Pandemic Journal & Inventory of the Mind
Life is sapped from the living. Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness - Maya Angelou, A Brave and Startling TruthWednesday, August 19 20201:30PM: Restless. An hour on the phone with Reg this morning. It started as a video call but immediately I asked that we switch to audio because I didn't want him distracted on the road. Of all three siblings, I’m always the one sticking to the rules, checking every box to be sure we’re safe. He could tell when my voice began to lose its steadiness, and he apologized long before I started to sob, choking down on the muffled sound. No one talks about it, I said. I pressed the phone so tightly against my ear as though I were struggling to hear him. But the other end was silent because he was listening, and I repeated myself- No one talks about it and I’m tired. I’m tired. And my brother, driving home alone from work, field hands resting on the wheel, apologized and sighed and listened to me cry. It should be the last thing on my mind, but I picture our father and how often he’s been in such a position, leaned against tired leather, seat belt strapped across his chest in obedience. Radio on and eyes fixed on the road, driving us to school, driving to work, picking us from school and sending us all home. How we live our lives, how often we repeat ourselves.
- A rhapsody of wonder: The sky as a blanket. All those stars. I do not remember the last time I stopped to look up. The movement of time. A painting that looks so much alive its texture crawls at my touch. My being here, my quiet existence.
- I consider to be home: Where I am I am I am. Full, moving, learning and unafraid to be.
- What can be learned from today: Rest is good. A letter on someone’s birthday is as good as flowers I can’t afford.
- Easing fears: Talking to God. Taking deep breaths.
- Beyond my window: Towering greens. The start of a staircase that leads to a room above me. I hear the footsteps as they go up and come down. I try very hard to not let them know I’m watching. I do not look beyond my window often. People do not like being watched. And neither do I.
- I am running out of: Rice.
- What is inching closer and closer: My literature paper deadline. My brother’s 26th birthday. My friend’s wedding. Fall semester. Next month’s rent. Dinner. Sleep.
- It is good to keep: Believing. Friends. Letters. Secrets too, although I avoid knowing if I can. My fear isn’t that I will let it out; just the thought of knowing something that should rather not be known makes me uncomfortable. Don’t tell me if it makes no difference.
- The inside of my mind has become: A lot of things lately, but mostly quiet. No, actually it’s a lot of things but in an orderly way. Picture a cluttered room but cluttered in a way that is so organized you’d be tempted to think nothing is amiss. But everything needs to go.
- Something beautiful: This book I’m reading, Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. God’s love. My surprising stillness in a pandemic. The framed photograph of my dad by my bed. Hope.
- These days the only way I can write is if I: Write. On the bed, sitting or lying on my side.
- I try my best to: Not panic. Keep going. Speak up, although I fail countless times to do so. Eat well. Write & read.
- I can remember: The smell of coffee and French toast from this morning. Kwabena’s voice note. Last week’s acceptance email. Last week’s rejection email. Saying goodbye to Nana & Nayana.
- At least for now, I can: Finish this piece. Sleep. Read. Forgive myself. Be patient. Be hopeful. Be loving.
- First word to learn in a language lesson: Please. Also, Thank You. Although my landlady did teach me mi casa es tu casa, before anything else.
- The best way to honor: Serve.
- I’m growing tired of: My unbelief. Nighttime skincare routine.
- Someone who will watch over me: Mama. Lisa. Sandra.
- In order to not lose my compassion: I remain acutely aware of my own humanity, my own tendencies, my own powerlessness, my own fleeting existence.
- Love is something you: Do.
2:09PM: The sound of my fan whirring. It’s just me in this room, the possibilities that exist. Good or bad? I am living each day it seems, the same. Alarm at 6:00am and I pull myself out of bed, gratitude in my breath. Favorite thing to wear is a pair of shorts and an oversize T-shirt. Coffee and cream ready and hot. Warm in my hands. I listen to Ms Sanchez talk about politics and the English language. Adverbs and tense agreement and people’s arrogance. I laugh, open my eyes in disbelief. I nod, ask questions, sip my coffee. It’s one of the few conversations that do not make me anxious because I only have to speak little and listen much. Tomorrow will be a year since I hugged my family at the airport, left my homeland. No one knows but last night I came close to texting a boy I know is bad for me. Ah, there’s a secret, the very thing I run from. I didn't text him. Little victory. What can be said about today? Quiet hours. An unquestionable stillness. Hot weather. I don’t know, frankly. It is good to be here, in this place, and at this time. God is purposeful and my life is meaningful, even when it takes me a while to see and accept it. I may be enraged and at my wits' end tomorrow but now, here in this moment, I’m living carefully and attentively. What is good and light and abundant I have found, or at least, I’m no longer running from.