Pandemic diaries
Last night I dreamt I got stuck in an elevator on my way home. Then something went wrong - all of a sudden, the elevator started dropping. And I remember clearly it was only from the 22nd floor, it should have been over in a second. But instead it felt like an eternity waiting to die. I did everything I could, I pushed the emergency button, held onto the railings and hoped that I would survive even if it meant severe injuries. But in the back of my head, I knew I was going to die. And I remember thinking, this is it, this is everything I've amounted to. I felt sorry for myself that I hadn't done enough.
And I remember feeling some sadness, but mostly despair at my helplessness in that moment, that I didn't have much in life.
And I remember feeling some sadness, but mostly despair at my helplessness in that moment, that I didn't have much in life.
I was also sorry it didn't work out between the two of us and if I had only known I was going to die so soon, I wish I had spent my life better.
There was so much I hadn't done yet.
When I woke up, I briefly contemplated on whether or not to tell him. It was just a dream, I was still alive, and now I have the chance to articulate what I could only vaguely remember in words yet so well as an emotion. I mumbled the elevator part blearily before I even took a sip of my morning coffee and he said something non-comittally. Then I was silent, because the despair still felt fresh, even if the events I dreamed about didn't really happen. He noticed, and asked if he should've had a more appropriate response. I shook my head, because anyway, the feeling of needing to articulate something had passed.
Besides, I already said everything I needed to a long time ago. And in the end, I'm still where I am now.
It's surreal to think that just a month ago, I had started two jobs in one week. One was waitressing in a vegan restaurant, and the other in a medical clinic. I thoroughly enjoyed being a waitress in my favourite neighbourhood in Sydney. The food was fantastic, and the guests were pleasant, not at all what I expected after hearing all the horror stories of working in hospitality. I was almost regretting that the opportunity had come after I accepted the receptionist job at the clinic, where I always seemed to be in a constant state of panic and paranoia that I had done something irrevocably wrong.
Nevertheless, things seemed to be looking up. My friend and I, with whom I had been bemoaning the lack of good jobs and money after moving to Sydney and juggling the student life, couldn't stop talking about how everything was going to be better now, finally, after so much waiting and disappointment. All that hardship was going to be worth something after all. We were good, honest, hard workers - of course it was going to happen if we just keep going at it. After the break up, I needed to move out ASAP, and he was at least kind enough to let me stay until I could. With what I was to be earning with both jobs, it should have taken me a month or so.
Then in just two weeks, everything changed. The vegan restaurant, which had just been open for a week to a resounding success, was suddenly hit hard in its second week. Foot traffic was low. It wasn't the only one - other restaurants and small businesses would continue to struggle. So the vegan restaurant closed until further notice, and would only be available for take out. I'm still hoping that they would open again by June and let us back onboard, but everything seems so uncertain now.
Last month seems ages ago now. My job at the clinic has kept me from being destitute. I'm lucky they could even keep a casual worker like myself, a newbie, too. Nobody knew it was going to be this bad. And now with less people coming into the clinic because of social distancing, it wasn't as busy as it usually was. Everyone had to have their hours cut. From 15 hours, mine has further dwindled down to 10. It's not enough for me to move out.
I feel like I'm in some sort of stasis. Even my break-up - the aftermath had been strangely peaceful and light. I daresay the days following the break up were some of the best days I've ever spent here, even though in theory living with your ex should be a nightmare. It seems too good to be true, even though I know it has to end eventually. And while it paints an idyllic picture, I wonder almost everyday at this arrangement. It seems too good to last. I don't want to question it but neither do I want to ruin it by overstaying. I have enjoyed this friendship and companionship in the middle of this crazy time, but I will never forget that moment when I was harshly (but not unfairly) told to leave already like I had planned to. That had been the turning point, there was no recovering from that. And while there's been a truce now, I know it can happen all over again, in an instant. And heaven knows there won't be a truce if it happened again.
There was so much I hadn't done yet.
When I woke up, I briefly contemplated on whether or not to tell him. It was just a dream, I was still alive, and now I have the chance to articulate what I could only vaguely remember in words yet so well as an emotion. I mumbled the elevator part blearily before I even took a sip of my morning coffee and he said something non-comittally. Then I was silent, because the despair still felt fresh, even if the events I dreamed about didn't really happen. He noticed, and asked if he should've had a more appropriate response. I shook my head, because anyway, the feeling of needing to articulate something had passed.
Besides, I already said everything I needed to a long time ago. And in the end, I'm still where I am now.
***
It's surreal to think that just a month ago, I had started two jobs in one week. One was waitressing in a vegan restaurant, and the other in a medical clinic. I thoroughly enjoyed being a waitress in my favourite neighbourhood in Sydney. The food was fantastic, and the guests were pleasant, not at all what I expected after hearing all the horror stories of working in hospitality. I was almost regretting that the opportunity had come after I accepted the receptionist job at the clinic, where I always seemed to be in a constant state of panic and paranoia that I had done something irrevocably wrong.
Nevertheless, things seemed to be looking up. My friend and I, with whom I had been bemoaning the lack of good jobs and money after moving to Sydney and juggling the student life, couldn't stop talking about how everything was going to be better now, finally, after so much waiting and disappointment. All that hardship was going to be worth something after all. We were good, honest, hard workers - of course it was going to happen if we just keep going at it. After the break up, I needed to move out ASAP, and he was at least kind enough to let me stay until I could. With what I was to be earning with both jobs, it should have taken me a month or so.
Then in just two weeks, everything changed. The vegan restaurant, which had just been open for a week to a resounding success, was suddenly hit hard in its second week. Foot traffic was low. It wasn't the only one - other restaurants and small businesses would continue to struggle. So the vegan restaurant closed until further notice, and would only be available for take out. I'm still hoping that they would open again by June and let us back onboard, but everything seems so uncertain now.
Last month seems ages ago now. My job at the clinic has kept me from being destitute. I'm lucky they could even keep a casual worker like myself, a newbie, too. Nobody knew it was going to be this bad. And now with less people coming into the clinic because of social distancing, it wasn't as busy as it usually was. Everyone had to have their hours cut. From 15 hours, mine has further dwindled down to 10. It's not enough for me to move out.
I feel like I'm in some sort of stasis. Even my break-up - the aftermath had been strangely peaceful and light. I daresay the days following the break up were some of the best days I've ever spent here, even though in theory living with your ex should be a nightmare. It seems too good to be true, even though I know it has to end eventually. And while it paints an idyllic picture, I wonder almost everyday at this arrangement. It seems too good to last. I don't want to question it but neither do I want to ruin it by overstaying. I have enjoyed this friendship and companionship in the middle of this crazy time, but I will never forget that moment when I was harshly (but not unfairly) told to leave already like I had planned to. That had been the turning point, there was no recovering from that. And while there's been a truce now, I know it can happen all over again, in an instant. And heaven knows there won't be a truce if it happened again.
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