about me
a very late recap of march.
the month started in the north, and ended there as well. the boy celebrated his birthday, we got covered in saharan dust, then drenched in rain. oath of love is out, but i’ve only watched a couple of episodes. lots of zoom calls. and the solar water heater is up at last.
not much to say. everything still feels pointless, and the weeks rush past in a rinse-and-repeat cycle. too many conversations, the same dialogues, fears and concerns repeated ad nauseam. i’m tired. i’ve stopped all my on-going projects and don’t feel like learning, exercising, blogging, sending postcards or leaving the house. the parents are staying with us for a week, and i’m just glad they’re here to cook and distract me — we chat and watch cheesy soap operas together while waiting for better days to come.
spring. volunteering. movies. évora. catching up with friends. new soups. and the war.
same… same. the days blend into one another without anything standing out, nothing much to tell them apart.
the saharan dust turned the landscape into a mexican movie. i’ve returned to the pool to try to give my back some form of light exercise and ended up with a clogged ear. ariana grande’s “thank you, next” has been playing inside my head on repeat. the war drags on and because of it, we’ve speeded up the idea of replacing gas in the house with electrical stuff and solar panels — we got some quotes this week, but it feels like no one is in a rush to do anything… while we just want to get it done. we’ve been watching episodes of midnight dinner on netflix, and it’s just nice.
i don’t even know… the war broke out, and it feels like nothing else matters.
i’m exhausted, disappointed and sad, the kind of sadness that seeps into your bones and doesn’t leave, the kind that puts you constantly on the verge of tears with every paragraph you write. it’s hard to be the peacekeeper of a community when people feel hopeless and eager to direct their helplessness at easy targets. every so often, i run out of empathy, get angry, feel my heart rate go up. then i take a deep breath, lower my shoulders and keep going, because how can i stop, how can i complain, while there are people in bunkers fearing for their lives? my stress and tiredness feel insignificant, compared to their losses.
connecting the world feels sisyphian and pointless — and at the same time, more important than ever. so we keep going.