I feel like a bird trapped in a cage, a nice, spacious, comfortable cage but it’s still a cage.
I want to go out but the risk of getting infected is staring at my doorsteps. I want to have lunch or coffee with friends, acquaintances, or relatives, but all it takes is just one person to spread the virus.
I want to go to the office more frequently, interact with our staff and with customers too but there are barriers between us— double face masks, face shields, 6 feet, and fear, and risk.
I miss traveling. I miss experiencing the awe of wonder again. I want to discover new places. I want to revisit my favorite cities.
I want to ride the Uber. I miss going up and down the big tourist buses (with fewer passengers) accompanied by a witty and lively guide.
I want to go to a weekend flea market selling primitives, farmhouse collectibles, 100-year-old antiques, shabby chic home decors, and china. I want to go shopping for souvenirs to add kalat (clutter) to our homes.
I want to dine at a restaurant where food is a masterpiece and the plating is a work of art. I want to see my children’s faces gasp in delight as the waiter brings down the plate in front of us. I want to be surprised by the top chef’s grand creation.
I want to take a picture again of a hotel’s long and empty hallway leading to our bedroom. I want to wake up a bit earlier to catch the morning buffet. I want big grilled tomatoes in vines, salami, black truffle cheese, and warm soft croissants with fresh butter. I want to speak to the sous chef to tell him I want more mushrooms in my omelet. I want my bacon either soft steamed or crispy but not burnt. I want to eat breakfast overlooking the Old Course.
Am I the only one feeling this way? Or dreaming?
All I can do now is hope. Hope and to keep my faith. Hope that someday the cage’s door opens and fly away little birdie fly.