Originally written on 25.05.2021
Lately I’ve been experiencing these intense bouts of sleep as soon as I log off work. It’s not like I’m feeling exhausted at the end of the day, or that I’m exerting myself with chores around the house. Work has been normal too, I guess. As normal as things can be with the apocalypse raining down around us.
This regular drowsiness isn’t something that I’m used to. This is coming from someone who rarely took afternoon naps, no matter the blistering heat or freezing chill outside the four walls of my bedroom. No matter my irregular working hours, or the city I was staying in.
A tiny part of me attributes it to long Covid, but in my heart I know what it really is. It’s stress, but on a subconscious, internal level.
I cannot remember the last time I truly felt calm, both on the outside and within. It’s hard to do anything that gives meaning to my life when every day you hear of some news that threatens to make me spiral. When everyday I am stuck in a listless job that has stagnated my growth for months, when everyday the virus rampaging in the city forces me to stay within the confines of my home. When everyday you hear of somebody you know, or somebody who knows somebody who’s succumbed after a prolonged fight with this invisible enemy.
How am I expected to keep my head up at a time like this?
Circumstances here are forcing us to hunker down and keep to ourselves, and rightly so, but it is impossible to calmly comply with these norms when you don’t see an end date on the horizon. The one thing I expected to make things better is in scarce shortage in the capital of the city, with citizens being turned away from their scheduled appointments due to lack of doses.
Things have crawled to a standstill here in India, but the rest of the world has begun their process of healing and returning to seeing other people. It’s hard to not feel resentful when you see your friends going on cross country trips and parties, fully vaccinated.
I was supposed to be going to grad school this Fall. It was obviously a momentous occasion for me. I’d get to study something of my interest, in an unbelievably gorgeous country, in a city that’s half the size of Dwarka, New Delhi. Old me would’ve jumped at the opportunity.
Right now, though? God, there’s a maelstrom of thoughts going through my mind whenever I so much as think about what this Fall entails. Despite my most optimistic estimates, there is a non-zero chance my classes will be held online. That is not a compromise I am willing to make.
I am enrolled in a course that will barely last a year. The entirety of the second semester will go into job hunting. That’s it. That’ll be the end of my Master’s. Either I’ll be taking classes in front of a screen from my home in India, or from my accommodation in Ireland. People are saying that large percentages of the Irish population will be fully vaccinated by the time my semester begins, but the way things are, we don’t know anything yet. God forbid there’s a spike in cases.
I took admission because I wanted an international experience. I wanted to interact with people from all over the world, explore cuisines my palate hasn’t experienced before, listen to languages I hadn’t heard. I wanted to roam around the Irish countryside, stopping by every castle ruin I could find.
That seems far away, now.
No wonder I am considering deferring my admission this year. I do not know what next year will look like.
Also… If I’m truly honest with myself, I have begun to doubt my ambitions and career aspirations. I decided to take up analytics because it was the first college course that didn’t make me feel like I was stepping into unknown territory. It was something that I enjoyed doing back then, moving gears in my mind that were dusty with cobwebs prior to this.
I don’t know if it’s the gruelling nature of my job or me losing focus, but right now I am not looking forward to this Fall. A voice in my head is telling me to stop, that this might not be the right decision for me given the current circumstances. Maybe I’ll finally work on my writing blog, who knows.
God, I had so much to do before I packed my bags this year. The second wave really derailed my plans. Understandably so.
I can feel time ticking away day by day. I know I should have started with my visa process weeks back. It’s the end of May and I haven’t done anything besides get my financial documents ready for the student loan I need to take. I am afraid to hasten the process because my father, who is my guarantor for the loan, is under an unbelievable amount of pressure himself, what with the nature of his job and a few of his colleagues falling dangerously ill. I have asked him a few times, of course, and each time he’s mentioned the stress he is experiencing.
I have spoken with people who are going this year and I have not felt this far behind in a race I never signed up for, ever. Everybody I am speaking with has used an external counselor for convenience, whereas I, with my unearned confidence, decided to do everything by myself. It worked out as far as getting admission was concerned. However, immigration into another country is no joke, and I certainly can use all the help I can. That’s dodging the larger question though. I am aware that I’m using my visa issues along with the pandemic as but an excuse to delay my admission because I’m not sure if I want to be going ahead with it.
It is a massive sum of money, and I want to be 100% sure it is what I need before committing.
Imagine, for one second, if I did manage to get my visa on time. I get my 2nd dose in August, and I leave in September, October at the latest. Right now, Irish guidelines will make me pay 1250 EUR for hotel quarantine. That’s a lot of money, especially for someone taking a loan like me. Chances are my classes are held online after that too.
I probably won’t be stepping out of the house before July, what with the current ever-extending lockdown and active cases. That gives me barely a handful of times I get to meet my friends before I pack my bags.
I refuse to accept that. We were supposed to do so much more than just Pondicherry this year. No way I meet them just a few times before I fly off. No way.
All my life, when all else failed me, I always had my books to fall back on. They’ve always kept me company, so much so that I had trouble falling asleep when I didn’t have a book by my side.
For the first time ever, I am not compelled to read the book I am currently reading. My body just collapses as soon as I hit the bed. I am not looking forward to any TV shows, movies, or even video games. They just exist in my life. My obsession is but a candle to what it used to be.
I no longer do anything that gives meaning to my time.
I need a breather. I am in no condition to rush to a foreign country in uncertain times such as this, and I know, in my heart of hearts, I need to stop and think.
Thanks for reading.
