United States

as in Presbyterian Church in America
Ambivert or something
Band nerd + Drum Major
Planet Earth nerd
etc, etc
Joined September 10, 2019

Message to Readers

I dunno. A personal narrative, I guess.

New Year's Resolutions

November 24, 2020

  1. Journal daily.
Sometimes you wish you had started this sooner, that you had picked up a notebook at the start of the year and scribbled your memories into it, transcribing moments now lost to the dark wells of time. You still don’t journal, even though you tell yourself daily that you should, to record everything that has happened. One day, your descendants could approach their history books long after you’re gone, talking about the pandemic, and they’ll wonder what it was like to actually live in such times. The books will tell them about the lack of toilet paper perhaps, or the inflation, but they won’t tell of the simple ways people stared out their windows, hoping for a change. And you won’t have left your words behind to explain it to them.
  1. Don’t take anything for granted.
There was the day, of course, when the school board announced you would not be coming back. You had known; everyone had whispered the day before, watching charts of cases rise steadily during the week. When the virus arrived in your county, you thought for sure it was over. And soon, it was. You learned many things in those weeks. You learned that your parents were right to buy toilet paper when they did, a couple weeks before in a slight mood of panic. You learned that your heart hardly needed socialization anymore as it used to, having prepared itself for a moment like this, driving away relationships until you had nothing. You learned that you needed connection with a world outside your own and joined websites to give yourself a sense of community that your own family could not provide. And sometimes you laid in your bed until noon and wondered if you’d ever escape such a vicious cycle, if you’d ever find your way back to normalcy. Sometimes you dreaded the coming of the morning.
  1. Learn to drive.
You hardly lasted a week before the first fight. You’d been fighting for as long as you both existed. You were eldest; you felt the guilt beat you down everytime she started to cry. You should have been more careful, you should have watched yourself, controlled yourself. You should have been better. There were the bad nights when you wanted to run away and drive as far as you could until you found yourself lost in your homeland of the wilderness, to wander until, by some stray chance, you managed to find your way home. But you weren’t sixteen yet, not old enough to step on the gas pedal and meander along the highway searching for a haven in the midst of a world on fire. Someday, when your birthday comes, you’ll step in a car and flee from this… this place they called home. It’s not bad, not really. But there are nights when all you want to do is drive until you reach the end of the earth.
  1. Forgive.
It wasn’t their fault. None of this was their fault. You couldn’t drive, so you cried yourself to sleep and called it your silent retaliation. After so many nights, you should have realized that they weren’t going to help you. They would never comfort you if you buried yourself in bed before it was dark; they knew your tricks too well by then. You cried and cried until your tears were dried up and you couldn’t even sigh anymore. That was went the emptiness swept upon you, when you were too afraid to ask for forgiveness because you didn’t deem yourself worthy. Those were the nights when you felt God was near. In the morning, you delivered your apology, and she delivered hers. You forgave, because you knew it was what He would want from you. This was no time to be divided against one another; you needed to stay strong.
  1. Wipe away the tears. And then stand up.
When it was all over, and your state finally allowed the restaurants to open and the people to wander more freely, you realized what the quarantine had made you. You ran to old friends and embraced, grateful to see one another after so many long hours apart, relishing in the realization that you had, indeed, survived. And to your great surprise, you emerged stronger, better. You were different now than you had been a few months ago. You set your arm around your sister’s shoulder and grinned, watching a sunset from the porch. Maybe you hadn’t journaled, and your memories of quarantine had been shoved into a wastebasket, but you were sure there was more to come, and you’d make your mark on history after all. You went inside and set your fingers to the keyboard to write another poem.


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  • November 24, 2020 - 9:50am (Now Viewing)

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