Day 161: Of Tiny Transitions

Day 161: September 3, 2020
Global Cases: 26,459,001; Deaths: 872,523
Egypt Cases: 99,425 Deaths: 5,479

Sara Shalaby
Psychology Graduating Senior

I remember the few minutes between classes when I run into people I barely know and greet them like we’re both more interested in each other than we actually are.

The dreaded, unending car rides, stuck behind an unmoving truck for hours on end.

The search for the perfect corner in the library or the perfect seat to enjoy my lunch.

The journey toward something. Not necessarily something important or even substantial, but something. A clear line, a divide, between now and later.

For over five months now, my life has been reduced to a 3.5 x 3.5 meter bedroom. When your life is all contained in the same space, there are no transitions. I wake up and I am already where I am supposed to be.

I read, work, exercise, and socialize in my room, I even eat in my room. I never used to eat in my room.

Without the transitions I once took for granted, I am stuck. It’s like the first minute of quarantine just kept going and going, never ending. It feels like one long, agonizing moment in time that refuses to pass.

I try to look for some signifiers of the passage of time, something to demonstrate that the day I am living is a new one.

I tell myself I will refill my water bottle, scratch my cat’s head, take a lap around the dining table, anything I can plant between the different parts of my day to create some sort of boundary.

If time is not moving, I don’t know why I should be.

The sun rises and sets, and I don’t even realize it. If I am not there to witness the shadows on the sidewalk shift, did it even happen?

After my classes today, I sat in my chair the same way I have done every day lately and I thought about the fact that I was in class and at home at the same time. I thought about how I had no excuse not to be working right then and there.

The journeys to my next destination were my chance to catch my breath, to recalibrate and consider my next move.

They were the breaks I never believed I had earned because we are never allowed to feel like we’ve done enough.

For The Caravan‘s previous diary entries in Arabic and English go to our COVID-19 Special Coverage page.

Any breaks I take this semester will be a failure on my part, a waste of the uninterrupted time I have been given, the opportunity to work without ever needing to stop.

I began to take a step forward in March and my foot has been hovering in the air since, unable to find solid ground once again.

Now that I no longer have journeys, I no longer have destinations, and without destinations, I don’t know how to move forward.

I don’t know what I’m moving towards anymore.

If I am always where I am supposed to be, why am I still lost?