It’s not over. But it is. (Well it’s really not).

I haven’t written in a long long time. Not since some of my latest rants on the overall situation and approach our early days of the covid years. (Many of which, sadly, have continued to ring true as the pandemic drags its heels into the third year and counting. But by this point, what is the point of counting..?).

Indeed, we have arrived at the critical junction of what I felt long ago that we would eventually have to face. However, the correct path forward, from an ethical and societal and economical and sustainable point of view, is still largely debated and unclear, as it shall remain so.

When a topic is this large, one would be naive to expect that a simple, elegant, mutually agreed solution is ever gong to exist.

But isn’t that part of the game plan after all. Halt and reassess and aggressively develop protections and therapies when the illness was at its deadliest peak, to buy time for nature to hopefully run its course to bring the illness down to a more “tolerant” (still highly debated) level, and then eventually allow life to carry on as much as they can with some slight modifications of our new world with our new viral friend.

I am not here to debate our current covid policies or lack thereof. There are thousands of smarter people with better experiences and more powerful positions to do so. By this point, I have largely became a passenger in our covid fight. Sorry, perhaps more a foot soldier. As I don on my PPE, N95 masks and face shield, time and time again with each patient regardless of their medical complaint or presentation, it has became a redundant, tiring routine. And each day, I go to work and come home, carefully evaluating myself for possible symptoms, before I make the conscious decision of whether it is safe or socially responsible to go out do run errands or see my family (and very, very occasionally, my friends).

How I Iong for the days when a cold is just a cold, and we carry on with our plans as if it’s no significant deal. How our lives do not get turned upside down because of a little sniffle or a scratch in the throat.

But of course, covid have changed all that, and some for the better. Never was it really all that responsible to go out and mingle when you have an illness anyway, and in parts of Asia, the use of masks during cold and flu season, ESPECIALLY with those who have minor symptoms, have long been an accepted custom and rarely questioned (in fact, one would draw dirty glances if they were to step into a crowded subway and let out a sneeze, god forbid, upon their naked, unmasked face..)

So if anything, the heightened sense of awareness and caution against easily transmissible disease is likely here to stay, and hopefully a welcome change at that. As with not showing up to work sick, modifying tasks to allow work from home, and a general increased tolerance for everyone’s different risk aversions are likely positive steps in our increasing dense societies.

But no, this entry is about none of that. For I am sick of covid. (Literally, as I recently caught the illness myself, luckily mild, after a brief trip to Ottawa. More on that later.).

I am writing again because I’ve realized that my life feels emptier when I don’t. Life continues to pass, events come and go, covid lingers, and I go to sleep and wake up checking my work schedule and collect pay checks (well, auto-deposits). I miss the self reflection and the narrative story-telling that writing allows for me. In short, in adds significance to my days, my weeks. And more and more I am realize that, perhaps for me, that is what give life meaning. When you have a chance to pause and reflect, and solidify your experience into a memorable narration (even if it’s just to myself), it takes a symbol of significance inside a storage box into our mind’s memory banks. And perhaps that is the true meaning of life. A collection of memories, made significant by the collector.

And so I’m going to try to keep writing. On nothing in particular, as quite evident from my blog over the years. And to no one in particular, other than myself. Because it helps me make sense of my world.

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Oh, and for those of you who may not know, ironically over these covid years, I’ve met someone, from halfway across the country. :) (yes yes, it’s been a while..) It has not been easy, though, to develop and grow a relationship, over 4000km or close to 5 hours of flying, in the middle of what might be the hardest two years of air travel restrictions and sickness-implications ever in our lifetime. But through our natural silliness together, our witty and comical chemistry, and our what seems very innate understanding of each other (at times it does seem like we were both cut from the same cloth, although a decade part), we were able to maintain what has been a wonderful companionship and at times, when we are lucky enough to visit, some heart melting intimacy. I cannot wait, for when the impacts of covid finally fades (although not the virus itself), and the chance for much easier visits and interactions presents itself to us in the near future, for us to spend even more time together than we have manage, and nurture this seed that we have been trying to water and grow via internet links and FaceTime movies and late night video chats. (And on that note, the image above at the title of this post would make a little more sense to those who are reading. It is perhaps one of my favourite photos of our time together so far. We were sitting on a beautiful deck waiting for our morning coffee on the banks of the St. Lawrence at old Quebec, groggy from the morning sun, when she cheekily snapped a photo of our feet in parallel when I wasn't aware..  ).