Louise O'Neill: The hope we clung to in 2020 seems to have dissipated, leaving way for a quiet desperation

"I think what is bothering me most about my birthday is the inevitable reckoning with the idea of the Wasted Year."

Sat, 20 Feb, 2021 - 14:32

It’s my birthday on the 24th of February and I shall turn thirty-six. It will be my first lockdown birthday. I just scraped by in 2020, and when I think now of how much I took for granted then – my boyfriend driving to Clonakilty to celebrate with me, not having to worry about garda checkpoints or how high the R number was, blowing out the candles on my cake without Googling “should we be blowing out birthday candles right now?” and “does blowing out candles help spread an airborne virus?”, – it feels as if that birthday was not just a year ago, but in another lifetime.

I have heard the jokes that we should collectively refuse to acknowledge the last year, insisting we remain the age we were pre-pandemic and hold onto that number until all of this is over. And yet I cannot deny that I feel practically aged since last February, as if I have been deteriorating, my bones slowly turning to dust while I give into another day of sweatpants and slippers.