THOSE WHO CONTINUED ONWARD

Most normalcy has halted and the expected bustling has simmered. Still, the lives we live and the daily endeavours we dare to face allow us a sliver of humanity and a taste at the simple interaction we seek unknowingly. From nature walks alone and strolls with social distance, to grocery trips and bus rides, citizens of Aarhus carried on.

Farhana Satu and Jacob Moscovitch

There is a leafless tree in front of my window.

Two birds work day and night to build their nest. Everyday, they put sticks together, one after another, slowly giving shape to the house. Sunshine passes from the small gap between these sticks and the last dew drops of the winter morning make the house sparkle. Through snowfall, heavy wind or continuous rain, nothing can stop these two, little black-and-white birds from building their home. I can sense someone whispering into their ears – “the show must go on.”

COVID-19 is occurring in Aarhus, just like the rest of the world. Almost everything is closed here including schools and colleges. A few days ago, it was difficult to find a seat on the bus, but now all the buses are empty during rush hour. I feel like they have become a melancholic love story at the office hour because of this lack of crowd. Bars are not shining at night. The train station, shopping mall, cafeteria, cinema halls, parks, public libraries, and museums are all lonely bastards now. There is a beautiful song of “DON’T” airing everywhere. Don’t touch, don’t get close, don’t feel, don’t fear, don’t shake hands…don’t and don’t … I forgot the last time I felt the warmth of human embrace.

Like those two desperate love birds, the people of Aarhus are still trying to maintain their normal life. Going outside and meeting people but covered in masks and

“I work at KFC and we ran out of napkins and paper towels today,” Rafael Krawczynski, 22, above, said. “But, then why are there kids playing outside?”

Rush hour on Aarhus buses, above, turned into a slient display of empty chairs. People gathered, right, to make bread over a fire and socialize, but still kept their distance for fear of getting close.

gloves. Keeping a 2 meter distance and waving air-hugs. Visiting the grocery shops or taking an evening walk with their beloved pet — always with sanitizer. Children are still playing in the playground but not together. Bus drivers are on duty, having no day break. I often used to take the first door to enter and say ‘’good day’’ to the driver. Now, we don’t see each other anymore. The front door near to the driver is permanently closed. No one can sit in the first two rows. Everyone is trying not to touch the seats or handles. Sitting separately. Lovers are still meeting but not dating anymore. Shopkeepers are afraid of cash, only cards are real

now. Neighbors are still talking to each other but only at a safe distance. They don’t visit each other’s houses anymore. Gyms are closed, so more often people run on the roads each morning. I went to visit a friend and she said “please don’t touch anything.” I don’t see couples kissing on the roadside anymore like they used to do before this. Before, they were holding hands and walking close, but not now. Promising to be together forever. Life goes on, yet there is a silent, floating isolation everywhere.

Last night, I said goodbye to my dearest friend without warm, tight hugs like usual. Still, we promised each other to keep in touch. International Students are returning home every day but online classes carry on. I see a big, white dog playing with its owner every day, and I can feel the fearless relationship they share. We are all together but everyone is alone and separated — trying to continue their daily life somehow. I still sometimes see people taking photos together and uploading them to social media. Sharing love and care between each other, but never daring to cross the borders of distance.

- Farhana Satu

“I just bought this to make a TikTok about winning back your girlfriend with flowers and toilet paper instead of chocolate,”Victor Heuckendorff, 25, above said.

One man insisted we shake hands. Most were hesitant.

Although most remained inside, some people in Aarhus bid farewell to their isolation and entered the streets, seeking more than their homes could offer. Some needed fresh air, some needed a walk and some dared to enter the confines of a grocery store, but every individual sought one thing — love. “Love will counter fear,” Kasper Jacobson said. “Despite the grim faces and tense eyes wandering around, we need each other more than ever.”

I am a human, a man, and a loving person before I am a photographer. My mind, often entangled in the complicated world of photography, connects to people first. Humans are all social creatures, but I personally long for human touch and a sense of reliance

more than some. This desire remains constant with a camera in my hand.

