I'm trying to exercise emotional intelligence in regards to my own moods. To borrow the well-worn rollercoaster analogy, I'm becoming more apt at anticipating the slow descent. If I have a bad day or week - or few- by God's grace I'll recover. It's not the end of the world. There are those suffering a far worse pandemic.
If I don't feel the weight of light depression that stalked me in January, it's not necessarily because things are any easier. I'm just more accustomed to the situation, if no happier about it.
Still, I do whatever is in my power to squeeze the most out of those lemons.
As well as my own daily excursions, I enjoy one-to-one walks with new 20-something acquaintances such as Regina from Tonga or Brenda from Austria; both church members. One day whilst walking with Brenda in the snowy Bois des Cambres, emotion gets the better of me and I burst into tears. Setting COVID paranoia aside, she gives me a hug. She can relate to the sense of solitude. We moved to Brussels around the same time.
My colleagues (sans Ama) also organise a walk around the Heyser area, one gorgeous Sunday afternoon in late February. I suspect my mostly married or spoken-for colleagues take pity on yours truly; moving to a new country amidst pandemics and lockdowns. For the first time, I'm meeting half of my small 5-member team in the real world. We pass a delightful afternoon discovering the lovely parks dotted around the environs of the famous Atomium (above, right); a part of town I’ve long wanted to visit. Our bilingual conversations frequently return to a dearly missed pre-COVID life of music festivals and world travel.
Hovering in the metaphorical background is the bane that is my frenemy, Rob. Yep, him again. In fairness, relations seem to have thawed, or so I thought. I even feel charitable enough to buy a gift for his birthday in early February (the French translation of Richard Wright's Black Boy). After all, Rob is one of the first people I ‘befriended’ in Brussels. In his own dubious way, he’s also made the most consistent effort.
By some fluke, Rob happens to be stepping out of his flat whilst I try to inconspicuously deposit the professionally-wrapped present in his letter box. In an unguarded moment, he seems genuinely touched. He's on his way to his parents. Embarassed, I make as hasty an exit as politely possible.
The next few weeks are packed with intense and often emotionally-exhausting email discussions/debates. Rob complains that I suspect his intentions. He insists, almost too emphatically, that he has no ulterior motives. He thinks I’m delusional. I take him to task over his selective memory of our earlier encounters. Nonetheless, somewhat reluctantly, I start to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He sends me reams of online content, keen to pick my brain. My feminism still greatly rankles him. I am infuriated about his cavalier attitude towards being COVID-secure, especially in light of regular visits to his elderly parents. For Rob's part, he goes through phases of being fixated with my celibacy and views around monogamy. He’s at once scoffing and fascinated.
His dinner invitations don’t desist. He mentions another once-potential conquest who shares my perspective on celibacy. I’m bemused yet intrigued by this acquaintance, not least as he seems to be more respectful of her than me. He asks me round to meet her one evening at his place for dinner. I baulk at the flagrant disregard of Belgium's virus precautions.
I discover later that he’s been going on regular walks with this friend.
How come? I ask. I thought he didn’t like winter walks. Rob claims he’s 'more comfortable' in her company. She doesn’t make allusions to him wanting to take advantage. Pish-posh. It’s been a while since I’ve cast aspersions. More importantly, it makes no sense he’d be uneasy going for a walk but happy to have me round for dinner or to visit him at work. These invitations are the latest addition to his social overtures. It appeals to me far more than dinner at his diseased flat. I let Rob know Je suis partante, only for him to blow hot and cold about the idea.
My attempt to build community in this period thus continues to be a slow saga.
To help things along, I sign up for an online 80s/90s/2000s Zoom party. A reluctant decision turns out to be one of my best all month. Not only do I bump into mutual friend of Rob, auntie Carol but also Tatjana, a former colleague and friend from THRO. She’s been on my mind of late. We squeal in recognition and proceed to catch up, rather awkwardly for the rest of the online revellers. Most of those signed up for the event are a no show but this turns out to be a blessing in disguise. It’s a select but zealous few, shaking our collective booties to international, pop, soul and disco hits from the past few decades.
Soundtrack: Nostalgia: Beats of 2008-2020 by Beatchild; Dive by Daniel Weiss; Various from Daft Punk's back catalogue (well, I had to).
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