I uploaded this image about a year ago on my Instagram. Here’s the caption:
This image reminds me of how life is mysterious yet peaceful, despite the misty unknown that lies before us. It’s one hell of a train ride.
How presumptuous of me to expect 2020’s “misty unknown” to share any resemblance with “peaceful”. Certainly, 2020 is and continues to be “mysterious”, so I guess I wasn’t wrong there.
At the time I was set to graduate from college in May. I was applying for internships in my field, hoping to jump-start a career in theatre. I was working on a show that, to this day, remains my favorite. I had a job that was both fulfilling and paid decently. Life was looking up.
Cut to today — life is not looking up. COVID-19 has continuously affected every aspect of existence. Election day is quickly approaching and it’s difficult to remain optimistic. Our world continues to fail at ending injustice and intolerance, serving the least of these, and reverting decades of harm to our Earth, as well as so many other pressing matters. The future looks grim. However, don’t confuse my realism for pessimism. Although I’ve come close to letting the current situation infect my outlook on life, I haven’t let that happen yet. Instead, I chose to seek and hold onto the things that radiate hope.
If you need to be uplifted, here’s Charlie Chaplin’s speech from The Great Dictator, underscored by Hanz Zimmer’s Time (soundtrack from Christopher Nolan’s Inception). You may have already seen it (perhaps multiple times, like I have). However, it never fails to inspire. Especially during times like these, Chaplin’s words resonate deeply.
My song of the week is Passenger's A Song for the Drunk and Broken Hearted. I will always recommend Passenger — his songs aren’t always innovative, but they are sincere, and will move you in unexpected ways. This one, in particular, makes me feel a sense of saddened acceptance. I recognize all that COVID-19 has taken from us, and accept that it’s not going away anytime soon. My favorite lyrics are:
The sweet Sunday afternoon and all that can be heard
Is an old, familiar tune for you’ve forgotten half the words
The sunlight floods the room like a silent flock of birds
And hopes a red bloom, disappearing through the clouds
This is my first — of many, hopefully — blog post. I don’t have a plan for how often I’ll post, or even which topic I’ll write on. So don’t expect consistency in either of those aspects. Thanks for reading.