In March 2020, the campus officially went into a complete lockdown. The pandemic - originating only months ago in a land far away - had taken over Europe completely and there was little hope of seeing life go back to normal anytime soon.
There were openings, of course, in the forms of ease of lockdown, resumption of sports activities, and in-person classes, but they were short-lived for a second wave of the pandemic invited a second lockdown of the year.
Christmas came and went, the winter holidays evaporated in a limited capacity, the new year started without any fireworks, and the returning faces were welcomed unattended. It had now become routine to see the empty pathways, almost parks, and unfilled tables. It had become routine to bear the deafening silence wherever you went, as it had become routine seeing colors of dark and grey - previously only found in gothic architecture - everywhere.
And then there was news of a drop of water that traveled, piercing through the smothering cloud that ceased to light, until it grazed on the winds that had long forgotten the songs and rhymes of those who were truly alive - in all sense - becoming what was the first snow of the new year.
I woke up to find myself back two semesters: the football fields were filled with laughing faces, the pathways had disappeared under white, and the dark and grey that my eyes were now a little too familiar with had cleared the way for something out of the routine.
A snowman, sleds, slides, and snow fights - everything that would’ve been so normal one year back and now become special.
To the campus, the snow doubled as a break from everything ethyl. It was a kindness that was well-deserved for adhering to the many social, financial, and travel restrictions that everyone on that football field had paid in full. It was a break from the pandemic in all its peculiar smells and sights, no matter how routine it had become.
The break, however, only lasted for some hours, after which we had to scatter: go back to our responsible and dutiful lives, always maintaining a six-foot distance between us and everything we have to wait for until it’s finally over.
BY Muhammad Shahzaib Tahir awan (Pakistan) | CLASS OF 2022
