Hi

T.S. Eliot opened his poem The Waste Land like this:

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

April has been a challenging month for everyone so far, and with May around the corner, talks of returning to normal are more and more common.

But what does ‘normal’ mean now? How close can we get in the following months to the life we used to have? As we continue juggling our everyday needs with managing our grief and our urgency to plan for the future, we can still find space in the present moment to sit back and let go.  

Here are some links for your reading pleasure

1. Can’t look away from your phone? Don’t be surprised. Your device was designed with that goal in mind.

2. There’s still time to take advantage of Nikon’s free photography classes.

3. Paradoxically, lockdown is making us even more hyperconnected than before. If you’re looking for a break from your tenth Zoom meeting in a week, consider letter writing. 

4. A Van Gogh self-portrait thought to be fake for decades has now been confirmed as real. It doesn’t get better than that. 

5. If you're a fan of Anderson and Tarantino, check out this short film about a girl raising hell in Texas following Bonnie Parker’s footsteps. 

6. Give your brain a break. Embrace idleness.

7. While recording songs in her mother’s native Cambodian language, Laura Mam discovered how music ties individuals and communities with the mix of past and present that makes us who we are.

8. An intimate peek at the now distant New Romantic trend in the late seventies through a family photo album. 

9. We still can’t go out, but it doesn’t mean we can't do treasure hunts online.

10. Being 1.5 meters tall, when I hug a tall person I care about I can easily rest my head on their chest and listen to their heartbeat. That’s my most important memory of touch in these times when we need to stay 2 meters away for each other. Other people have shared their memories, as well. 

Photo: Cecilia Morales

Memories

I may be sitting on my narrow balcony right now, looking down at the lone, masked figures crossing the street, holding bags in gloved hands on their way to buy groceries. It may be Tuesday, although I’m not exactly sure about the date. My running shoes may be gathering dust in my closet, hopelessly waiting for the return of what was once called normal: afternoon runs around the lake, not-so-lazy mornings at the gym, Sunday strolls in the neighbourhood. 

I can always go somewhere else, though—to our hideouts, to the roads we walked together. When I close my eyes I find myself back to the valley, lying next to you on a large, flat rock, looking at the stars, shivering slightly at the touch of the cold December breeze. In that moment, I realised I wanted to lay down on that rock and gaze at the stars and hear you talk about books forever. I wanted to build a home under your shadow, live in your warmth, sleep with the soft, muted sweetness of your voice.

In this time of famine, I want to feast in the joy of our beginning. 

That’s it for this week, folks. Have you found something cool on the internet you'd like to share? I’d love to know. Drop me a line at [email protected] or give me a shout on Twitter.

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Thanks.

Cecilia