Almost two years into this pandemic and the heavy blanket of apathy that I used to comfort me has now become my skin. I was told these dire times require extra optimism and yet posting updates of my life leaves a bitter taste in the mouth—something that shouldn’t be because “aren’t we all simply trying to live?”.
There’s a tiny voice in my head that says it’s evil to be happy when the world is falling apart. On most days, I believe it. And so when spiritedness packed its bags and left, I did not call it back. Life no longer looked like its name. It morphed into a perpetual humdrum of tiring sunrises and patient sunsets. It is neither sad nor happy. It’s just… there.
Two weeks ago, this cat arrived in our lives. It brought with it responsibility and weekly anxiety whenever it would go ‘missing’. She responds to the name “Cotton”, likes being around people, and is scared of other cats. They say that if your cat likes you, they will bring you gifts — usually prey or whatever interesting thing they find outside. Day by day, Cotton brings me a piece of the life I felt I lost.
I doubt we’ll be able to bring that all back but it brings comfort to think that we try.
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