Seasonal Melancholia and all that...

 

(courtesy of ArtStation)

Barely returned from my excursion to the French Riviera and I’m already looking for an excuse to head somewhere sunny again.

In the interim, there’s no escaping the reality of dull Belgian skies (with the odd day of sunshine), the post-Christmas detox and resuming my job hunt. I took a break from searching over the festive period. I needed the mental rest, as well as to have some distance from being screwed over by my previous employer, The Trade Union Organisation (TTUO). Or rather, the crooked GS and her Italian minion.

Alas, it can’t be avoided forever. Whilst waiting on TTUO's HR department for key documents to start the social security process, my union inform me that I must register with a nationwide work scheme. I go through the motions, completing my profile and attending online training voluntarily- so that I’m not accused of being uncooperative. 

I’m being targeted with my search. There are nonetheless some compromises I have to make if not to narrow the field too much. 

Until joining the Belgian job market, I didn’t realise how generous the salaries were at TTUO – especially when almost 50% went towards tax and other contributions. I'm applying for roles that would require a significant pay cut, save for some successful re-negotiation. Based on previous experiences with European short term contracts, I would prefer not to apply for anything with less than two years employment security. That would also exclude a number of options, however. I even consider working in a different Belgian city; less daunting in the era of pandemic-related 80% telework.

Whilst out on a social with Sylvia and Karin, they encourage me to apply for posts for which I feel woefully underqualified. Sylvia is insistent. Of Pakistani origin herself, she warns against succumbing to the 'imposter complex' that racialised women often (are made to) feel. I know what she means but maintain there’s a place for realism. I pass on one of the roles to a far more experienced ex-colleague, also disillusioned with TTUO.

Shortly after my meet up with Sylvia and Karin, the latter gets in touch to inform me she has COVID. Mercifully, my self-test kit returns a negative result. I am fully aware of how fortunate I am. I’ve had a few close calls of late. Aside from the brush with the virus in Nice, a number of colleagues at the Red Cross Centre emerge in January after a forced Corona-hiatus. Once during a shift, one of the Centre’s beneficiaries - an infirm-looking older Nigerian - admits that he might have tested positive the week before.

(courtesy of PicJumbo)

Ah-ah! 

I notify one of the staff members, after which the feverish-looking gent changes his story. He’s eventually convinced to take a free test at the adjacent medical centre.

Then there are the close friends and loved ones who are infected. As well as Karin, I receive a message from Em – my Christmas guest – that she’s tested asymptomatically positive. A day or two later, sis expresses concern she’s feeling ill following a video shoot. A PCR confirms she indeed has COVID. Like Karin and unlike Em, she doesn’t avoid the symptoms. Both come down with fever and fatigue. Both are fully vaccinated; Karin having only recently received her booster. It’s worrying when otherwise healthy 30-somethings are laid low by the virus. No doubt, it would have been more severe still if they hadn’t been jabbed.

I do my best to be sensible, particularly on the brimming public transport. Still, life can't grind to a halt. The alternative is to become a semi-recluse, avoiding anything that could attract a crowd. That would rule out the offline community at church (where strict measures are already in place); otherwise a lifeline. Or volunteering at the Red Cross, where I can take my mind off my own worries by serving others. Or meeting up with good friends not seen since before Christmas.

I haven't spent time with Brenda since her return from Austria, for instance. I reach out by text, to which she proposes a walk that Saturday.

Meanwhile, my S.A.D has returned this winter with force. That weekend my morale sinks to a low ebb, albeit with occasional respite. My time with Brenda is one such moment. As ever, it's an authentic exchange. Over a detox-friendly drink, I’m candid about the isolation I’ve felt over the Christmas season, related to not having my own brood. What makes this sensation more acute is speaking to other (Christian) women of a similar age in the same situation. It's hard to admit, since I never want to denigrate being single. I don't believe it's inferior to being coupled up. Neither do I believe any relationship is better than none. There are many blessings that come with the single life, so long as it doesn't seem to overstay its welcome.  

Brenda is mature and perhaps more emotionally pragmatic than I was in my mid-20s. She’s already countenancing the possibility of indefinite singleness and how to make the most of it, whilst not abandoning all hope.

The next day, I meet up with Renzo to see A Hero; an accomplished, if emotionally-draining film. Although it's I who suggests it, it turns out not to be suitable viewing for my current state of mind.

Earlier that week, Renzo and I catch-up briefly on the phone – properly, for the first time. It's a mini-milestone. He has returned from a soul-nourishing holiday in his native Italy feeling rather disenchanted with his lot in Belgium. He’s just quit an unsatisfying work placement following a needless COVID-safety breach. With his new-found freedom, Renzo is attending to his spiritual practices and launches a multilingual arts blog (hurrah!). He writes in the three languages in which he's most proficient and has an (annoyingly good) way with words - if his French and English pieces are anything to go by.

He is early for our cinema appointment, as usual. Sporting an iridescent burgundy puffa coat, he cradles a coffee whilst catching up on my blog when I arrive.  It's been a month since we last connected IRL (as he might say), and yet our reunion is more subdued than previous.

After the film, comme d'hab, Renzo appears to be in a rush to go home.    I'd hoped for a post-screening drink. Unbeknownst to me, the cinema bar is closed. I try to bring Lorenzo hastily up to speed about things on my end. Before I know it, we’re waiting on the underground platform for our trains. Mine arrives before Renzo’s. He attempts to send me off with an affectionate farewell.

What’s the hurry? I can take the next one, I protest. I need the company.

Renzo is hungry and tired. I don’t hide my mix of irritation and disappointment when he boards his train. I’m disproportionately upset on the way home. Much of it has to do with the lingering effects of the distressing movie but not all. A continued, low level anxiety is contributing to hyper-sensitivity.

Having been vulnerable with Renzo, more than normal to some extent, he seemingly still misses the cues. I don’t believe I could have been clearer about wanting more quality time. It’s not that I haven’t had the chance to unburden with other friends. My evening with Brenda is refreshing. I just feel compelled to give Lorenzo a thorough update. Plus, there was so much more I wanted to ask about his time away over Christmas.

Renzo senses something is amiss. He sends a follow-up text, just to check. I am as frank in my response as I can be, whilst trying to remain even-handed. He did say he was hungry.  

I don’t sleep well that evening and my malaise continues into the new week. I do a lot of reflecting. I decide to ignore my Belgian phone during this time, as it's often a source of above-mentioned anxiety.

The exchange with Renzo makes me re-evaluate the emotional boundaries of our friendship. He seems to be more adept at preserving his own. I, on the other hand, might have taken the ‘platonic boyfriend’ analogy too far. There’s a type of availability or engagement that isn't only limited to romantic commitments. Realistically, not everyone has the emotional bandwidth (to borrow a friend’s expression) to be that present all - or even most - of the time. I need to manage my expectations better.

Midweek, I charge my by now lifeless phone and go through the various messages I am yet to read. I see too late an invitation from Renzo to come round to his place for an afternoon chat over a hot drink. A rare offer - an opportunity missed. 

Soundtrack: Best of 2021 Mix (Part 2) + Beat Tape II by Benny Sings.