“To love someone is firstly to confess: I am prepared to be devastated by you.”

Each time I am deeply, profoundly hurt there is an overwhelming, dread-filled sense of inevitability and resignation that feels something like: “Oh god, this is it. This is the one that’ll do it. This is the one that’ll finally break me. My heart just can’t take it again.” Each time I sit, crushed, inconsolable, waiting for the world to end — and each time it begins again in the morning. My fragile, bruised heart: a fox fleeing bloodhounds – stricken but stoic – carries on beating; blood keeps pumping; lungs keep inhaling, keep exhaling; tear ducts (which I am certain have well exhausted their function by now) spill anew once more. Ups and downs. Loss and adjustment. And yet, I – somehow – despite it all – do not, will not – lose the fundamental trust and faith I feel towards humans and nature and friendship and joy and love. To possess the capacity to love another person – without judgement, without agenda – is a gift. To own the capacity to feel deeply is a gift. Connectedness to another – passing or permanent – is a gift. Sometimes people shine their light on you only briefly: entering your life unannounced and unexpected, inspiring and enriching and emboldening your very soul, and then they are gone, it seems, as soon as they appear, vacating the home they made in your heart. It’s brutal, it’s unfair, but I refuse to let grief take the shape of anger; to demonise or vilify. I will cherish the memories and the lessons and the bond – the capacity to find fulfilment and joy and understanding and commonality in another human. To be able to love and love unconditionally – I am so, so lucky.

“Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it” David Foster-Wallace wrote once. To feel deep pain is to feel deep love – absence always denotes a presence. All I strive for anymore is the grace to accept and to let go – with dignity, with decorum – everything which does not (will not, can not) whole-heartedly choose me back.

(‘White Nights’ by Dostoevsky, p. 35)

Isolation playlist

I hope everyone’s keeping safe. Reality feels like a surreal dystopian alternate universe right now and it’s absolutely bizarre. I am using the time to get fit, write, catch up on university work, and learn some new skills (currently, I’m speaking fluent French and teaching myself how to do the splits.) Oddly enough, I don’t think I’ve ever been this productive in my life… It only took a global pandemic happening for me to blossom into the fully functioning member of society adult that I should have already been.

books, books, and more books.

My typical reaction to literally anything happening in life ever is to make a Spotify playlist, so here’s a quarantine-themed one if anyone’s interested. Happy social distancing!