Timelapse - a creative writing initiative between Harrow School & Notting Hill & Ealing High School

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Present by Nina Indiic-Ast

It’s the afternoon. That awkward stretch between 3 and 5, where the minutes feel endless and the world has fallen gravely silent. Worst of all the weather is at a standstill, the sky outside is filled with grey clouds, no cathartic rain to keep you entertained and no sun to make you happy. It feels as if whatever my surroundings are, I just blend into it; like I can feel myself fading, fading into the left side of my bed where my body has sunk into for who knows how long. My lights are off and the room is masked in a temperamental light that feels just as uninspiring as everything else. Looking down at my phone, I am yet again unsurprised to see no new notifications but my own carefree self and friends a few months ago. The photo brings back such a needed wave of hopeful memories when we were excited for the year ahead of us when COVID was just a news story that felt a million miles away. We’re all embracing each other like people aren’t dying. I’ve forgotten what it was like to feel someone’s arms around me for no reason but to share that warm feeling of knowing someone cares for you and has your back. I would do anything to feel that once more but the idea feels even further than the memories I had just relived. My homepage springs up almost immediately, the same old apps I had grown accustomed to staring warily at me. Instagram was the first app I opened up. I don’t even know why.

It’s honestly the pitfall of society, people who claim to be more ‘real’ and authentic continuously posting the most patronising and uninspiring content. I scroll through not really paying attention, just looking for something that could hold my interest for longer than a couple of seconds. Every time I see another celebrity make some tonedeaf comment about “how hard” this whole situation is and then see thousands of comments calling them entitled and ignorant, I lose a little faith. I think secretly we’re all lying down halfway through the day, unsure of a reason to get back up, always hiding behind that fragile facade we put out every day for the world to see. I bet those celebrities cry themselves dry each night and all those people commenting too; we all just channel out our hurt differently, some pretend everything’s fine and others call them out for it. The toxicity of my phone drowns me, the headlines are no consolation, calling crowds a thing of the past and this lifestyle the new normal. That phrase sticks in my mind as I imagine living each day as I’ve been doing, and the thought makes me sick. I sink deeper into the bed, curl into myself, and hope the next time I open my eyes the sky will be a little brighter.

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