I think I can probably speak for everyone when I say that this past weekend was the warm embrace that we all so desperately needed. The overcast skies and disappointing temperatures had been going on for so long that my housemates and I had resided in the fact that this was just our life now. So, when the grey cleared and the sun proudly returned to our skies, we couldn’t quite believe it. With the additional news of the ‘roadmap’ (how sick are you of that word?) out of Covid-19, it was like the imminent spring was saying to us ‘did you really think I’d let you down?’. Granted, spring doesn’t officially start until March 20th, but the glimpse we got this weekend was enough to keep us going for now.

On Friday we began the three-day hiatus from our work and impending dissertation deadlines, which we discarded along with the winter coats we had now shoved back into our wardrobes. It seems as though lockdown has really made us appreciate the simplicities of basking in the sunshine, even if all the shops and restaurants around us are closed. We visited the nearby seaside town of Topsham and marvelled at all the people just sitting and watching the world go by, and we were more than happy to join them. For the first time in a few dreary months, our heads were clear and we let ourselves soak in the moment (and the warmth). We wandered around the town for a few hours, appreciating the fact that pretty places like this were on our doorstep. A little hole in the wall sold fresh ginger beer and slices of cake, which I was I was more than happy to indulge in. The only thing I slightly regret was scoffing my cake before we realised we would have to make a run back up the hill for the train. Saturday consisted of a few wine hangovers and an attempt to watch the sunset, before being turned away due to the controlled explosion of a WWII bomb in Exeter (never a dull moment). Nonetheless, on our return, we decided to sit in our garden until the sky turned dark and the chill crept in.

On Sunday, we spent the entire day outside. Of course, this isn’t exactly ground breaking, but there was something so funny about the fact that we really hadn’t planned to do so. The curtains in my uni room are behind my bed, and so every morning I reach back and tug at them to reveal what the weather has in store for me. If it’s grey, I feel no haste to get up, but if it’s blue, I feel guilty for staying in bed a moment longer. On Sunday there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and so I began the first shift of the day before 10am – eating my breakfast outside. It wasn’t long before I was joined by the rest of my housemates and we spent the morning putting the world to rights. Sleepy, but hopeful, we seemed to set the tone for the rest of the day. I escaped inside to shower and dress, with the view of doing a little bit of work, but I stuck my head out of the window and discovered my housemates were unmoved, and so I had no choice but to rejoin them. We continued like this for hours, popping inside for only a moment until the pull from outside overwhelmed us again.

All day long we sat and told stories and laughed and suddenly nothing seemed quite as bleak as it had been. Eating breakfast and lunch outside was far more exciting than eating it in our dingy kitchen, and it tasted all the better for it. It’s funny how quickly time can pass if you’re having a good time, even when you’re having said good time doing absolutely nothing. We all had things to do in preparation for Monday, but they just didn’t seem as important as sitting around our tiny picnic table and enjoying each other’s company. At one point the temperature reached a whole 14 degrees celsius, and we collectively agreed that it was now in fact summer and nothing you could say would deter us from this conclusion. There’s nothing quite so thrilling as being perfectly warm enough in a cami and a cardigan in February. By the afternoon, the beer was out and the conversation was a little more loopy. All around us, in the vast expanse of uni house gardens, came the sound of other students doing the exact same thing as us: making the most of what we’ve got. It’s the same sound you might hear picnicking in a London park or in a busy theatre during the intermission – excitement and anticipation for the good times ahead.

It’s amazing what sunshine and fresh air can do for your mood, and I seem to be surprised by this every time. That evening, I had a few new freckles, rosy cheeks, and a happy, drowsy feeling that promised a good nights sleep. In the morning I felt like I was reset and ready to tackle the last four weeks of term. Alas, in true English fashion, the clouds seem to have returned once again, but this time I know that the sun is waiting patiently behind them.

Sharing. It comes naturally to some, but others find it absolutely terrifying. With sharing comes vulnerability. As soon as we talk about our feelings, they no longer exist inside the privacy of our own minds – we release them for others to comprehend and interpret. Sometimes the things we share can fall into the wrong hands, and then we kick ourselves for being so naïve. However, it is only a matter of time before our guard comes down again and we share once more. Whether you like it or not, it’s human nature, and most of the time, sharing does a whole lot of good.

We’re Not Really Strangers is a card game designed specifically to promote open and honest conversation, helping people to connect with one another. I first discovered the game through their Instagram account, which has over 3m followers. The page shares thought provoking questions that will inevitably make you stop and think, even if you don’t intend to. Every time I saw them, I would send them to my friends who would either shy away or answer the question. I was fascinated by the concept and was desperate to get my hands on the game, which is why I was very happy on Christmas Day when my Dad had ordered it for me all the way from the USA.

The game has three levels:

Level 1: Perception, with cards like this:

Level 2: Connection, with cards like this:

Level 3: Reflection, with cards like this:

Essentially, each level gently progresses to make the sharing relaxed and natural. There is no pressure when playing – you can interpret the questions however you see fit, and reveal as little or as much as you like. Understandably, as soon as I received the game, I was desperate to play it with someone. I tried playing it with my siblings, but it became apparent that we knew each other far too well to have any new or profound conversations!

