I could not have been happier the day Melbourne came out of lockdown. I went out in the sunshine, freedom was in the air. The cafes had burst into life overnight, there were people out on the streets, traffic. I even bought a dress that first Friday from an outdoor trading boutique. It was exciting! Things felt the best they’d felt in forever. We’d actually made it. 

But now it’s been a week or two, and things are starting to feel…weird. The shops are back open, the cafes are still buzzing, I know I should be bursting with possibility. But in truth? That sense of pure, bright elation only lasted a day or two for me. 

Life set in after that, or perhaps it never went away. Things fell back into a routine, of sorts. Work, home, life. But no one spoke about how strange it all was, how the city went from nothing to everything in a matter of a few days. How can we continue as if nothing had even happened when there is a gaping hole left by it?

It’s noticeable in the small things, the ones that could easily be overlooked if we ourselves hadn’t lived through the past two years. Witnessing two friends catching up for coffee in a shopping centre that was deserted only weeks ago. Knowing — just knowing, that this may be the very first time they are meeting in person again in months, a year? 

Watching a stranger navigate their way through a retail store, touching and feeling the fabrics as if they were only just getting to know them. We’ve had to adopt lots of different personas during the lockdowns, many of them just to get by. What will it take for us to not live in survivor mode? How long will it take before we can slip into small talk and pleasantries like a second skin or a pair of gloves you’d never leave home without? “I’m well, thanks, how are you?”  

I wish there were some simple answers here, I really do. I wish we could all begin right where we left off, without feeling that ache of the time in between. I wish I didn’t feel so pensive and bittersweet about it all, especially because I was pining for this freedom for so long. I wish I could just enjoy it. But even as I try to live the most normal life I can, it still feels as if something is missing. And it could be because something actually is. 

It’s easy to push these feelings down, try to shrink them so they feel as if they don’t exist. But that doesn’t usually work, so I’ll attempt to embrace them instead. Maybe it’s important to acknowledge the hardship we’ve been through. Maybe by recognising it we can emerge through it. Or it could just be a matter of time. We could still be in the bandaid phase.

I’m holding out for a time when real life feels natural again. When things feel healed. I know it will come — but perhaps not yet.