Musings on Quarantinitis

 Wrote this on FB on 29th April 2020. A reflection on “Quarantinitis”, in the time of Covid. 

What does one name a mysterious sense of listlessness despite being busy, and an underlying nagging sensation of dissatisfaction despite having everything one could need while being at home for weeks? I call it "Quarantinitis". A sense that something is wrong despite everything appearing to be right. Some kind of low level, almost inflammatory, unsettling wave, that ripples through you every now and then when you pause long enough to think about it. 

It isn't ennui per se because you have plenty to do at home and life isn't aimless. It isn't full blown depression because you do get out of bed daily and do the things you need and want to do, and they do bring you satisfaction. It isn't a lack of joy in living life because you still find joy in even the smallest of things, even at home. It isn't deep despair because life is still very much worth the living, and you have hope for the future. It isn't a numbness of heart that disables you from feeling a full range of emotions because you feel them all, especially at home. It isn't deep grief over any loss you feel being at home for weeks, and yet you do miss the things you freely enjoyed before. It isn't deep dissatisfaction with life because you remind yourself that you have so much to be grateful for, and truly you do.

But it is some kind of borderline disatisfaction or vague unhappiness or slight sadness that you experience and attempt to address in quarantine every day. You tell yourself not to dwell on what is missing but on what you have. To be truly, deeply, genuinely grateful for all that you have because others have so little, and yet on some level, that doesn't offer you enough comfort. You can't help having more of the material things in life, you just do. And your feelings and emotions, whatever minor or major thread of dissatisfaction runs through them, are real. 

We are often told to look at things relatively, and to do a comparative analysis of sorts with the underprivileged to see that really, we aren't so badly off because we have a beautiful home, plenty of food on the table, privileged kids who go to good schools, and can afford more than the simple niceties of life. In fact, many of us live in relative luxury to most of the world. And yet our feelings and emotions are as primeval as those of our ancestors, and very much a part of our shared humanity no matter what our position in social hierachies.

I grow weary of people reminding me of how good my life is and in the process, unknowingly negating the validity of my feelings and emotions. Yes, I have everything I need, and more than enough, but I can feel sadness, despair, grief, dissatisfaction, lack and loss, just like everyone else. To be told to count my blessings everyday is a helpful exercise but only if I have been listened to in the first instance, my feelings have been validated, my inner self has been seen, and made to feel visible, and I am able to process my feelings over time. To gloss over this process is to hinder the healing and growth of the soul.  

A blanket, "Be grateful for everything you have, you're so blessed!" or "What have you got to complain about, you're so lucky!", doesn't help provide space for those feelings and emotions to exist, and for you to sit with them. It only serves to bury feelings which can fester, and eventually lead to dissonance and despair. The soul suffocates and shrivels up because it cannot bear the burden of not meeting someone else's expectations of grateful living, and feels that something must be wrong with it, when, in fact, its needs were never acknowledged in the first place. 

It doesn't help to be told that one shouldn't be sad because there are far sadder people in the world, with the logical extension of that being that one shouldn't be happy either, because there will always be people who are happier than us. It's totally dismissive, and highly illogical. Even people who seemingly have everything can experience lack and loss in their lives. It's part of being human. As are compassion, understanding and empathy, all of which seem to be in short order these days.

Quarantinitis affects everybody in different ways. It's a relief to have basic needs more than met, and to be able to address emotional needs. Those emotional needs are important, and shouldn't be minimised in anybody. A big part of living a meaningful life involves dealing with one's feelings and emotions and the work that entails. It's the work of a lifetime, growing one's soul. Hopefully, being in quarantine is a good time to reflect and introspect... in addition to disinfect! 

Don't deny your feelings and emotions, dear friends. May your quarantinitis be lessened as you find those who can listen to you, and understand how you feel, and help the authentic you be visible. If you need to speak to someone, you can speak to me. Hugs and love, and stay safe. ❤

#Quarantinitis #StayAtHome #StaySane #StayConnected #PavListens #PatientVoices

Being Unchosen

So much to do on a Sunday, but I find myself writing a poem of sorts, and having a cathartic cry. A short one. Well, longish poem, shortish cry. As it should be lah. Been awhile since I’ve written through tears. 

