1. Have you ever been jealous of a book character? I recently read Sally Rooney's Normal People, and aside from being left breathless at the tenderness and intensity of the story and the relationship in the story, I was also incredibly jealous of the main characters. Having been on lockdown for two weeks now, reading a book about an intimate relationship between two people is difficult when the person you are most intimate with is out of your reach (by law). (Despite the jealousy I was still highly impressed, and wrote about the book in three letters to beloved friends, and then gushed about the book for an hour on the phone with Ching.)
This lockdown has meant that Jacob and I have returned to a period in our relationship which I thought was over when I left London - that is, the semi-long distance. Except this time I can't hop on a train and get to him. Thankfully the things we learnt while in a semi-long distance relationship still apply, and the nightly calls and praying together have reinstated themselves as a precious part of my day.
2. We've also tried a skype date, since the video call has taken over as the world's foremost method of communication. We dressed up, both cooked a form of pasta, set our respective tables, and talked about anything apart from the virus. I even put on lipstick, and a scarf so I could take it off when I 'got to the restaurant'. 'I feel like I'm in Florence,' I told my Mum as I carried my mushroom ragu to the backroom study table. We talked about the past and the future, and there was a lot of smiling, and a healthy dose of flirting, and then we went to the 'movies' afterwards and finished watching 'It Happened One Night'.
3. Hannah had her birthday over zoom. The whole screen was filled with people who loved her. Friends sent flowers and ice cream. Auntie Sarah tried to balance 26 candles on three rich tea biscuits, succeeding just in time for us to sing a wobbly, laggy 'Happy birthday to you'.
4. I called L one afternoon. She is so beautiful, and I remembered the last time I saw her in a cafe in Dalston, when we talked about home. She gave me a card which is still at my empty office desk, to remind me that I am not alone. It is right next to R's card which says 'Love in your new place'. In our call she cried. 'Seeing your face reminds me of how much I miss you,' she said. I miss you has almost become a synonym phrase for 'I love you.'
5. Every time we think it might be possible to see each other, something seems to prevent it. The cycle of anticipation and crushed hope is exhausting. 'You can feel these emotions,' Mum told me one evening as I lay in bed sobbing, 'but you can't drown in them. Find a current and come back up.'
'I don't know how,' I said - everything felt tired, everything felt lost.
The next day I did a walking meditation, imagining myself meeting Jesus. He places his hand on my shoulder and I tell him everything I am afraid of, right now. I'm afraid of not seeing Jacob and drowning in sadness, I'm afraid of making the wrong decisions.
I was meant to imagine Jesus responding to my fear. He didn't give me an answer to tough decisions, or a vision of seeing Jacob again (although those would surface in my dreams periodically). All he said was the truth,
'You are loved, I love you.'
Perfect love casts out fear, in a way that doesn't offer false promises. There are still decisions, and still pain and longing. But also love.
6. On Monday I lay on a long piece of mahjong paper as Hannah traced my body from chest up with my arms outstretched. I coloured in my arms, my neck, my hair, and drew my eyes, nose, mouth. I remembered the artist in London, telling the life drawing group to fill in my limbs with curved lines so that they looked more life-like. I left lighter spots in the creases of my elbows and shaded in shadows under my jaw and eyes, the sides of my nose. I created a life-size, cropped paper me, all ready for a hug. Where I can't touch Jacob - and I shall never take that privilege for granted again - I can still send him a hug, like this.
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