Within every picture I make and every photographic encounter I have, I yearn for, and hopefully uncover, love. From a casual snapshot of my daily adventures to a highly-anticipated image captured on assignment for a publication, my eye combs through chaos and prioritizes light, color and above all —love. The love may be an embrace between lovers, family members entwined in each other or simply one person living life with a visible, tangible humanity and aura.

Normally, that connection forms from an elongated accumulation of instances: phone calls from family members, lunch dates with friends, small talk at

“Everything here has been pretty normal after that first day of crowds,” Simon Møller Dissing, left, said. During the time when they normally attend Friskole, Magda Lind-Wullum and Thilde Hoejen, above, catch up by Brabrand Lake.

Olo, 67, left, is hopeful that summer will not see COVID-19. He has begun preparing his summer home for gatherings and events. Following the pandemic announcement, that first weekend still brought a few customers. Some bars were closed and some, below, were almost empty.

But, in these times, with elongated periods of prescribed loneliness, the connection falls short — sinking emotions and withholding the joy I normally operate upon. These instances, this highlight reel plucked and presented before you, are some of the final joys I felt while living and truly thriving in Aarhus, Denmark.

The sun was setting. After a spell of cloudy days, the light began to pour warmth across Brabrand and the trickling of people leaving City Vest struck me. I could hear the murmurs of a baby coming from what seemed to be an infant carriage overflowing with toilet paper; a rather resourceful commodity at the time. I hesitated. Then, a voice smacked my ears and I called out. From at least 3 meters away this young family and I interacted. For the first time in days I fulfilled that connection. “Good luck,” Rene and Ditte echoed as we parted ways, both parties blinded by the sun.

The afternoon light kissed Victor Heuckendorff’s red roses and danced off the plastic package of the toilet paper. With his casual swagger and welcoming chatter, we had a notable conversation. “These are both for a TikTok,” he confessed with a chuckle. “The internet right now is making us more connected through humour, but in real life we are paranoid,” he said. “It’s so easy to fall right now but we need the light right now.” He hoped to achieve social media fame through this video-clip, but admitted his slim chance.

“How are you?” Rafael Krawczynski, dressed in red, asked as we walked past each other, failing to perfectly remain 2 meters apart. Moments later, he released a large sigh thus stripping his guard. “This is serious,” he said, shifting his tone. “I had to change the soap dispenser in the KFC bathroom multiple times today.” He sauntered off towards his apartment, blasting music out of his earbuds and bopping his hands to the beat.

Skip to my final day in Aarhus. The bags were packed and the emotions were jumbled. 48 hours earlier, life became a haze, non-existent clarity scattered amongst a haul of fear, anxiety and stress. Then, filled with the light of the day, I called out to my dear friend, hurdling my torso out the open window of Emmasvej. “I can feel the sun,” I exclaimed. That’s all I really felt that day.

I walked along Brabrand lake with my last remaining roommate that evening. I brought my camera, sort of as a shield of addressing him fully — all I really wanted to do was cry. How could I hide that premature wistfulness? The sky faded into blue, then black.

I woke before my alarm. The ceiling washed my eyes with a sea of dark blue. The dim white I’ve come to expect upon waking up fell to a rich navy. This is my room while I study abroad. This was my room. It’s plain, yet personal. Warm, yet cool. I loved to gaze out the big windows and poke fun at the small bed. I yearn for the chilly morning breeze brushing my face and the afternoon golden light dancing in my eyes. “One day,” I told myself as I closed my bedroom door for the final time. “I love you,” it whispered back.

When I arrived in the Los Angeles, it was pouring rain. The few people leaving that hollow airport darted to cars to avoid getting wet, but not me. I strolled through that rain, allowing it to hit my face. I got into the car alone, no hug, kiss or embrace to set me on my journey. As I drove, one of my favourite songs began to play. The rain and my tears mixed seamlessly. Some will say I was in pain, yet in that moment all I felt was magic.

- Jacob Moscovitch

“Some needed fresh air, some needed a walk and some dared to enter the confines of a grocery store, but every individual sought one thing — love.”