Releasing The Mind and Soul From Lockdown
Diaries of a young filmmaker.
DISCLAIMER: All thoughts shared in this article come from a deep sense of gratitude for being able to spend quarantine in a safe home — surrounded by people who respect and care for me. Everyone’s experience of the pandemic is different, and this is an honest account of my battles, which will have a lasting impact on the rest of my life and professional development.
When my mother was 24 years old and finishing her studies from the State Conservatoire in Armenia, the world around her was in pieces. She had intended to study Musical Theory and become a part of a system that guaranteed her a job and a stable income in the Soviet cultural industry. But after the turbulent collapse of the Soviet Union, an exhausting war against Azerbaijan, all that was left was a broken economy and a wounded society. As a result of the war, the early 90s in the newly independent Republic of Armenia faced a brutal blockade- an extreme shortage of electricity and resources. This time was defined by outrageous circumstances that forced many Armenians to leave their homes in search for a better life.
During ‘The Cold and Dark Years’ as they called it, people were only given an hour of electricity and water during the day. Only 60 minutes was all my grandmother had to run errands and feed a family of 9, and a retriever named Alfred. My mother and her siblings did most of their studying in 19th-century conditions — using mostly candlelight and fire.
As part of the post-blockade generation, I grew up with numerous stories about the hardships that people in my country had to endure.
My generation, however, hadn’t yet encountered a situation where our prospects drastically changed due to a force majeure. Then, Covid-19 came to play.
My experience of the pandemic was not nearly as harsh as post-Soviet Armenia, but more than ever, I felt the need to learn and understand this part of my parents’ lives. I needed to adapt new survival mechanisms, broaden my perspective about history and try to make sense of the present. I had thought that migrating twice had made me tolerant to change, but the pandemic showed the lack of my inner stability, and it took away any hope for a future in the creative field. So, I went back to this story to learn how they dealt with so much instability and uncertainty.
Pre- lockdown I was living in London — a city of joys, opportunities and also mild frustrations. I was splitting my time between part-time work in video production and the development of my projects. Having just graduated from the university with a short documentary that I had poured all my heart into- I was going through the infamous post-graduation confusion.
Just like many others, I was getting deep into a system operated by a fast-paced mentality — an environment where career success fuels self-worth.
I had accepted that those were the rules of the game and that if I were to thrive in this industry, the most crucial catalyser in my career would be the ability to strategize and network. Being someone highly self-critical and inpatient, I kept adapting to this environment at the expense of my mental health.
When the wave of the pandemic started reaching the UK, I packed one bag with books and moved to live with my close family. Suddenly, there were no social interactions or places where I could escape from my mind. My physical and mental space became locked inside four walls, which forced me to hear the many thoughts and voices that got lost in the noise of everyday life.
On the other hand, for the first time in 7 years, I spoke in my native language more than in English. I found comfort in calling my grandparents every day and watched films about the youth of my parents’ generation. Strangely, these were the things that brought me the most comfort during the days of uncertainty and international chaos.
I realised the source for much of the pain I carried in my London life — it was the big blank space that was once filled with a feeling of community.
After long hesitations and many flight cancellations, I managed to travel to Armenia and spend some time away from my lockdown location. Although I had to spend half of my trip in quarantine, I felt that was a much-needed change.
Only a few days into my trip, Azerbaijan broke the ceasefire (yet again) and attacked the border with Armenia. The conflict became extremely tense — with the Azerbaijani government threatening to bomb an Armenian nuclear plant and its population organising marches shouting ‘Death to Armenians’. The information war took a turn online- the opposing side spread misinformation about Armenians being the first to attack the border and take over their territories. Armenians around the world were attacked and beaten up solely based on their nationality.
One thing to note is that where I come from, people never truly live in peace — there is always an underlying feeling of danger and mental readiness for war. For a tiny country that is in conflict with two of its neighbours, every year of existence is a struggle to survive and protect its integrity. This mentality is a modus operandi for many nations in the Middle East — one which will always be alien to western societies.
Although it may seem strange, it felt calmer to be there than to follow the conflict from afar. It was extraordinary and eye-opening to be there physically and to witness how people handle the possibility of war. I was fascinated by the calm attitude towards danger — silent solidarity in knowing that there is no option but to protect our country.
This is quite an extreme example, but it answers many of the questions I had about navigating challenges. It offered me a perspective of how priorities can shift and highlighted the problems of societies where individualism comes before the community. It is the one thing taken away from the pandemic, which stayed through even ‘The Cold and Dark Years’ — the physical presence of many people that share your values, and who, quite frankly, don’t care about your career or financial status.
The experiences that my past generations went through demonstrate that sadly, humanity doesn’t learn from its mistakes. None of us is or will be exempt from global catastrophes and turbulent times. What I found most helpful — especially while feeling anxious or stuck creatively, is to find ways to connect with the inner sense of purpose that is sometimes lost in our chase for career progress.
That purpose is formed by fundamental objectives — taking care of your loved ones, contributing to your community and learning about those who came before.
More specifically, remembering that most of our ancestors have gone through incomparable struggles and had to rebuild their lives multiple times. The circumstances that forced them to be resilient were sometimes matters of life or death, but they were fuelled only by purpose. My great-grandmother, for example, had to flee the Armenian Genocide to save her children. Only one of them survived, and that’s why I am here, typing this article.
I am by no means entitled to give lessons. I will, however, say that if anyone reading this relates to this experience or struggles with anxiety, I firmly believe that there is a resource in each of us to reinvent ourselves. The transformation that comes with challenge is empowering, and it only brings more sophistication and substance to our creative practice.
