It’s been a long time.
I redrafted about six versions of this post over the past few months. I originally wrote a very pessimistic and iconoclastic piece back in January on how 2021 was going to be no different to 2020, that we would all be in lockdown until September at least and that I reckoned the world was pretty much ruined forever.
This is what early 2021 Emily had to say about the horrendous year of 2020, and what she predicted the following year was going to be like. I don’t think that everything she said was correct, and I’m so so glad she was wrong.
2020 was bad.
There’s no contesting that it was cruel, incredibly scary in some parts and mind-numbingly boring in others. We watched as our favorite celebrities aged horrendously before our eyes without their teams of groomers - “We’re all in it together!” they cried from their million pound houses, complete with built in swimming pool, gym, library etc. etc. etc. “Wahey!” I replied from my student house, always too hot or too cold and waiting in a queue for the bathroom.
Boris Johnson kept disappointing us, which then stopped being a surprise but continued to be a source of outrage. I’ve never been so tapped into news; now the moment that BBC news alert flashes in I’m leaping onto twitter to read the memes and update the group chat with my ‘witty’ remarks.
As awful as the phrase ‘the new normal’ is, I do have to admit that I have molded myself quite neatly into this strange dystopian world, where we all make jokes about toilet paper and Boris Johnson’s snipers waiting for you down the park to catch you on your 3rd walk of the day. We watch tv programmes produced entirely on video conferencing software and wince and go ‘How did they manage that?’ when we see actors less than 2 ft apart. I can’t really remember what it was like to be ‘busy’ in a physical sense. I’m still chained to my desk for hours at a time reading, writing, desperately sweating blood as I squeeze out assessment after assessment for my degree, peppering it with video calls to my friends or watching vlogs about other people having an equally boring time in the coronaverse. I haven’t been to work since November at the beginning of Lockdown 2.
I spend a lot of time walking around various parks with various people (with my new Christmas fitbit just think of how quickly my step count is going to be reached!) and a lot of time staring out the window listening to Taylor Swift. Before it was reinstated as illegal, I would make pilgrimages around the generous population of charity shops on my local highstreet, pointlessly staring and prodding at things I knew I would never buy but knowing it was the only alternative to 1) going round the park again or 2) sitting in my house watching Heartbeat and crocheting. My daily routine sounds much like a pensioner’s or a dog-botherer.
I did momentarily buy into the myth of 2021 being hailed as our miracle year. I ran, barefoot and completely pissed, into the street on the 31st and screamed Happy New Year with my neighbours who were setting fireworks off in the street. Then I went and moshed with my brother to a replay of Dizzie Rascal singing ‘Bonkers’ on Hootenanny and decided that yes, this year was going to be The One. I say ‘This Year will be My Year’ nearly every year. Perhaps I am just doomed to be mildly unlucky, or perhaps no one will ever have Their Year, because life is cruel and humans seem to be born with a relentless belief that we really do have control over our little worlds. It is comforting to think that what we want to happen might matter, just a little bit.
Then Brexit finally happened (remember Brexit? Wish I didn’t), and then the vaccines mysteriously stopped, and then we were plunged back into Lockdown 3, not that it was really a surprise after Boris canceled Christmas, and all the while the mutant strain was ravaging the South and sending the death numbers sky-rocketing. Since then there's been an attempted American coup by white supremacist (vastly unintelligent) terrorists and to top it all off, now Kim and Kanye are getting divorced. Just a reminder it's only been a week since New Year's Eve. I can’t help but wonder what more excitement awaits us.
I do not predict that 2021 will be easy.
I predict (pessimistically) that I will never return fully to my University Campus. I do not think I will have a graduation ceremony. I do not think I will ever sit in the library for hours on end again.
I do predict (optimistically) that I might be back in the pubs by summer. I hope I’ll have sorted out a nice trendy job for a trendy, freshly graduated young professional. I do think I’ll write a lot more, read a lot more, and continue to educate and shape myself. I do predict that Taylor Swift will release another album in 2021 and I can’t wait.
This year is not going to be mind-blowing. I do not believe everything will magically be solved. I do not have any more faith in the words ‘Now, more than ever' and ‘this is the final stretch’, but if I can manage a hug from my grandparents and a pint in a pub by NYE 2021, I think it’ll all be reyt.
I was right that 2021 wasn’t easy.
The lockdown at the beginning of the year was grueling and upsetting and so much worse than the other two. The novelty at this point had fizzled out and I couldn’t find any more hobbies to invest myself into. I instead just took to re-reading the Belgian comicbooksThe Adventures of Tintin, a series I have oscillated in and out of fanaticism for since the age of 11, and listening to a lot of The Smiths. I never returned to campus or another in-person seminar or class, and I never sat in the library again. My spring wardrobe was shelved for the second year in a row.
Despite not actually setting foot on campus, I did manage to complete my undergraduate degree in English! Getting back to my writing was the first thing I wanted to do. I am sitting and writing, having submitted my final assignment at 11:18 pm last night, a free woman.
I returned to work at my pub and bought my first car. I hugged my grandparents, managed a few nights out in the pubs. Reconnected with family that I had drifted away from in the last couple of years. I (almost) completed another crochet blanket. I read a lot of books and converted to veganism.
I wish that I could tell Emily of January that she would be alright, that she would reach the end and there is a light (that will never go out) at the end of the tunnel. The past year and a half has been bleak and pushed us all to the ends of our limits. I’m sure even the most content and put-together people (myself included) have reached points they physically couldn’t comprehend how they were going to get through.
But if there is anything this year has taught me is that I am blessed to be surrounded by such wonderful and beautiful people. In an age where we’re being told to keep away from each other, my friendships and family relationships have only flourished and gone from strength to strength.
As the country moves slowly but surely towards normality at the end of this month, I feel nothing but optimism. I am so proud of myself and everyone around me, who have persevered and carried each other towards the summer. I don’t think things will be perfect. We will feel the effects of this pandemic forever.
But I, for one, am glad that so many of my predictions were wrong.