Sebahate J. Shala
THAYNE and Riley would have forever continued their Friday nights phone conversations if it wasn’t for kidnapping of his sister and her temporary suspension for secretly using government resources to find her long-time missing sister. He, a Navy SEAL. She, an FBI profiler. They join forces to fight an increasingly ruthless adversary who had abducted their sisters just to revealing that the kidnaper was the donator father of 23 children, including Madison and Cheyenne (Forgotten Secrets, Perini).
Samantha and Ethan would have never met and fell head over heels in love if the killer of her brother hadn’t—after eighteen years—shown up, chasing and locking them in a school lab in attempt to keep an ugly secret hidden. The chemistry teacher and the child therapist were both working with her student, Thomas. As the horror of the past unveils, putting their relationship and life in danger, they come together to unravelling the deadly secrets of Hidden Falls, Oregon, find the real killer, and restore justice for Seth, and Parker and McClain families (Repressed, Naughton).
Alec and Reagan would still have lived in separation hadn’t the hospital called them to check if a four-year-old girl found in the park was their missing daughter. Two journalists reunite to uncover the truth about Emma who was kidnapped in a park when she was only one-year-old. In the road of finding her, they discover a chain of crime involving child abduction and trafficking linked to politics and charities, and along the way with Harper and Rusty, the newly lovers, they destroy the largest network of crime in Portland, Oregon, including human and sex trafficking, kidnapping and murder (Gone; Unspeakable, Naughton).
Antony and I would have never started our long phone conversations, open up and unfold our feelings toward each other if it wasn’t for the Coronavirus pandemic crisis, Covid-19. I’m in love with Antony. I’m having a phone relationship. While in quarantine.……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
THEY say, LOVE makes miracles. It comes in the time of crisis. In war. In collective fear and distress. In a moment of loss. In grief and despair. Hemingway fell passionately in love with Agnes during the World War I, following his wounding in fight against the enemy in Italy (In Love and War, Villard and Nagel). Florentino and Fermina secretly loved each other and sent letters via telegraph in a time when the Americas was struggling against the fifth pandemic of cholera. Fifty years, nine months, and four days after he first declared his love for Fermina, Florentino will do so again. “I have waited for this opportunity to repeat my vow of eternal fidelity and love.” (Love in the Time of Cholera, Marquez) Romeo of the Montague fell instantly in love with Juliet of the Capulet, and married her in secret though their powerful families were in an age-old vendetta which erupted in bloodshed (Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare).
Love in the Time of Coronavirus
He is nice and kind, passionate, loving, and respectful. He is someone any woman could dream for. He cares about me. He supports me. He respects me. He makes me feel precious. So special. It melts my heart when he greets, “Hey gorgeous,” “Hi sweetie,” “Good morning sunshine.” He puts his heart out there. In everything. He is real. I can hardly wait to get back to normal and see him again. Hug him. Hold him tight. Kiss him hard. Love him passionately. And Say, I Love You Antony!
I met Antony six months ago when I got a temporary assignment in a luxury company. Charming. Fancy. Hard-working. Dedicated. On top of duty. We were attracted to each other, or I felt so. What I know, for sure, however, is that I wanted to be close to him. Every minute. Every second. When he was around, I was happy and enthusiastic. When he wasn’t, I became sad and bored. I felt like I was missing something. “Sebi, can you please help me because you bring my eyes,” he would say occasionally. Yet, it was too early to understand what was going on with me. Eventually, I figured it out on my very last day at work. When I ended the assignment, I was chronically sad, bored and unhappy. Not sure if that was because of the job or because of him? Or both?
While at work we would message each other, share ideas, books and articles. Talked a lot. Nevertheless, he would never reach me out after I left job except for texting back when I shared some articles of mine. That was it. A feeling like he didn’t wish to continue the conversation. Next two attempts—without success: One day I visited at work. He doesn’t follow up thereafter. I do. I make another try before we locked home. His message is confusing. Needed help to decode. It came too late. Had already decided not to visit him. A part of me, though, had been waiting all day that day for his text message. Still, I don’t want to continue my unilateral actions anymore. I go home. I gave up trying. I, definitely, gave up on him. I feel sad. I wanna cry. I have strong headache. Can’t sleep.
Last week of March, days after being quarantined, I wrote an article which I wanted to share with him. Then, I said: “No, I’m not gonna send it. No, I’m not gonna do it again. Why should I do it?” While I kept saying that, I ended up doing it. Unconsciously. He called me right after but I was too scared to answer. Ohhhh. My heart was beating fast. He asks to call him back. I did it later after taking the courage to do so. Uhhhh. First day—two hours. Next day—an hour and a half. The following—more than an hour. The fourth—the same. Energy. Connection. Passion. And the story goes on.
I became addicted to his calls. He would say some words indirectly, making me think he has feelings for me. One day he didn’t call, I got angry. Annoyed. I was missing him already. “If I don’t talk to you tonight, then I can’t sleep,” I texted. He called me. It was his birthday. After 9 days phone talking, I opened up and told him about everything. He explained the reason of his inaction, which was my explanation, too, and said he felt the same for me. The rest is history.
Antony has been a great help since the crisis unfolded, supporting me, offering his help. He was caring and supportive especially during those days when I was weak, apathic and depressive, fearing I had contracted the virus. “I just didn’t want you to think that you are alone,” he said. He was pushing and motivating to get back to writing. He is determined and persistent. He keeps pushing me to start writing a book about war in Kosovo. I already have an idea.
Love is the Answer…
I READ once that, to love someone is a wonderful feeling, but to love and be loved is the best feeling ever. “At the touch of love,” Plato said, “everyone becomes a poet.” “Love loves to love love,” Joyce wrote at Ulysses. For Ray Bradbury, “Love is the answer to everything. It’s the only reason to do anything.”
I had always underestimated love. The power of love. Last fall, I had a professional setback. I lost track. Had no strength to start over. In order to overcome the situation, I started reading books—about love. They helped me rise again. They bring me back my strength. They made me more human, more sensitive and touching. They made me love. And love—the love. They taught me one thing that: When One Day We All Die, The Only Thing We Remember Is Love. That time helped me learn something I should have learned long time ago. I, finally, admitted: That love exists. That love is real. That love is the best feeling ever. That love makes us forget everything. That, at the end, all is about love.
Next: Diary in the Time of Coronavirus COVID-19: Freedom, Freedom II (VI)
War and Peace 