2020. This year I learned how my breath smells. Under the protection mask, I was surprised by the strange odour. It took me time to realize it was my personal scent. A mixture of fear, delusion, and self-indulgence. The unpleasant trace of my inner world smacked me right in the face, making it hard to ignore.
One morning in March I opened my eyes and the world I had known wasn’t there. Everything changed. I kept blinking for weeks, almost months, rubbing my eyes, hoping it will pass, wishing it could be a vision problem. There was an uncomfortable glare from the things I’ve never wanted to see, but now they were there like car headlights heading towards me, brakes screeching, tires squealing... I hoped it wasn’t too late.
When in May I touched my friend’s knee to comfort her, she said it’s been the most physical contact with another human she had in months. A single, self-employed foreign-born artist with underlying health conditions, locked in her flat. I started filling in the gaps about the people I knew, here in Iceland they are my only family. All fragile, but some more vulnerable than others.
The same month Iðnó closed, the heart of the international art community stopped, and my red from rubbing eyes turned towards Bío Paradis, not sure if I should join the vigil. I was afraid I would be even more lost here in Reykjavik, where on Pósthússtræti there is no post, and if Bíó Paradís bus stop left me at nothing.
This year I realized how close my friends are, how far my family is, and that on Zoom Pro there is no option to sit my niece in my lap. What before seemed to be only a four-hour flight turned into months of not knowing when I will see them again. The cheap flights now have a new price. The hidden airline fees include other people's lives, polar bears, and glaciers.
This year I learned that I can wait. After years of living like everything would be one click away, I reeducated myself in the kindergarten training of politely waiting in line. Now, I can wait in front of the store, stay for weeks at home and postpone my travel plans for months if not years.
I learned that they are people risking life for me to be comfortable, warm, safe, healthy, and satisfied, and they have been doing it long before March and long before I noticed. I realized that I need to do better. There are people who serve, and I want to serve too, in all ways possible.
In August, when I was moving to a new flat I fell down the stairs while carrying a mirror. A terrible accident. I got hurt, though more emotionally than physically. Left with a big scar on my arm I realized I’m mortal, and I do make mistakes, little, medium, and big ones. To fall down the stairs with a mirror. The strangest and the most painful way of looking at oneself. We could use it as a new idiom. The essence of the year 2020. The most humbling experience.
PUBLISHED IN ICELANDIC TRANSLATION IN The STUNDIN MAGAZINE (DECEMBER 2020)
