Several times during this quarantine I tried to write how I felt, what I thought, what my mood was. Every line, every letter, every sentence seems to me so trivial, so useless, so disrespectful. After all, my family and I were fine, why should I complain? "Stop it, don't you see what's going on out there?" said my brain.
Therefore, I have never investigated anything more than my diary, which is more private than ever at the moment. I have never expressed anything personal on my Instagram account since now. I have always read with pleasure the sensations, emotions and testimonies of others, always avoiding, however, to expose myself in the cauldron of flows of consciousness. I was calm, my life went on, I continued to work dedicated and with pleasure (fortunately!), I began to experiment with new things - I made drawings - and everything never seemed so heavy to me as the others showed.
After the last DPCM, the majority sang victory: it can be resumed with normal life!
But what does it mean to resume with "normal life" after living these two months? I don't know if you've tried to think about it, but if I have to tell you my own, since this time I decided to do it, it's scary.
Do you know the feeling of when you are in a dark room for a long time and then go out in the sun? Your eyes refuse to open, and for a few seconds you think you will never be able to see anything in your life again.
What will happen when I get out?
I don't say that I liked the quarantine (I would pay gold to be able to have breakfast at the bar every morning), but I had created my comfort zone. I adapt very easily to news and situations, but when I know that something new is about to end and that something new is about to begin (or to take something old in this case), I am always afraid that the light may blind and confuse me.
Maybe these lines, these letters and these sentences, may seem trivial or useless, but in a context of general relief, is there anyone like me who is looking for a pair of sunglasses?
.jpg)