The Year In Turbulence

GM Adam

March.

The first week of circuit breaker. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever expected to buy a paper shredder now that I am at working from home. I worked my way through about six trash bags. If you asked me how my weekend was, I would be hard-pressed to give you a proper answer.

April.

What started out as reading a cute Marie Kondo manga turned into a deep cleaning of the cupboard and boxes. I usually start Marie Kondo-ing with my wardrobe, but it is a little sian—I know the drill. I throw away everything but my work clothes, and then I plan a vacation and have to buy t-shirts and shorts for the trip. Underwear barely survives. There are currently five storage boxes in my room for unidentified purposes. All a bit concerning.

May.

I do not remember anything of May, except that I joined a writing workshop. At the same time, I read a book where the main character died. I was devastated. The main character was clearly itching to do something since his only friend died, but he decided to go out in the most unclever way. Then again, I also itch to start over in life, but I cannot pinpoint where to begin. It is peculiar and upsetting.
June.

I worked so hard and pushed myself to the limit, until I fell asleep at my work station one day. I wake up to multiple messages, missed calls, and permission to take Thursday off. The last item still feels more unreal than the pandemic.

July.

My friend offers to build me a computer. There are a multitude of reasons for saying yes: there is more than $10 in my bank account, I neither understand what ‘specs’ are nor do I care much for them, but most importantly, I miss my friends and a PC seems more tangible than the occasional WhatsApp notification.

August.

The bookstore wishes me Happy Birthday. In retrospect, it is pathetic to spend a birthday wish on a four-hour client meeting (“Please don’t let me fuck this up”) but apparently, that is the value I place on growing one year older.

September.

A couple of weeks ago, I cried because I missed the death anniversary of a friend who died in a drowning accident. I decide to confess my guilt to his classmate. She has short-term memory and does not remember the last time she comforted me over his death, but she says that I am a good enough person to remember him and celebrate his life, the same as she did last year, and the same as she will next year. If she still remembers us, that is.

October.

People have been confessing their worst histories to me recently: they got raped as a kid, their relationship with their parents was strained, their colleague had a mental breakdown again. And all I do is nod, and listen. Me? I fell in love with a voice, and fell out of love with a face, and I am left despairing when the internet connection bandwidth is a deciding factor in my relationships.