by Racine Burney
Some days are easier than others: waking up in a good mood followed by motivation
to start and finish a detailed to-do list could easily be taken over by failing to find the
will to finish off the remaining tasks the next day. Every day in quarantine is different
yet the same; every day is decided by the feeling I have when I wake up in the
morning.
When the quarantine first started, it felt like it would be an interesting way to
spend the month. While everyone was afraid of how the situation would be handled,
there was still some hope in the form of “Maybe I could learn to...” and “Maybe I
could pick up...” but it didn’t take long for that hope to disappear when we found out
the rest of the semester would be continued in quarantine as well. The days went from
“I can try...” to “I miss...” and the sadness kicked in. But one thing stayed constant: I
wanted to write.
Even when regular classes were in session, I always wanted to write. Whether I
was sitting in my studio or my room, I wanted to write. Yet I would stop and tell
myself to focus on my work, because grades are important, after all. Other times, I
would have the time but lack the motivation. It’s hard to remember the last time I frequently wrote after I started university, so I can confidently say that my writing has been more frequent for the duration of my new always-at-home life, yet, it’s possible that I just needed a push to get back into it - which is what the isolation did. Being away from people and not having plans through the week gave me a chance to sit down and go back to the hobby I’ve had since I was young. Learning from home meant I didn’t have the option to use my excuse of waiting until after I got home. I could finish my work and be back in my room in time to write.
My space, and the scene that comes with it, is very easy to visualize: my glass
desk is in the corner of my room (with my laptop set on top, of course), the cool air of
the fan is flowing in my direction, and my music is playing while I sit with my legs up
on the chair. It’s midnight and the lights are warm; the house is quiet, and it’s almost
like I’m completely alone at home. I could write for as long as I like, and
sometimes that gets me a few thousand words - my concentration is unbroken and I
feel content (it’s the times when I’m alone that the concentration kicks in easily,
otherwise I can’t get a word in that sounds good). My midnight motivation is
comfortable and cozy. The space on my desk gives me the same feeling as my
previous space on my bed years ago, but I’ve found a different feeling of satisfaction
at my desk that I didn’t think I would.
It’s the writing that helps me get through my bad quarantine days because I can
rant and type up a mess to get my feelings out, or write them out and make
a different type of mess by hand, but there’s a comfort in letting the emotions out. It
helps me understand how I could be there for myself, and I know that for as long as
we are in quarantine, I will continue to do exactly that. My desk is my friendly space,
much like a quiet space is for most people; it’s a place where I can write anything
without any concern of whether it’s good or bad because I know I can make my
corrections later. Just as much, anyone could make a space for themselves where they
are undisturbed to work in peace and make as many mistakes as they’d like for as
long as they’d like. These spaces are judge-free zones because there are no outsiders
to judge and make us feel uncomfortable, and I hope that, when the quarantine is over
and we go back to our normal lives, I continue to get myself through my tough days
with my newfound quiet and personal space.