The festive period of December and early January passed in a breeze, and we once again found ourselves overwhelmed by the gloominess of grey clouds, seemingly neverending showers, mud, and constant cold. It’s almost as if the joy disappeared along with the Christmas tree and fairy lights. Second semester was about to start, with no deadlines or lectures yet, but I could feel their breath on the back of my neck. And then the 15th of January rolled around, and with that, a new set of restrictions; a fresh, but only slightly milder version of last spring’s lockdown. On top of that, upon my return to campus, I was met with mandatory quarantine in my student dorm room. Condemned within its four walls (excluding venturing into the kitchen), it was just me, my yoga mat, books, Netflix, and crocheting. Thus, it did not surprise me when I experienced a minor panic attack on my second day – it had been the first day in a year that I had not gone for a walk. On my sixth day, I actually craved a bit of human contact. Having someone over for dinner. Conversing. I desperately needed something to look forward to.Â
My friend, who arrived ten days after me, found herself in a similar situation. Except, that she started googling “upcoming celebrations.” This resulted in me getting a text message: “who or what was France Prešeren, and how do we commemorate him??” And that is how our rituals started – with the idea of celebrating Prešeren day, a Slovenian national holiday. I was a bit surprised by my flatmate’s suggestion because, to be honest, I had almost forgotten about it. But sitting in the kitchen, eating a not-so-traditional danish rice pudding with some slightly-more-traditional poached figs on a Sunday evening while reciting poetry, I realised that it was exactly what I needed.Â
Hence, we made plans to celebrate Pust, Fasching and Fastelvan the following Sunday. The Sunday after that, we celebrated the arrival of our long-anticipated bamboo steamer by making vegan jackfruit bao buns (this recipe served as inspiration). As it turns out, we will celebrate anything: no matter where the tradition comes from, which culture it belongs to, or what dish it might require (while obeying the covid-19 regulations)!
It is not even like we need an excuse to hang out together – we are literally in each other’s company every day. But, coming together on a Sunday evening in our kitchen, nothing else is important. The dress code is simple: express yourself. Be it in a flowy, flowery dress or in a head-to-heel black ensemble. Instead of concerning ourselves with last week’s events, we choose to freeze time and focus on what we have, what there is to celebrate. We focus on the warmth we radiate. We focus on each other. We focus on the trivial or the deep. In those moments when I find myself sitting there, on the floor in the dark with candles lit around me, I feel at peace. So this is why celebrations matter. To make sense of life.