Can't wait for Satu-
Yup, we're okay.
Of course we are.