Catching up to Spring

By Nora Nebraska

During the pandemic, the more days that I was stuck in my own home it became very clear to me that spring would not begin in a while. Maybe if we look at the timeline or temperature it was spring, but that was a monochromatic lie. The outside world was more hostile than any other winter and the inside world was suffocating. When we couldn’t experience real life we made our alternatives, but no matter what they always felt empty. Can you really compare two hour online classes to being in an actual classroom full of peers? Blackboards with rough and dusty chalk markings were replaced with my teacher’s screenshots, rushing to handwrite notes were replaced with online pdfs, and the distance between everyone was wider than ever. For the majority of the pandemic, all I had was that distance between everything. The distance detached me from new experiences leading to progress. It was like time left me behind. That is why winter was a year long, the snow never melted into colourful green patches and the tulips bulbs failed to open. All I could do was dream of a spring and a life that had yet to come

Later, people started leaving their house regularly again but there were still too many restrictions for comfort. Covid-19 continued to fester and we all had to be aware of it. Only half of our faces were visible, and many events would still need to be cancelled; everything was too different and no one could have denied that.

There was one more overwhelming truth there from the beginning: that period of isolation still happened and that never gave me the normalcy I wanted In person classes were too foreign, constantly reminding me of how difficult it could be to open my mouth. Unlike online courses, something as simple as an exam decreasing my mark was like a monster lurking under the bed. I was more used to Zoom calls and Google classroom turn ins than I would want to admit. Everything was in front of me yet the distance between me and life itself shrank very little. Despite it all, time finally gave me days that wouldn’t be taken away.

During those early days of in-person school, I ran around to see how many new mundanities I could experience for the first time. I took walks around the school hallways with my friend during lunch because we hadn't seen those hallways yet. When I was given the chance to talk to new people, I went to school with the goal of getting to know them. From looking for the best place to eat outside to seeing my new desk arrangement, these small experiences mattered; perhaps they were boring in the grand scheme of things but they were infinitely more alluring than being suffocated by screens and trapped by walls.

My most prized mundanity was found on the third day: I realized I vastly preferred taking longer walks to the train station than navigating the crowded buses after school. The reasoning is simple: crowds make the mere fact that I take up space feel wrong. I found the company of my walking companions freeing in comparison. If we were still trapped in our homes, our casual conversations would still exist in the forms of phone calls, but it would be blind sided to discount that walk’s merits. I memorized the twists, turns, and slopes we take like the back of my hand and I remembered the daily colours and shapes of homes and trees with pleasure. Most of all, the people I walked with became more radiant in real life than a phone call ever let them be. Within close proximity I was stunned to see how much bolder their laugh was and how their pace slowed down when engrossed in conversation No matter what the topic was, we were always in a hurry to discuss everything we possibly could before we reached our ends of the road. In those small moments talking about nothing, life was starting to mean something.

Soon, life and its school days merely became routine. Every day, my mind was kept busy with thoughts about my friends, my tests, my assignments, and what I was going to eat after school. In a blink of an eye it was May and I realized the world has started becoming a little colourful. When the weather became warmer, I rushed to replace my bulky jackets with light cardigans and discarded items like gloves and scarves. When the birds returned from their hibernation I heard their declaration so vividly that it drowned the engine of the nearest cars. Even on my concrete home street, the green on the trees and the grass was brighter than I ever remembered it being. After long periods of closed curtains and lying down in boredom, I never realized the sky could be this blue.

On the Saturday after my realization, my family went out to see the cherry blossoms. I noticed that the trees were uniquely delicate that day; their pink colour and cotton-like shape framed the sky, capturing everyone’s attention. Down the park path were families, couples, and friends who could finally watch the world and smell the blossoms with those whom they loved. I remember examining how many branches were on a tree and where the clusters of blossoms were located. There were trees that stuck close together and there were trees in secluded areas My favourite one was a tree that lived beside a pond. It wasn’t the grandest or the most eye-catching tree that day, but it was content to live around its surroundings anyways. My train of thought was interrupted by my father, waving his phone around and beaming for the tenth time that afternoon.

“Nora! Go over there. I will take a picture of you and your mom!”

After that photo was taken, I thought it would be funny if the world suddenly stopped spinning. Like the photo my dad would later turn into his screensaver, time would freeze along with the falling petals and I wouldn’t do anything but stand still. Time didn’t stop that day. No matter how grotesque or beautiful life was, the clock’s hand kept ticking and I followed the sound. The trees were only white and pink for a moment, children would grow into adults one day, and I wasn’t going to be the same teenager that had a science test the Monday I came back. Even though everything was in rapid motion, I was catching up with the days that left me behind. A wide grin spread across my face when I left the park, knowing this was the last time I could see the blossoms before they progressed into a lush green It's spring it really is spring.