Freshers Week in lockdown.
This is something I wrote the other day, and I am still not 100% sure about posting something this honest and raw, but I think it’s important to post this. Here goes.
I moved in exactly a week ago, and for the first couple nights, I went to some parties, drank a lot and generally just enjoyed myself. But days went by incredibly fast, and with no control over what happens, it got scary pretty quick.
I stopped going out and socialising with others four days ago. I still partied and drank more than I should have with my flatmates, but I no longer venture past our kitchen. My flatmates still do, and I can’t do anything about that, which I’ve accepted.
There’s police cars and security that drive past my window every single night after 10pm. I hear drunk people shouting “RUN!” and I pull down every blind in our flat, in case the police knock on our door. I turn off the oven, every kitchen appliance to avoid any noise. I wear a hoodie everywhere, my hands shake, and I watch Netflix until I can convince myself that it’s okay to fall asleep.
But I also hear people making friends. My flatmates having deep, heart-to-heart drunk conversations in the hall they’ll probably forget in the morning. People singing along to Come On Eileen at two in the morning. I feel left out. I should be able to do those things. But I can’t.
Someone living near me has been tested positive for coronavirus. I can still hear the parties raging on tonight, the tipsy singing. My meaningless concern for others remain; so does the inexplicable, inescapable feeling of being left behind.