Dear Diary, Love Quarantine
Dear Diary,
My eyes are closed, but I still can see. I see the dresses and glitter. I feel the warmth of the lights and immense body heat wrapped around me. My fingertips glide against my body holding on to what was.
There is a split second every morning where my “was” still feels like my now. The warmth of human connection is replaced with blankets and sheets, and the glitter that once covered my skin has transformed into the grey sweatpants superglued to my legs.
I tear away my sheets, exposing myself to the quiet apartment before me. As I begin to plan what this new day holds, I can’t help but notice walls that seem duller and the furniture stiffer. I walk around barefoot against the hardwood floor retracing my steps in hopes of finding my previous life somewhere within these 600 square feet of confinement. Sometimes, if I blink hard enough, I can still see my friends embracing the dining room table with open arms. It almost seems cruel to leave four chairs out now knowing that only one will ever show. However, I have become a firm believer that a party of one is better than no party at all.
My first task of the day is breakfast. My kitchen is small, yet perfect for an amateur cook like me. I open my fridge to several boxes of leftovers and the weekly grocery items that stem from my measly list. By experimenting with the ingredients I have, cooking is one of the more exciting activities I take part in. Omelets have become my specialty, but, unfortunately, I have not learned to make anything more sophisticated. As I turn, flip, and saute, I am reminded of holiday meals that include dishes that have traveled from a myriad of different places. The pieces that make up the whole are connected through the bonds and relationships we share with one another to cheers in celebration and to indulge over sadness is something I could not wish harder for. I place my omelet on my plate and grab not one, but two forks, in honor of those I hope to share a meal with again.
The monotony of my life these past months has taken on a similar role to “Rapunzel,” with me as the star. As one Disney character does, I spend my afternoon cooking, cleaning, singing, talking to inanimate objects, and wondering when the hell my life will begin. My newest friend is my floor lamp, and although we might not have the most intellectual conversations, she always agrees with me.
One of my favorite moments during my day is watching the sun slowly fade behind the neighboring trees. There is something so reassuring about watching the sun repeat the same tasks every single day with such grace. Her routine exit is a reminder that, although my day may be similar to my last, there are slivers of beauty throughout each moment. However, with each beautiful sunset, there is a darkness that follows. My nights are lonely and quiet. I lock up the house, brush my teeth, and put on my nightly face mask: the epitome of self-care. There is a sense of poetic irony in the idea that the “self-improvement” cream I put on my face simply masks the damage done underneath my skin. I still struggle to get out of bed. I still struggle to find a point or a purpose. But, I still put on that face mask, and I still decide, every day, to choose hope. As they say, tomorrow is a new day.
Whether or not I have become a real-life damsel in distress, or the little girl sitting alone at her birthday party, quarantine has challenged me to figure out who I truly am. I crawl into bed as the curtain begins to close on another day in my life. Tonight I may not dream of the dresses and the glitter, but instead the most desirable version of me. I pull the warmth of my sheets across my waist and turn out the light. My eyes are closed, but I can see. Not what was, but what could be.
Xo,
Quarantine
Strike Out,
Concept: Serenity Moore, Nahdia Johnson, Tara Anastasoff, Randi Cass
Videography: Jocelyn Pena
Photography: Kaitlyn Rutledge
Styling: Camille Campbell
Graphics: Cade Anderson, Cassie Anderson, Hannah Abdul, Sarah Jacobson, Elizabeth Swank, Morgan Young
Writing: Margaret Russell, Caitlin Downing
Model: Skylar P.
Athens