Eleven trees. Over twenty-seven fruits. Countless blossoms.

Counting helps. It fills the dark voids in my brain and in my heart. Kind of.

No one’s around me. Everyone’s home, afraid of this virus that’s brought the whole world to its knees. Everyone, except those heroes still out there — and the ones like me, the ones who are searching for answers. Sometimes it’s the only thing that gets me out of bed — the need to think about so many questions surrounding this virus, the need to find a cure. What plagues me is that we already have so many natural disasters. We don’t need man-made ones too. When I start scrolling through my news feed, and I see those huge numbers, my mood worsens. COVID-19. I think I’ve heard that word more times than my name.

And that’s when I usually wander out despite my family’s protests. Today I find myself in a path lined with apple trees. The pale pink blossoms speak of truth. They’re not particularly beautiful. They’re still and bland against the bright sky and the ebony of the wood. Another blossom falls. I pick it up and stare at it.

Words speak back to me.

Life isn’t a fairy-tale.

If it was, you would never be able to smile.

These times will teach you to appreciate what you have. They will make you stronger.

Understand that this is a healing process. It will be slow. Months long. The losses will be painful. The first step out after this is over, you will see a newer and fresher world. If the human race is to rise, it must fall too.

All of a sudden, the blossoms are beautiful. In a bittersweet kind of way. Like life.

Feeling a little better, I jog back home.

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Tejal Doshi