Found at: Bokkusu
Ellen has come down with a fever. We’re not as worried as we might be – her symptoms are more consistent with tonsillitis than Coronavirus – but in the interest of public safety, the rest of the ladies have self-isolated until her antibiotics start working. The last thing any of us want to be is that picnic group that put Scotland back in lockdown. A month ago, this would have been a heavy sentence: May was sunny and warm and our one hour of outdoor exercise was protected with the manic desperation of those new to isolation. But in this rainy, gloomy, windy June, we’ve all settled back into our quarantine routines with very little fuss and fluster. By now we know which grocery stores deliver, we’ve filled our closets with athleisure wear, and we’ve taught our parents how to operate zoom.
Raiding my snack drawer for something to write about (without the need to endanger any Tesco employees), I came across a packet of Yuzu and ginger herbal tea from my last Bokkusu delivery. It seemed an appropriate beverage for fighting off whatever summer sickness Ellen had exposed us to. Sitting in my well-worn dorm room, and looking out my well-gazed-through window, it’s a lovely drink for this moment of unexpected chill and isolation. It’s warm and comforting and familiar – the kind of drink you turn to when you’re sick and tired and need to feel better. It tastes like lemon-honey-ginger tea but in a mellower form: the honey is not quite so sticky, the ginger not quite so spicy, and the yuzu is not quite so tart as lemon juice. For the first time in a long time, I feel cozy in my space again: comfortable to sit and sip and not clawing at my walls to leave.
Of course, we all know that this won’t last. In a few days or a week at most, the feeling of confinement will return, again. My home will stop feeling homey and every ray of sunshine will be a painful reminder of the things the pandemic has taken. But tomorrow doesn’t help me much these days: maybe Ellen’s test will be positive, and maybe it won’t. Maybe the sun will come out, and maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll fall to pieces tomorrow, and maybe I won’t. So, I won’t worry about it just yet. For now, I can count on is the taste of citrus and the smell of ginger and the loud chatter of the seagulls, fighting over our trashcan. And for now, that’s enough certainty to live on.