Scraps of freedom in the pandemic. How to sew a patchwork quilt that hugs and soothes
Looking at the mood of the people around me, I see the time of the pandemic as a time of loss and longing. We all yearn for freedom or some part of it. Some of my friends miss the relatives they have not seen for months, others miss travel and the excitement it brings, others miss financial stability, and all of them long for a sense of security.
I try to look for good, nice pieces of reality in which my children and I can find shelter. The widest of these spaces for me is our family. I always explain to my children that being “rich” is not only about money, and then I call myself “rich”, “I am rich because I have you.” I think this message is working because two days ago my four-year-old daughter told me just before bedtime, “You know, mum, I like this family.” I take it as the highest compliment when they both ask me if they will be children for a long time. I read it as a confession that they are fine as it is.
When I was a girl myself – very little, then older – my secret corridor to freedom was my imagination. When I felt forced to learn chemistry, which I did not like very much, I first imagined myself to be a young Marie Curie who passionately searched for answers to her scientific questions. I did it until I felt that I share this passion with her. I used to sit down to notebooks not as a schoolgirl forced by duty and by the vision of a D on a test, but as a seeker of secrets ruling the world. During boring lessons, and then during boring lectures in college (fortunately there were few of these), my thoughts ran away into worlds that I invented myself or sucked out of books.
I do the same now. First, I resort to prose. I can read a lot of science or non-fiction books, but I don’t breathe fully if I don’t read novels. I plunge into the reality invented by the authors and the pandemic limitations disappear. Sounds like escapism? Maybe, but does anyone know a better option?
I also draw from children’s literature because I read to my kids every day. Seven-year-old Stach is at the stage of fascination with Harry Potter, and I happily make up for this gap in my reading biography because at the time of Pottermania I was already a student and read – because of the field of my studies – mainly about the Middle East and Arab countries (by the way, no history book stirred my imagination like Philip Hitti’s “The History of the Arabs”). Lucia loves Preussler Otfried’s “Little Witch”, which reminds me how much I loved to hear and read about witchcraft many years ago. In children’s books, the world is fair and organised, and if it is plunged into chaos, there is always a way out. I like contemporary children’s literature from Scandinavia, in which you can live in a nice society without magic.
A year ago, when we had the first lockdown, like many people, I caught the botanical bug. Today I have a small jungle and I got rid of the feeling that I will kill even an unkillable flower. I especially love digging in the ground when you need to replant a plant or check the condition of the roots. I do this sometimes without gloves to feel the lumps of earth fall between my fingers. The smell of the earth reminds me of my childhood, when I was sitting in the garden with aunt Ula until the very evening helping her pick vegetables, which then ended up on the table and in jars. The scent of those days is the smell of tomato leaves which opens a safety drawer in my head. A year ago I found a natural perfume in a cream with this aroma. I often use it at night because I like to fall asleep with a view of a wild garden under my eyelids.
The world of nature is another piece of unquestionable freedom for me. I am fascinated by how plants can adapt to harsh conditions. After all, the Swiss cheese plants in our Warsaw, Sieradz and Toruń apartments are tropical plants! I am glad that spring is coming and that I will be able to partially transfer our family life to parks. I can also see a bit of freedom in the fact that I no longer have to wipe the snow mud in the hall and sweep the sand, although – as we were taught by the invaluable recently deceased Jolanta Brach-Czaina – everyday hustle and bustle can be of great value. I am glad that we are finally going to Łazienki Park without headlamps because the day has become long again. And that in a moment I will not have to loosen and tighten the seat belts in my children’s safety seats over and over again to adjust them to the “in a jacket” or “without a jacket” modes. I am happy that we put on less clothes in the morning. For me, every five minutes of my time saved when winter is gone is a piece of freedom that I can use as I want. Working mothers will definitely know what I mean.
When the pandemic really brings me down, I use my imagination and think of those who have had it worse. We sometimes say that the world is at war with the coronavirus. There is something to it, but then I start thinking about a real war. And I come to the conclusion that, after all, I do not fall asleep with fear that bombs will fall on our house in the middle of the night. I sometimes complain about being locked up at home, remote lessons, and working online with crazy kids right next to me, but then I think of people who were really locked up and spent years hiding in a closet, in an attic, or under the floor. Sometimes it is enough for me to think of people who live alone, who are overwhelmed by isolation like a cold stone, or the chronically ill for whom the current situation really is balancing on the verge of life and death.
Recently I tried to talk about it to my friend who is very exhausted with the pandemic. Comparing herself to those worse off didn’t work for her.
It works for me because of my personal experience. A long time ago, I cared for my dying mother for almost four years. I was only in my thirties, all alone with this situation, and it really was like a prison. I was able to leave the house sometimes, but rarely and always with my heart in my mouth because something could have happened to my mother, brain tumours are so unpredictable. Sometimes I even left for a few days, but I couldn’t make any serious decisions, e.g. move to another city, which I dreamed about, and which was related to my work and development. I didn’t really have a chance to get involved with someone because I was basically a 24-hour carer.
I remember exactly that feeling of breathlessness due to this deadlock, and against this background, today’s restrictions are only an inconvenience for me. But most of all, at that time, I was like the Job that others thought about when they wanted to console themselves in their sorrows. When someone felt miserable, they said to themselves, “It’s all fine, Natalia is the one who’s screwed.”
For many years I have been happy and appreciated that after my mother’s death and after recovering from it, I switched to the brighter side. I never forget that.
That experience also taught me one thing: freedom must first of all be an internal state, so that nothing external can limit it. That is why in this text I wrote mainly about what is going on in my head, and not about what I do. I remember when, as a young girl, I realised how great it is to be able to think what I want. And further that my thought is unfettered, it can go in any direction, change it, roll around, start a typhoon or a fire, arrange the world anew according to the craziest of rules. And nobody and nothing can forbid me from having it or limit me in it. Today I am teaching this to Staś. When he once complained to me that he was bored with some classes in kindergarten, I told him, “I’ll tell you a secret: then you can think of something else, something pleasant. And you know? You can always think what you want and no one will forbid you from doing so. Isn’t that great?” “Wonderful,” he replied.
Author: Natalia Waloch
The text was published in „Wysokie Obcasy" on 3 April 2021
