I once was a writer...

During this peculiar time*, we are all faced with challenges. *I think that I need to clear this up for posterity. Today, we all know that this "peculiar time" refers ro the Coronavirus - COVID-19 Pandemic that is terrorizing the world. Although Germany does not have strict quarantine rules (rather a regulation that prevents gatherings of two or more people not belonging to the same household, both privately and publicly), my husband and I decided that, for the well-being of the family, and since (thanks to my job) I can, I would quarantine with the children at home. Kindergarten (all schools, actually) are closed, so they have to stay home; I have the privilege of being able to work from home, so it all kind of works out. As I write this, I am in my seventh week of quarantine - 45 days.  Before the pandemic and the quarantine, I used to measure my successes (and failures) in years, months perhaps. I say, filled with sadness, that 2019 was the worst year of my life. And a...

For a long time, I described myself as a writer. That was my identity. It seemed that everything and anything around me could change, but that was the one true thing about me that remained the same. My country of residence changed, and I was still a writer. People were born and died, and I was still a writer. I was a student, a teacher, an employee, a SAHM, unemployed - whatever - and I was still a writer. Friends came and went, boys came and went, and I was still a writer. I always had something to say. (Whether it was worth reading or not, that was always up to YOU.) I always had something to say because I was always doing something, adding some sort of value to society, actively seeking adventures, experiencing new things, worlds, cultures, languages, peoples... ...and then one day, I had nothing to say. I tried to find my voice, and you can see that in the sporadic dates in which I posted in the past, after 2 years of regular weekly posts. I lost my voice because I lost m...