Being Here for You

Dear Hannah,

It’s April 6, 2020. Everything has changed overnight. Going outside is limited to essentials, I spend my days indoors and find the chance to escape at night. I sit on one of the benches of the deserted Grand-Place and look up at the night sky. The stars are still there, but still only few of them are visible in the city. It makes me long for your nighttime view in rural Vermaaklikheid. I want to look at the stars from the small verandah outside your kitchen. I wonder:
Could you sit there for me tonight? Could you be my eyes?

Dear Hannah,

I have the urge to play loud music – without disturbing any neighbours – and move around freely; to dance, jump, let go of all the things going on. I was thinking that your studio, standing alone in the olive grove, could be perfect for this.
Could you go there for me? Will you be my feet and legs and ears today?

Dear Rita,

This morning, as I put on my everyday clothes, I thought about how there are no more occasions. I mean that there is nowhere to go to, nobody to visit, nothing to ‘dress up’ for. I miss it. Could you put on a dress and some red lipstick and take a walk to my favourite cafe there (the one on the corner)?

Dear Hannah,

Tomorrow morning I’d so love to wake up early in nature, with the prospect of a whole day of quiet ahead. I would like to go outside and feel the wind for a moment while watching the valley come alive. After this I’d come inside and have a coffee or a tea (both fine). A quiet moment far from here: your middle of nowhere.

Dear Rita,

The sun goes down now just after 6pm and it’s as if someone switches on the night. The darkness is abrupt and I miss those long summer evenings. I want to be outside at dusk when the light is lingering, possibly with a glass of wine (which is now prohibited here and seems quite extreme? Oh and cigarettes and tobacco also banned – the black market must be thriving).

Dear Hannah,

I’m writing to you from my sofa, staring at the ceiling. Like most ceilings, it is painted white.
I’m aware that the following request is restricted for you at the moment, which makes me hesitant.
Still, if you could make your way to the sea in the coming days, can I have a look at the waves and the horizon, take a deep breath of sea air?
It might be the thing I long for most.

Dear Hannah,

I’m seldom alone these days. With the curtains open, I can even sense the presence – and the eyes – of the neighbours across the street (who are always at home these days too). I would like permission to disappear for a while. Would you find a place and way for me to be completely alone? No one will know I am there, I will meet no one, it will be just me and the landscape and other, non-human creatures.

Dear Rita,

I miss the anonymity that you have in the city. 
Today I want to go to a place full of people, knowing that no one knows me.
I want to become invisible (in a crowd).

Dear Hannah, 

I’m thinking so much about the kids in your village today. I wonder how they are. I wonder how the situation affects them. I remember them vividly.
I know you can’t go and visit them at this time. Is there anything you can think of to bring them closer to me?

Dear Rita,

I know that you are visiting your parents as it is permitted and ‘safe’ now. It makes me realise how much I’d like to see my father (again), and have another walk with him. I quite often try to recall the memory of our last walk together on the farm so that I don’t lose it. The pace was painful; each step was a huge effort. 

Can you take a walk with your father? It’s a chance for me to have another walk as a daughter.