UNEARTHED

By Johnna Izza M. Diadio, Kim C. Beaudin, & John Jefferson Sargado

When we were rushed into quarantine a year ago, I expected it to last for at most two weeks. In a split second, these weeks seemed to turn into months, and as if things couldn’t get any worse, the months lengthened. With these sudden changes, I found myself keeping track of how many days we were in quarantine, hoping that one day, I’d stop counting. By then, I believed the world would be different. I believed everything would be back the way it used to be - I was looking forward to it; I was ecstatic, even.

Now, we’ve circled back into a year. I stopped count ing alright, but the world remains chained to this calamity.

Being cooped up with the people you’ve known your whole life used to be a dream, and oddly enough, that’s exactly what this quarantine has brought with it. However, it’s the overwhelming feelings of comfort that mostly end up short-lived. After getting used to this new way of living, it seemed strange to feel the walls of our own home eventually getting smaller and smaller. It comes to the point where every day, I wake up gasping for air. Tomorrow, I guarantee it’d be the same, long day on repeat; and with each second crawling slower than the other, the knots in my airways grow tighter.

It’s ironic how frequently I joked about staying at home during school back then. Now, the longer I stay at home, the more breathless I feel. To at least smoothen the tension out, I’d briefly step outside and take a light breather, but the sight of the empty streets & shielded houses just adds to the sense of unease. This all feels so daunting. I can’t help but recall & wish for the old times to come back. Now life just feels like being locked in a box with invisible puppeteers urging me to just keep living this paradox. Sometimes, it would even feel as if the strings are detached, and I’m left floating in the abyss.

In those moments, I felt unearthed

I used to think being unearthed is supposed to feel liberating; kind of like flying. I thought it should feel like rising to the clouds, wandering around the heights as light as a feather, but for some unknown reason, this all feels heavy. It’s as if I lost control of my own movements & I’m constantly tumbling in free space. It’s like I’m floating aimlessly through the universe, waiting to land somewhere, anywhere. It’s terrifying. It makes me want to be forever anchored to the ground; tied, nailed, jailed, anything just to keep me from floating.

The background noise doesn’t help, either. With all the emptiness encasing me, it’s quite funny how I couldn’t even hear silence. Instead, all I could register are vast waves of misery from every corner of the world. Disasters are springing from the ground-up, with anecdotes of political & societal drama raining all around. It’s a terrible melody for my ears. It makes me want to hear nothing at all, just to feel those quiet afternoons once again.

I thought keeping myself busy might help with lessening the volume. Maybe, just maybe, if I focus more on the tasks I have on my hands, I might regain my authority & learn how to channel the energies surrounding me. I might even create my own little world for me & my emotions to regenerate in solitude. Perhaps I could finally keep myself grounded & controlled if I could just seal my ceilings, doors, & windows shut.

Unfortunately, life does not work like that. No amount of work could make me distant from the fearsome truth. Not even paint or curtains could cover the cracks and windows that surround me. Despite all efforts, nothing could make me unsee the damage this world has delved into, nor could I unhear all their mutinous cries from around; and this tiny space I made doesn’t help. It feels like a darkened prison, like a room with no escape. Whatever it is that I am currently residing in, I am certain that I want out.

Everyday, I fight this battle in my head on how I should cope with the tremors I am slowly losing my mind to. I keep asking myself repetitive questions. Should I just cower in fear beneath my blankets? Shouldn’t I do something? Shouldn’t I be screaming for help? Shouldn’t I be helping? The world is now shattered in sharp little shards. Isn’t that also a sign for me to shatter this glass I am trapped in? Shouldn’t I just destroy my safest spaces & embrace this reality?

My thoughts stood stuck on that last question. Should I indeed destroy my space & just adhere to the awful truth surrounding me? I am suffocating in all these false positives and demolishing my space seems to be the only way to let some air in. I’d open the windows, but they were sealed shut by the anxieties I felt since this hell rose up. I’d open the door but I seemed to forget where I hid the key when I didn’t want anyone nor anything to enter my home.

Destroying this bubble really did seem like the only option, but skepticism reigned as I feared the clutter it would cause. More so on how I’d again mindlessly drift away from the ground-up. However, I began thinking, isn’t living in this busy, blatant lie during times like these more messy & unsettling? Isn’t concealing what is true for the sake of tranquility more punishing? Isn’t piling up every task I have as if they were barriers from the outside just as unfulfilling as never finishing them?

After a brief deliberation within my head, I made a decision & destroyed my world of made-up niceties. I unscrewed the ceilings, unhinged the doors, & broke the window panes. I shattered everything in my safest spaces until it all ended like the smallest grains of sand. I burned my bed in uproar, welcoming it with a tearful surrender as I aimlessly flew in free space again, just like what I’ve always dreaded.

Surprisingly, I found myself amidst the deafening silence. Regaining control was a feeling I never thought I could feel in a moment like this. It was a breath of relief after months full of sighs. I finally have the energy to deal with the pieces of me that were scattered in the trail left by the damage of the pandemic.

Motion was the first thing I lost when the pandemic began. Flying and feeling the wind on my skin made me remember how freeing it was to be alive and not just survive. Being in control was a refresher that I didn’t know I needed.

At that moment, I felt unearthed, and boy, does it feel liberating