cabin fever, apartment fever: overall nausea.

My room acts as comfort which is hard to describe. I could draw the view from my window with my eyes closed, give you a story about every building you see

The sidewalk where I tripped and scraped my knee learning to roller skate when I was eight, or the cactus along the road which I fell into when I was about thirteen. I wouldn’t change my view of the world: my world now limited to these four blocks and white houses. In a way, this view has grown up alongside me.

Clothes fill my drawers, all pajamas now, washed more than 3 times. The cotton has now formed small balls on it, the color started to fade away. My clothes become more gray, I seem to follow along with them.

I never noticed how my room smells like absolutely nothing. The nothingness scent of air, plants, notebooks filled with feelings and books accumulating dust. Nothingness while keeping calm, counting days. I ask when I’ll see others again, I don’t know. They shrug and say hopefully before we graduate. Before we graduate.

I wore a shirt today that was used once before quarantine, it smelled like the outside. I never knew the outside had a smell. It does.

Pollution, cars, hysteria, sweaty cold cans, Javier Prado, an uber driver whose name you forgot, playing songs over and over again.

I miss looking out the window and wondering when I’ll go deaf because of playing music so loud, I feel like I’m closer every time. I play songs and look outside, I can never encapsulate that feeling of calm. Wind hitting my face, looking at people walking past, getting blinded by the sun from time to time. Keeping my mouth open for too long and feeling the taste of litter on my gums.

I miss mentioning how the bridge crossing from Barranco to the sea never fails to smell like urine. Walking past it but being so lost in the noise of cars below and conversation that it starts smelling less and less when you get to the sidewalk.

Barranco itself. The smell of illegal substances when you walk past murals (how wonderful), wondering why someone broke the mirror of one of the art pieces: who would get the bad luck? Whoever broke it, or all of us?

The only time I realize how unfit I am is trying to cross the Puente de los Suspiros holding my breath in. I never can. I sprint after I’m halfway done and need to take a moment to catch my breath.

I miss the car rides going places. Anywhere with anyone. I have songs that remind me of everyone. I miss them all. I want to go back.

  • Crossing Lima to get to Costa Verde with Margie. Summer seems to get better and better every day, acknowledging the happy feeling. Venezia plays. We don’t know Italian, we can pretend we do. The uber seems annoyed and will probably rate us below two.
  • Riding alone to Yoshi’s house at least 10 times a month so she can take me where we need to go. The highway is always sunny and the sky looks blue-gray. “Sofia” plays in my headphones. I wonder if and hope I can maintain this feeling forever (I can’t). I love this song too much.
  • Getting to Dani’s house and wondering how her mom isn’t sick of me yet, she’s always in her room watching bad shows I don’t recommend.
  • Never going to China’s house because she lives on the other side of the city. She gets bullied for that (by us). We love her. We went once. She overplays the song named like her nickname. Still, we dance with her.
  • Tomas telling me how men don’t deserve our time, I disagree and say they’re fine. He plays “Tu falta de querer”, we both laugh and sing and talk about heartbreak.
  • My mom picking me up from a party and playing “Paint”. I learned every word, the volume goes up to 35. I feel the beat in my lungs. How old will I have to be until I don’t get to feel like this? I worry about that.
  • “Human” playing anytime. Any car ride. We stick our heads out the window and yell out the lyrics. Half of those people driving by probably wonder where my mom was. I second them on that.

I try to play these songs in my room. I feel happy, I can sing along, but I can’t help but miss people or moments tied to them. I’ve never wanted to be stuck in traffic more than now, which is strange to admit.

In word count it says I’ve written ‘miss’ five times. It feels like more, I feel like it’s more. It is. I want to go back to everyday life.

Nothing can go back to normal; what is normal anyway? Will I get to see my friends and have the same experiences or does it mean we will be at halt until this situation is controlled.

All I’m left to do is lay on my bed and try to paint or listen to music. Maybe google some activities that promote serotonin. Since I have no authority, and I don’t have the power necessary to fix this mess- all I’m left to do is live in it.




Recurring themes and oscillating tendencies~

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Recurring themes and oscillating tendencies~

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