Threads of hope are often fragile. Don’t let even the gentlest breeze blow them apart
As I sat quarantined in a room, oblivious of the repercussions that this beast had planned on my body (mind you, not just the body, it shatters your soul too), I decided to quietly glide my thoughts on a sheet of paper, to do the math for me to ponder later.
I had contracted the famously infamous virus that has frenetically pulled the world upside-down and I will be dishonest if I say I didn’t fret. I did, but I also promised myself to not watch the news- until I was isolated, simply because it does no good to your mind. After all, if you are already being throttled with several symptoms that keep peeping from inside your body and your head, you can hardly make sense of the horrible scenes from the hospitals shown on TV. As if the whole idea of locking myself in a room for days together wasn’t daunting enough, I wasn’t prepared for the mental and physical trauma I had to attune myself to.
When this virus silently slithers into you, it shatters you more from inside than outside. It makes you feel vulnerable to practically everything, so much that when you start watching TV, you are actually thinking about how the two people on the screen could stand so close to each other. That is the incessant fear, which, will remain entangled deep within all of us for years to come.
But then I knew I had a lot to conquer my fears before I reached the acme. While making sense of my own dealings with this monster, I heard friends and relatives losing their battles, leaving their grieving families behind. I had to be sane. I had to make it work for me. I had no choice but to keep reminding myself that I’ll sail through. The faith and belief, that magic will happen this time around too.
I never knew how grave my situation would eventually turn out to be, but what I knew was that I had to stage my sanity however I could. Either by reading or writing. And then of course the “Hey, you feeling better?” random texts and planned video calls from saner-than-me friends and family would suddenly cheer me up. In fact, a few of them, surprisingly, turned out to be my doctor buddies, of course, without holding any professional medical degrees whatsoever. (Readers, try it with your friends at your own risk please. 😊). They would keep pumping me with energy that I was practically drained of, and send me ‘Be Positive’ messages.
You certainly know you’re blessed when your loved ones collectively work as a charm and help you thrash this bloke, called COVID-19.
Having said that, it was rough. While every day a new symptom would pop out, the hugs and kisses had gone missing and were replaced with knocks on the doors and video calls with the family across the room on detailed discussions around the Doctor’s virtual appointments. Not the best way to communicate, certainly.
I started writing daily affirmations, “I am healthy and I shall stay healthy” as a morning ritual along with the endless breathing exercises that had squeezed themselves into my daily schedule. It wasn’t an overnight confidence booster, I admit. However, it kept my hope alive. I often saw myself saying, “All izzz well” from the movie, 3 idiots (Don’t miss my hand on my heart). It didn’t add well when I began. I know it didn’t. Especially when the entire nation was still battling for a few whiffs of air, I knew, deep within, I had to make a deliberate attempt to see good in what was happening around. I had to keep picking the positive vibes from wherever I could. Because, I had to make sure that even the intertwining of my thoughts wasn’t a viable option for me anymore.
And yes, I did sail through.
As I write today, It’s my 13th day and the first day of feeling better with just fatigue and low energy level as remnants. The magic seems to have happened, again! All my reports seem to have bowed down to positive thoughts and affirmations. Hope has won. Faith re-affirmed, yet again!