It’s seven years after the first Corona Virus outbreak. I, who at that time was in her prime, had quickly lost her youth to the virus. The family inheritance was on it’s brink of collapse and I, who had accumulated a hoarder’s den out of an over-impulsive/self-love buying streak, had finally run out of places to fill my living space.
In the first year, it was spent consoling my anxious heart by indulging in rapacious eating. The very next year I contracted an eating disorder, substituting my feelings of anxiety with food, a natural reaction to fear it seems. In this year I grew a disdain for jeans and resorted to my trusted leggings and sweatpants. This was also the year I bought a lot of workout clothes and gear but to no avail.
Going into the third year my financial burden overwhelmed me and I bought every competitive-exam book that was available on the market.
In the fourth year with my newfound knowledge owing to the abundance of books and irreversible solitude, I filled all the forms in hopes of securing a small space in the public sector. But in the fourth year, all exams got delayed/postponed/forgotten and I sat in my deplorable state in company of my decaying hope, alone in my room, defeated.
In the fifth year, my dreams of living an independent life, a dream that I envisioned since I completed high school met with a tapering end as it was declared that the place that I’m currently at is the safest I could ever be. The virus has grown eyes, ears, a horn and possibly no heart because it remained unmoved to our woes.
In the sixth year, I was ready to be married, education was no longer an option for the purpose seemed futile. I have this mind full of calming voices but my sanity was calling it’s limits. A marriage proposal was made not on my terms but on the grounds of survival.
In the seventh year, the unexpected happened, the love of my life, died. But not to the virus. He died of a broken heart. The distance between us, ironically, now, seemed closest it had ever been. I knew what to do but how? was a question. The most ethical way to go seemed to be the only one at sight. And so I slipped into my best shoes, prepped my hair, wore my baddest pair of sunglasses and took a step
into the outside.
