Lately, I’ve been thinking about liminal space. The space between what is and what is to be. Or the space after the end of a rite of passage, but not quite the commencement of another. It’s also the space I’ve been inhabiting over the last couple of months.
I was apprehensive of this space. I knew this stillness was coming after returning home from living a vibrant life overseas. The pandemic has only compounded this space and like for most people this pandemic has brought so many feelings of isolation and alienation to the surface. It’s been a very weird and existential year that has prompted me to ask myself a lot of questions, but it feels like a lot even for a ‘weirdo’ like me who relishes in the absurd and abstract.
Some days I am comforted by the sound of my father chopping away at the kitchen or my mother knocking on the door to drop off a fresh load of folded laundry. There’s something cozy about being home and knowing during this uncertainty you can be with the ones you love and who cherish you the most. Other days, I find the added quietness and humdrum of everyday life absolutely unbearable. My mind trails to places I don’t want to go. I find myself yearning for a chapter of my life that has long closed and the future seems like an extra intangible space that is out of reach. And I know I am not normally this nostalgic or this ahead of myself, but the ‘present’ also seems not here either.
I find myself missing simple things like being able to sit at a coffee shop for hours unbothered and yet comforted by the people clicking away at their laptops nearby, but today I went on a four mile walk. The wind was brisk rather than brick for what seems like the first time in two months. I took my headphones off, listened as the birds cooed, and bikes moved swiftly past me. I felt the sunlight on my face and overlooked as the sun hit the tops of trees- giving them a pretty auburn color. And I remembered that I am here. For today, that is enough.
La Absurda 