4.1.25
January is relentless. The days are bleak and cold, only occasionally coloured by mugs of hot chocolate (despite minor lactose aversions - the jury’s still out on whether it's worth it or not) and shared moments on the living room sofa where it takes approximately one full dinner discussion plus an additional fifteen minutes to come to a consensus on the movie of the night. A notification containing the week’s GRAP restrictions finds its way into the family group chat each week, punctuating the passing of time. We collect all the sunshine we can find, as it filters through windows and smiles, and when we can’t do that we make our own with our new-old lamp which has finally found a new home. Amidst new year’s quiet chaos, we brave the cold - not on a quest for sunshine, but for a number; an identity wrapped up in digits. To the post office we go. The room is small and grey. Babies are lifted up to chairs to have their pictures taken, forms are filled, and documents are ...