18 January 2022, Tuesday, 2:23
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Every Bus Today Is a Gunpowder Keg

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Every Bus Today Is a Gunpowder Keg

Stay home.

Stay home. November is coming. It's getting too cold. And there's plaid and tea and relatives at home.

Stay home. Overnight, they removed the warnings about wearing masks across the country. Now every city we live in is a minefield, every bus is a powder keg, every workplace is a scaffold.

Stay home. Remember how the doctors of the world called for it just last spring. Now the whole world is vaccinated, wears masks, keeps its distance. And they watch, as one tries to destroy the Belarusians in the most cost-efficient way, without wasting ammunition and work time. But we are not a herd. We will not go obediently to the slaughter. We will stay, of course.

Stay home. There is nothing more beautiful than looking out the window at the sad city of November. The sadder it is, the emptier it is, the cosier and calmer it is at home. It's a great time to enjoy the leisurely course of life, the fall air from the open balcony door and the voice in the phone receiver that hasn't been heard for so long because everyone hasn't had time to talk. Now it is.

Stay home. You haven't written letters to political prisoners for so long. You kept putting it off or wrote only to those closer in spirit and age, or you did away with New Year's cards. Now there is time to write to everyone. To write in detail, share ideas and doubts, optimism and hope. Be sure they will read your letters carefully and thankfully, and write you back. It will be happiness - a suddenly overflowing mailbox, which has long been tired of meaningless flyers.

Stay home. You've always tried to go on vacation in the summer, take the kids to the sea or the lake, go to work tanned and beautiful, enjoy walks and hang out in the evenings outdoors or at the summer house. Vacation in November has always been considered the most unlucky time: short daylight hours, closed season at the resorts, and no place to go. And yet November is beautiful, despite the slush and cold. But one can enjoy it only if one is not in a hurry if one doesn't gulp it down hurriedly in the morning twilight when one can afford a slow, short day of contemplation. Or better yet, many days: sunny and slushy, rainy and clear, dank and clear.

Stay home. Household duties are heavy and uninteresting when there is no time for them. And when the leisurely days of November are ahead, handling the closet, preserving vegetables, and doing a total check of all the cupboards and closets brings a pleasant variety to fall's voluntary homeliness. By the way, it's a great time to finally learn how to sauerkraut. Or paint. Or to start learning Spanish, because summer is coming too, and very soon. Right after spring.

Stay home. Next week is the fall break for schoolchildren. It's an opportunity to finally spend more time with your kids than you've ever had before. The last month of fall, school vacations, and the announced strike all coincided so wonderfully that it's just a sin to ignore it.

Stay home. Contemplate, learn Spanish, play Imaginarium with the kids, sauerkraut. But not only that. The main task is to survive. Survive in a state still ruled by madmen. Don't let them kill you. Otherwise, it would be a shame if the victory came soon, and you're with coronavirus in the ICU. By the way, if you stay home, the madmen will disappear faster. It's as simple and clear as a washed-out fall window, the cause-and-effect relationship.

Stay home. Stay alive. Stay healthy. Please stay.

Iryna Khalip, especially for Charter97.org