It is ironic, to say the least, that I started to write this when it’s windy and grey outside. But perhaps it can be explained by that saying about how we value things mostly when they aren’t here. Well, this is also the beginning of my story with this room.

Our flat is shared between four people. Lara, John, Eve and me. John is the flat owner. He’s a yoga instructor and the musician of the house. Lara is a designer focused on museums and the person who found out the marvellous acoustic of our bathroom – as the ultimate shower singer that she is. Eve is the sneaky welsh cat of the house. Not really a cat, she’s a real girl. But we never really see her around. Although when we do, she is always wearing stripes and holding a cup of tea – a perfect cartoon character.

A few weeks ago – or maybe more than a month, who could dare to keep track of time now – we had to self-isolate. Eve went back to Wales with her parents, but all her stuff were still in the flat. John, Lara and I got stuck in here because of the damn virus. Initially, we self-isolated because of John’s symptoms (fourteen weird days which are coming to an end this Friday!). Still, it ended up being for longer than we thought. The UK lockdown got us trapped in the flat for who knows how long now.

Being locked down, I can’t really complain about space, since my room is the second biggest in the house. But it comes with a downside: my window only gets indirect sunlight. I was always ok with that, but after seven days unable to set foot off the front door, I started to freak out a bit. Some friends said it was definitely because I’m a Leo – who knows?

The fact is that being locked down puts you in a weird, non-paced routine. Except for the sun: its rising and setting is probably the only sure thing to happen in these strange times. There is no longer a proper routine, a new place to go, a meeting with friends at the cheap pizzeria. There is no waking up and checking the temperature outside to decide what to wear – cause we won’t go out anyway. There is not even a proper need for setting the alarm. Life now flows as it might have been at the Egyptians times, unsurprisingly predictable by the sun. No alarms and no surprises, as would Tom Yorke say.

But I found a solution for my problems. Not the lockdown, of course, but the sunlight: Eve’s room. It has the most beautiful light in the entire flat. So I decided to make it my library, the place I would dress up and commute to every day. I’ve moved the desk, brought up my water filter, the post-its and the plants. And I am now in the sunny room – as we speak. And I found out dozens of other things here.

I’ve discovered the fantastic tree in front of the window, which is slowly blooming every day. I’ve meticulously explored the architecture of the houses across the street and through quick research, found out they are from the Edwardian period (squatter, wider and roomier than the Victorian’s). I also found out that Eve has a fascinating taste on books: she has a zine book in Japanese, and her Bauman’s Liquid Modernity has eventually become “liquid” with the winter moisture of her room. But is fully recovered now that spring has come.

And the most amazing discovery of all came by this morning, when I looked and my recently-moved-orchid. After four months, a new flower has finally bloomed! In its tiny, colored petals, it reminded me that yes, we are all locked down, but life never stops. Lara keeps singing in the shower. John is livestreaming his yoga classes now. Eve is in Wales with her real fluffly cat. And I’m here, every day, doing the same things. But always watchful for what’s next to bloom.

(To Eve and her sunny room, which is being well taken care of)