There’s A Grief That Comes With Being Unchosen. 

All of life we wait in the shadows, perfecting ourselves for someone else, waiting with hearts beating, silently hoping, “Choose me”. 

Waiting for the right time, for the right one who will find us the right one. 

The one who will say, “I choose you, be mine”.  

And in that brief moment, often frozen in time, the joy of being chosen captures you.

Out of all the people in the whole world, he chose me. 

Of all the hearts beating, waiting in hope to be chosen, he chose me. 

Of all the plentiful fish in the sea, he caught me. 

Captive in his net, eyeing him wondrously, I do not see the trap laid for me. 

Being chosen is beautiful, until it’s ugly.

Being chosen fills the heart with joy, until it shatters it, 

Being chosen makes you feel wanted, until you no longer are. 

The choosing is the promise to love and cherish, 

The chosen is the beloved. 

The unchoosing the breaking of a vow, 

The unbeloved the one left to grieve.

How quickly another beating heart, silently waiting in the shadows, is caught in his net. Chosen. 

Was I worthy but for awhile, and then no longer worth the choosing? Unchosen. 

Grief sweeps in and hollows one out, 

But slowly, something else takes its place.

The knowledge that I can choose myself. 

That I am my beloved. 

That everywhere I go, there am I. 

Not an inescapable burden, but an indescribable joy. 

I choose me. 

There’s a grief that comes with being unchosen. 

There’s a peace that comes with choosing me. 

Pav 

26th April 2026.

Ps. Trawling through tidal pools along the beach at Changi in 2022. Must. Go. Again. ❤️ Choose yourselves, dear frens, you are your beloved!

Love is Letting Go

Love is letting go. Always, and at every opportunity, we must let go. It’s not because we have no wants, desires, needs, expectations or hopes of our own, but precisely because of all that. All of what we have, lurking in our hearts, often unexamined, threatens to suffocate love.

We let go, and die to ourselves, over and over again. Choosing and preferring the happiness of the other over our own. In time, with conscious effort and consistent practice, this can become our second nature, our reflex, our go to MO for dealing with everything life brings our way. 

We don’t surrender our will as such, instead we humble it, and we teach it, as one might tame a wild horse. Kindly, but firmly. We harness the power of our own egos to bring others joy rather than pursue our own endless pursuit of happiness. It’s actually easier than we think… we need to reinforce it by truly valuing those in our lives. Do we really prefer them over ourselves? And why do we love them, even? 

My children have been teaching me to let go. Once, I was the centre of their tiny universe. Then it was their beloved friends, and slowly now, their loving partners. I learnt to watch from the side, relishing their every joy, there if needed but aware that they must lead their own lives. My children gave me this gift- of taming my wild will, my self-centred ego, and my critical heart. I let go, let go, let go. 

Love abounds where there is freedom. Without freedom, love is a cage. It’s not so much about letting them go and if they love you they’ll come back… that’s the funny adage folks churn out at broken romances. No, it’s let them go, and it’s quite alright whether they “come back” or not. It’s saying, meaning, and living the “I love you’s” whether you receive the same back in word, gesture or action. Love doesn’t love wanting only a response, as if it were an investment with a fixed rate of return, paying out dividends regularly. Love simply… loves. 

It’s more like the beautiful green parakeets I see outside my windows. Flying freely, settling where they need to be, and chatting noisily when dusk appears. They’re free. They’re gorgeous, and they bring so much joy while wanting nothing in return. Love can only live in that space created by preferring the other, dying to self, and a joyful exchange of freedom. Love needs to breathe, to fly, to choose. It cannot be suffocated, caged, or forced. It will die. 

Something to think about, and to ask myself how and why I love my family and friends the way I do. Dying to self is a lifelong process. I must remind myself afresh, and daily work at it. One of the handy things about growing older is that you worry a lot less about what others think about you. This frees you to worry a lot more about how you think about yourself. The work of a life time remains to be continued over the few years left to me. God grant me wisdom to number my days rightly! 🙏🏼❤️