Dancing with Shadows: My Pandemic Survival Tale

Dancing with Shadows: My Pandemic Survival Tale

Covid – 19

The world stood still. Streets, once bustling with life, became ghostly echoes of their past selves. Conversations shrank to the sterile glow of screens, and human touch was reduced to a luxury of memory. As the universe conspired to bring chaos, I found myself flung into an abyss of uncertainty—a predicament crafted not by fate, but by the hands that once extended an illusion of permanence.

It had been a paradoxical twist. In the twilight of 2017, I had penned my resignation—a decision fuelled by an inner longing for change, for a new odyssey. But destiny had its own whimsical ways. The management, with all its persuasive eloquence, had drawn me back into the fold, reassuring, reaffirming. I had stayed, continued, flourished—or so I had believed. Yet, when the world was already teetering on the edge of despair, they found their moment. A paper once filed in good faith became the sword that severed my tether. I was jobless in the middle of a global catastrophe.

The irony was exquisite. As the world screamed for stability, I was left with none. The emptiness was deafening, the anxiety paralysing. Every evening, the television blared grim statistics—death tolls rising like an unforgiving tide, hospitals overflowing, and people gasping for breath in a world that had forgotten to breathe freely. The streets were silent, but beneath that silence lurked untold struggles—jobs lost, businesses crumbling, and hunger knocking at countless doors.

But when all seemed bleak, an old ally came to my rescue—my knowledge, my words, my ability to educate, even through the confines of a digital medium.

The transformation was not instantaneous. The nights were long, spent in restless contemplation. The mornings were riddled with the echoes of uncertainty. Yet, somewhere within the ruins of despair, I carved a path. Online teaching became my salvation—a raft upon the vast, unforgiving sea. My voice, once resonating in the lively corridors of academia, now floated through wires, finding homes in the hearts of unseen listeners.

Survival was an art, and I had become an unwilling artist. The struggle to stay afloat was nothing short of Herculean. The shifting paradigms of education, the technical hiccups, the absence of tangible interaction—all of it weighed heavily. And yet, with every lesson delivered, with every hesitant student who found solace in my voice, I realised—I was still needed.

But my journey of endurance was not confined to the virtual realm. Trapped in the stillness of the world, I found an escape in movement. My bicycle became my chariot, and the empty roads, my playground. I cycled relentlessly—2000 kilometres in a couple of months, each ride a testament to my refusal to succumb. The wind against my face, the rhythmic whir of the wheels—it was my rebellion against stagnation, my silent anthem of survival.

Beyond personal endurance, the crisis revealed another calling. Society was aching, and I could not stand as a mere spectator. With whatever resources I could muster, I extended a helping hand—be it arranging food for the needy, assisting in securing essentials, or simply being a voice of reassurance in a time of deafening despair. In a world torn apart by isolation, acts of kindness became bridges, small beacons of hope in a time shrouded in uncertainty.

Philosophers speak of change as the only constant, but living it is an entirely different affair. The pandemic was not merely a crisis; it was a mirror, a cruel but honest one. It laid bare our dependencies, our illusions of control. It was a cosmic jest—a stark reminder that no matter how meticulously we map our futures, the universe has its own designs.

Through the laughter of students echoing from my computer speakers, through the occasional internet glitches that turned serious discussions into comedic interludes, through the silent battles fought on the saddle of my bicycle, I found solace. There was irony, yes. There was struggle, undoubtedly. But there was also resilience, an undying spirit that refused to be subdued.

I look back now and realise—I was never truly alone. The same universe that had wrenched security away had also gifted me the means to endure. I had danced with shadows, battled with uncertainty, and emerged, not unscathed, but wiser. The road ahead remains a mystery, but one truth remains etched in my soul: survival is not about holding on to what was, but about embracing what can be.

And so, I walk forward—not with fear, but with the quiet confidence of one who has faced the abyss and lived to tell the tale.