Back in Exeter, for a locked-down term 2 of my final year at university, I was suddenly presented with the perfect opportunity to play. My housemates, who I have only known for about a year, and only properly since September, were just as excited to play as I was. It was my friend’s 21st birthday, and in true lockdown style, we dressed up and got drunk together, trying to make it as enjoyable as possible given the circumstances. We were aware that once the game came out, the tone of the evening would change, and so we saved it until our feet were tired and the music switched from the Party playlist to the Chill playlist.

Before I continue, I must disclose a few things. Firstly, everyone in my house was on the same page – we wanted to play and and we wanted to share. Secondly, we knew the trust between us was strong enough to ensure that playing together was a safe thing to do. Finally, there was a mutual air of respect and compassion in the house, which presented us with the best environment for our first game.

I think we must have started playing at about 1am. Level 1 was really interesting. The game is designed so that you could play it with a stranger, therefore there are many questions like the one shown above. In this round, you ask the question and other people answer it about you. It was fascinating to hear our first impressions of each other, and wonderful to see how those impressions had evolved and changed as we’d got to know each other. This year at university we have spent more time in our student houses than any year before. Although it’s been strange and completely different to how we thought our final year would be, it hasn’t been all bad; we’ve got to know each other on a deeper level that we may not have otherwise had the chance to. Instead of rushing off to campus all the time, or going out clubbing on different days of the week, we’ve been around each other constantly, and it’s definitely improved our communication. The game isn’t all serious, some of the cards inspire silly stories and general observation, and therefore we were laughing as we went along.

Level Two is a step up, as you pick the card and then decide who to direct the question at. This round inspired us to share things that you wouldn’t normally think of sharing around a table, but in the moment we felt very comfortable and it wasn’t weird at all. We cried and we laughed and we discovered things about each other that perhaps we hadn’t known before. What’s also great is just because one person answers the question, it doesn’t mean that the focus is on them the whole time. More often than not, we would go off on various tangents for 20 minutes or so, all sharing stories about the wonderful and difficult parts of our lives. There’s something so special about a group of people listening intently to one another without the need to interrupt, and instead naturally weaving our responses around every story. Empathy was high, compassion was high, and therefore the energy in the room was quite special. I understand that you might be reading this and wondering what on earth I mean, but if you’ve ever had a conversation with someone where you felt like you were both being 100% honest, you’ll know the exact feeling I’m talking about.

Of course, talking can be exhausting and sharing personal things about yourself requires a lot of energy. By about 3am it was clear that the conversation had drawn to a natural close, and we felt it would be unnecessary to move onto Level 3 when the experience had already been so cathartic. We put the cards away and agreed to play again in a few weeks time, after deadlines and the stress that comes with the beginning of a new term. We each went to bed that night feeling sleepy, happy and renewed after a fun evening.

For me, sharing comes quite naturally. I’ve never been able to conceal my emotions and I always feel better after releasing them. There have been times where I’ve wished I kept my mouth shut, and there are people I regret sharing with, but ultimately I believe that sharing helps to keep me grounded. I once read a quote about the fact that our friendships and relationships can only progress when we share personal things with each other, and I really think this is true. To be able to be vulnerable around someone is to allow them to see the most wonderful parts of ourselves. Even if it seems scary, it’s so good for your mind and wellbeing to not keep your thoughts cooped up all the time.

Perhaps you’ve read this post and considered your relationship with sharing, or perhaps you’ve decided you prefer your life as a closed book. Either way I want to leave you with this, to interpret as you wish: What do you feel it is that’s holding you back?

I haven’t been to the cinema in 10 months. The last time was to see Emma (2020), just weeks before all public establishments, including cinemas, were forced to shut. Most films went straight to VOD or had their release date pushed back, and so many promised films were halted mid-production. I remember initially hearing in March that the James Bond premiere was being postponed until November, and thinking how ridiculous this seemed – but now I wouldn’t be surprised if it was pushed back even later than it’s provisional April 2021 release date. With my longing for the cinema growing as each week passed in a blur, I began to think about just why I missed it so much. This is my love letter to the cinema.

I can link so many different times of my life to the cinema. First, there were the films that my Dad took my siblings and me to when I was little (probably to give my mum space to breathe on a Sunday afternoon). I famously cried during Pooh’s Heffalump Movie (2005) and demanded that my dad take me home at once, on account of the Heffalumps being absolutely terrifying. I was also tricked into seeing March of the Penguins (2005) at the grand age of six, obviously not realising I was expected to sit through a documentary with real penguins and not a cartoon bird in sight. We saw many amazing films too, but of course it was the letdowns that stuck with me. However, it didn’t matter if the film was disappointing, because going to the cinema wasn’t just about what played on the screen. It was the excitement the night before, the ridiculous amount of pre-purchased sweets we would conceal in our coat pockets, and the promise of a McDonald’s happy meal afterwards. A trip to the cinema had the ability to create a buzz like no other. 

