“So I looked, and behold, an ashen (pale greenish gray) horse [like a corpse, representing death and pestilence]; and its rider’s name was Death; and Hades (the realm of the dead) was following with him. They were given authority and power over a fourth part of the earth, to kill with the sword and with famine and with plague (pestilence, disease) and by the wild beasts of the earth.”
If 2020 were a child in an African family, it would be the one kept away from the family meeting, always in the room when visitors arrive, never mentioned in the scheme of things throughout her life. 2020 would be the child buried in the evil forest where even her parents would not know where her final resting place was.
“We need to talk about Kevin”
This year we were all home alone, like a problem child nobody wanted to see or remember. We were stuck with our wooden haunted dolls, trying to hide from the nightmare on the streets. For the first time this year, some of us weren’t sure of seeing our next birthday. Our illusions of long-term reward, good conquering evil, hope in spite of opposition and fairytale happy endings were all ripped from us and our loved ones.
It feels like this year was nothing to write home about. Nothing happened, but everything happened. Nothing changed or progressed for us, but nothing is the same anymore. We have given ourselves 360 days to make any sense of the 360 degree events of this year and still we come up short.
Doesn’t a story have to have an arc? Shouldn’t there be at least a plot? Don’t we need elements of character development? What about even a moral? Shouldn’t we have an ending whether a happy or sad one? Are we too forward to dare to ask for closure? We have lost our loved ones, our health, our fresh air, our sense of smell, our jobs, our faith, our freedom to move around. We have even lost our minds. Must we also lose even our stories too?
A lot of questions no one has the answers to have been asked this year. The search for answers might be the reason why we must document our lives as they unfolded this year, even if they don’t make sense, because maybe then – together – we might make more sense of the things we went through in 2020.
For the next 3 days, I’ll be receiving drafts at firstname.lastname@example.org. If you bring yourself to send your entry, I’ll acknowledge it and post it with a photo of your choice starting in the new year.
Merry Christmas everyone, whatever that means to you.