In the Midst of a Pandemic

Well, at the very least, we have learnt a new word. And perhaps, for some, the true meaning of it has been tasted. Was it like a bitter pill? Definitely not sweet, for that is obvious.

I have stopped writing. Just stopped. No reason. Even during this circuit breaker, with time on my hand, both literally and metaphorically; it is so soft and slippery - like feather, like eel.

Now, I feel a need to stretch over my airy thoughts with the skin that is an expanse of words.

I can't deny I am stressed. In this economic climate, I am worried about my employment. I have a new manager. Both combined to pour uncharted waters. To add fuel to the fire, the new manager cries "unstable" - as in from the start, she is a "flight risk", as in she always has her suitcase packed, ready to move on to greener pasture. Now, I am beginning to enjoy writing this - or maybe, I am just telling myself that. Sometimes it works. It is interesting how she radiates so much negativity that other human beings will not want to be around her - maybe I am also talking about myself, so I talk lesser these days in the office, dive into my job headlong, so to speak. I mean what harm is there. Then again, everything may just be in my imagination. Still, my office work remains a challenge to a certain extent - which is definitely a good thing.

One thing I have learnt about a pandemic is that it is like a war - against invisible things too tiny to see till too late: those airborne particles filled with malice, our own little flaws magnified, the ugliness of mankind always fuming below the surface. The magical antidote, positivity, for every problem - I can only wish for truckload of it.

Before I started writing this, I was thinking of putting words to plan on how to get my now previous life in order. In a better mood now, the first thing I just thought of: I need to read more. And write more. Definitely. And I need to be more determined in keeping myself physically fit - which will help my mood.

I don't know and keep asking myself: do I still have that fire in me to be a writer? I don't know. I really don't know. It is too hard, too much work. And I am getting tired, slipping into obscurity.