When Mamma Mia! (2008) came out, it did so well that it was given an extended run in the cinema. One rainy school Inset Day, my mum took my sister and me to see it, months after most of the country already had. All seats inside the screen were empty, apart from ours. We enjoyed it so much (obviously) that we spent the rest of the day singing the soundtrack and in disbelief that we hadn’t seen it earlier. It was a wonderful day. That same year, my aunt and uncle took me to the High School Musical 3 (2008) premiere in Leicester Square. The day at school seemed to drag on for hours and hours, and I remember feeling the same excitement you would get on the morning of your birthday party. It was my first experience of seeing how influential a film could be, and while I apologise that my example has to be HSM 3, the atmosphere on the red carpet and inside the cinema was magical to nine-year-old me. 

The cinema in my town is an Everyman, a gorgeous (if not a tad overpriced) boutique cinema. With plush velvet seats, a bar and restaurant, with the option to have food and drink brought to your seat, it’s a favourite spot of mine. As I got older, I realised that the staff in smaller chain cinemas are usually big fans of the big screen as well. Especially the kind of cinemas that prove they really care about your cinema-going experience. I started to love chatting to the employees behind the ticket desk, sharing my anticipation for the film and hearing their vague-as-to-not-give-anything-away-but-promising reviews. I once expressed my frustration that I had never been able to cry at a film, while the boy serving us promised that I would at The Fault in Our Stars (2014). He was right – my friend and I left with tears streaming down our faces, laughing at the fact that we thought we’d prove everyone wrong. I’ve seen the film enough times now that it doesn’t have that tear-jerking effect anymore, but I can still remember the way I felt the first time. That film seemed to be the catalyst for me, as I’ll cry at just about any film these days.

There are cinema trips I remember for the people I went with, the occasions I went for, the location of the cinema, or the way I was feeling at that point in my life. When my friend and I spent a month in Los Angeles, we went to the cinema at The Grove to see Game Night (2018). There was something incredibly American about it; the loudest laughter I’d ever heard, the biggest buckets of popcorn and the largest cups of soda. It felt surreal to be so far from home, in a setting that was so familiar but felt so different. I saw A Star is Born (2018) twice on the big screen, within weeks of each other. I knew that the second viewing would be just as amazing, if not more, than the first. I wasn’t particularly happy at that time, but for those few hours I was content. My surroundings were entirely enveloped in brilliant acting, beautiful camera shots and wonderful music. It’s about the sense of belonging too. There’s something so nice about laughing with everyone else in the room, gasping when no one saw it coming, and crying when the best or worst happened. When Timothée Chalamet first appeared on screen in Little Women (2019), there was an audible intake of breath and tiny squeals all around me (including my own). I find the cinema to be a place where, for the duration of the film, we’re all experiencing the same thing for the first time and feeling the same emotions. It connects us to one another despite our differences. A few times I’ve been one of the youngest members of the audience, but when the lights are dimmed this doesn’t seem to matter. 

There’s a running joke about the way you can walk out of the screen at the end of a film and feel as though your life has been transformed. I think this is telling of how special the cinema can be. To be immersed in this world for just a short amount of time but to feel inherently different afterwards – that’s a pretty amazing feat. We all know the feeling of leaving the cinema late at night and how it seems as though we’re the only ones still awake, and I think this makes us feel a personal connection to the mutual experience we all just shared. 

Let’s go back to my most recent cinema trip. It was February 2020 and I was going to see the Emma remake. It was a cold but pretty evening, and my best friend and I walked there together. I’d read the book and seen the 1996 film starring Gwyneth Paltrow, so I was excited to see what they had done with the story I already knew so well. The staff were lovely, as always, and just before the adverts started, the G&T I’d ordered was brought to my seat. As cinema trips go, it was a pretty perfect one. The film was grand, the company was grand, and I left with a warm and happy feeling in my tummy (although that could have been the gin). I didn’t know then, of course, that this was to be my final big screen viewing of a year that had only just started. However, in hindsight it couldn’t have been a more fitting last hurrah. 

As the New Year arrives with the promise of the vaccine, I feel we are allowed to, cautiously, look forward to a sense of normality. For me, the hope of finally returning to the cinema is high on my list. After a year of watching new films in my sitting room, with the distractions of mobile phones and family members talking in the other room, I long to go back to the screen. It may seem like a novelty, but it’s absence reminded me of how much I love it. I miss going on a Sunday night in what might as well be my pyjamas, or on a Friday evening in a pretty top, with the promise of dinner reservations afterwards. I want to snag the final available seats for a film during it’s first night on screens and I want to buy the most incredible, and expensive chocolate buttons that the cinema has to offer. What I’ve realised, or perhaps what I always knew, was that going to the cinema isn’t just about the film. It’s about the environment, the people, and the experience that doesn’t seemed to be mirrored anywhere else.