Immortality and Object Permanence.

This post was a long time coming, even though I tried my level best to avoid it.
There comes a time when one cannot continue to avoid something that’s right there,
staring at them, all the time. There comes a time when one has to address the elephant
in the room. That time, whether I like it or not, is now. And god, what an elephant it is.

I think, however, before we begin, some context is due. There is, in my mind at least,
a valid reason I wanted to avoid writing this. But in my battle against writing about-
you guessed it- the global pandemic we are currently facing, I ended up avoiding
writing entirely. That, obviously, isn’t healthy. Thus, she surrenders. She writes.

There are a couple of reasons why I didn’t want to do this, honestly- there’s too much
content like this out there already, it’s just giving this entire situation more publicity, I
could go on. But the main reason why I didn’t want to write about our current times is
a lot more personal, a lot more metaphorical (read: in my own head).

Sure, writers of all kinds all around the world will tell you that they write to escape
from the sometimes grim realities they have to deal with. But for me, writing is about
so much more than escapism. When I write, I write to give the subject of my rambles
immortality. I only write when I want to make sure that the thing I'm writing about
lives on in some form. Words are permanent, a lot more permanent than you or I could
ever dream of being. What bigger honour can I bestow on something, or the memory
of someone, than to write about it, so it lives on forever?

I only write when I am convinced that a thing, or a feeling, or a memory, is truly
worthy of immortality. Only then do I put pen to paper, fingertips to keyboard.
These things or feelings or memories may be positive or negative. For those of you
who may not know, I occasionally write poetry. The subjects of my poems vary, but
one that comes to mind now is one that I wrote about homesickness. I wrote it nearly
three months after I came to university. Three months of me mulling over whether I
actually was homesick, or just overwhelmed at all the terms and conditions that come
with starting a new life. In December, I came to the conclusion that I was homesick
for the ghost of my hometown, the old-town charm that I am almost certain I will never
see again. And that realisation was so poignant to me, that it instantly became worthy
of immortality.

You can read the poem here:
https://www.instagram.com/p/B5vM08bA-z1/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
(shameless plug hehe)

This is how I have thought of writing, pretty much since the beginning. And that’s why
I wanted to avoid talking (err, writing) about this pandemic and the chaos it has
wrought, because that would mean giving it immortality. That would mean accepting
this way of life, this isolated, lonely way of life, as the only way of life. That would
mean giving up hope. And I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to hold on to something,
anything, any silver lining I could find. 

And the silver lining I found is this- this is not permanent. This virus is not permanent.
Nor is the chaos it has wrought. And my writing about it will not make it so.
But at this moment in time, it is omnipresent, it is haunting. My flatmate got so desperate
for a break that she muted ‘coronavirus’ from her Twitter feed. She looks happier now,
more at peace. But the situation still hangs precariously in the balance. For now, this is
our reality. The sooner we accept it, the sooner we can overcome.

The virus may not be a thing of permanence, but I hope that its side effects will be. And
no, of course I'm not talking about the global recession we are hurtling towards. If there’s
anything I remember from high school economics lessons, it's that economies move in
cycles. Expansion, recession, depression, recovery. Peaks and troughs are as frequent
as they are temporary. We will recover financially, eventually. (I hope.)

What I am talking about is this sense of worldwide togetherness we have found in
these past weeks. The kindness of people everywhere, even strangers. The sense of
gratitude we have for small mercies. Appreciation for those who work tirelessly to
keep us safe, fed, and healthy. What I am talking about is love. Just love. In all its forms.
Humanity has a funny habit of uniting during times of crisis and reminding us of what
it means to be human. And if there is anything I would want to award immortality to,
it is that.

So, I will write about it all. About kindness, unexpected, and yet, welcomed.
About gratitude, hard to come by, but so precious when it comes.
About trust, given and earned.
About how, even though sometimes it's hard to see, goodness is out there.
About being human, even in the face of adversity.
About how, even when it’s far from easy, people will smile at strangers from a distance,
and extend a (metaphoric) helping hand, and show that they care.
Show that they care with all their hearts.

I will write about love. If that isn't immortal, what is?