I need to keep writing despite how unmotivated I feel about doing it. Because this time will pass and it may be difficult to remember. Truly remember. Perhaps we won’t want to. But remembering will be important not least so we don’t go back to exactly where we came from. There was so much that was wrong about the way we were living before this thing hit. And only if we identify those things and change those things, will any of this make any sense at all.
“Let us love this distance, which is thoroughly woven with friendship, since those who do not love each other are not separated.” Simone Weil
I think about all the people I’m going to hug when this is over. I imagine what it will be like to hug my friends, and all those people that I love, again. It’s going to be epic and makes me smile hugely when I think about it. Smile and cry. I’m a sap, remember. When those borders re-open, I might have to take another world tour just in order to go hugging. But I do wonder how it will ever feel safe. I do wonder when we’ll ever feel okay about hugging.
I learnt to hold my hands as if in prayer and then to bow gently as a hello and a goodbye when I was in Asia. I used it in the Phillipines and Indonesia too. And I used it as a thank you. It feels nice to do. The head bow is a gesture of respect and gratitude and the action seems to me more meaningful than the word. Maybe that will be the way forward. But I do love a hug.
So still. There are moments when this new way of living is okay and moments when it’s just not. And I imagine that’s the same for most people like me. Those of us who are not on the front-line of this thing and have the luxury of doing our bit by just staying at home. And smudging our days together. I have to check, but we’re half way though our fourth week of lock-down and we’ll hear from Jacinda on Monday as to what the next steps are. The incident and the death rate in New Zealand is comparatively low and it feels as though we, my adopted New Zealand, are well on the way to containing this thing. Although what that means in the long term, well, I don’t know. Even if it’s contained here, how and when will I be able to move again? And where will I go?
There has just been another earthquake. Sitting here writing this. And I’m surprised by how emotional it makes me. It arrives as a final nudge that tips me over and I realise I’m holding on to something. I was sitting in the kitchen with a Saturday afternoon beer, as it happens. Mrs ChO’C was having a snooze on the sofa whilst Mr ChO’C was pottering in and out of the garage with his afternoon beer. The kids were in their rooms. The sun is shining and the autumn colours through the windows are really quite stunning. I felt it coming before it hit proper. A low rumble and then as if a giant had body-slammed the side of the house. It didn’t last long but it was pretty violent. I hung on to the table which was unnecessary but instinctive. Mr ChO’C came in seconds later with a concerned smile. How was that? Ugh.
We’re all okay. Rattled, but okay. These dear people that surround me have lived through it all. And a lot worse. It seems the jogging of memories is what is bad for them. For me, it’s the additional layer of uncertainty. I mean, the earth actually moved. It’s absurd.
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