I like to believe that time is pixie dust washing away in an hourglass. This year, it seems pixies were playing with the hourglass like Tiktokers play with playback speed buttons. I saw loneliness courting humanity, foxtrotting around the planet like Newton’s law of gravitation.
Homes became boggarts and our wands were malfunctioned because of excessive sanitization. 2020 was a theory paper on Hedgehog’s dilemma, chaotic yearning for intimacy but not wanting to hurt the people we yearn. And hope? Hope was lost in spam mails that no one ever opened.
I opened the rationed cookie jar of panic during lockdown and binge ate the burden of my privilege on touch starved plates. I lost people without echoing an unwanted final incantation.
I miss psycho-analyzing the body language of my teachers instead of playing tag with my anxiety and mute buttons on zoom calls. I miss the societal construct of normality, the way intersecting lines miss each other after colliding just once.
Yet, this year showered a whirlwind of catastrophes that nurtured my soul like happy fan fiction accidents. I learned the language of flowers and took some people to my walk-in closet. Art slipped inside through an ajar door and taught me survival instinct. If the world is a dystopian novel, we are surviving through dalgona coffees and cajoling our wills to exist on days beds became an anchor and the world was too heavy to lift.
Now, I see Instagram stories of “when this ends”. I see people using rockets of dreams to scream away their boggarts into black holes. I see people swallowing the loneliness of the world in a reverse Pandora’s box, collecting hope in their vocal cords so whenever they text “stay safe”, only warmth comes out. I see hope coming and going in waves as though waiting for an Amazon order without express shipping, as though it was unfinished art projects in an art classroom. I see hope like helium balloons in space. I see hope. I see hope. I see hope.
The hourglass is flipping, it is finally time to check my spam mail. Until then, hold onto your balloons.
//”Spamming Hope”// Enigma
Copyright © 2016-2021 Enigma. All rights reserved.
Picture Credits: Enigma (Inktober 2020 Art Day 16 Rocket)
Art Inspiration: Inspired from the verse: “I see people using rockets of dreams to scream away their boggarts into black holes.”