It takes ten weeks of a national lockdown or quarantine, and eleven of basically isolation, to realise that this is it. That, at least for me, this time won’t be some sort of miraculous inspirational heaven where I find my cause or my passion project. My life, I reflected often, is just this.
It’s hard to picture the feeling of loneliness and restlessness when you’re part of one of the most privileged groups in societies. “What’s the point?” I keep asking myself. Life feels “normal” now, and the much overused question of “how are you dealing with lockdown?” just feels redundant at this point.
Life is just… this.
And then, shockingly and unsurprisingly, the world woke up to a new wave of anti-racist protests. Like any major event, the newscycle almost forgot about coronavirus facts and figures as the murder of George Floyd was shared over and over again on social media.
In the space of a few days, it almost felt like the isolation nightmare was finally over while we focused on another one. But that’s yet to be seen.
