We’ve approached that familiar time of the year, when more often than not, the British weather is a lottery. One day blue sky, another grey rain, most days green grass, and ever increasingly, a world beginning to be flecked, once again, with yellow; supermarket shelves, front gardens, grass verges, bouquets. Slender necks of green bearing six petals and a trumpet-shaped central corona (a topical, but unintended reference) hang shyly as they conduct their perennial act of returning. And with an arrival that seems so gradual, they’re often only noticed once in full bloom. 

 

I am of course, alluding to daffodils. 

 

Timelessly associated with Easter, Saint David’s Day, spring and new life, little room has been left for the myth from which they earned their name. Narcissi, to which they are scientifically referred, has its roots planted in Ovid’s story of Echo and Narcissus; the story of a mountain nymph’s unrequited love for a handsome mortal. So it goes, Narcissus, having brutally rejected Echo’s affection, is condemned by the goddess of revenge, Nemesis, to a life of unrequited love. By drawing him to a stream, she induces him to fall in love with his own reflection. Unable to tear himself away from a visage so perfect, yet equally unattainable, he withers by the waterside, ignoring all hunger and thirst until nothing is left but a daffodil. Commonly found growing along the banks of rivers or streams, many see the bent neck of the daffodil, with its head drooping over the water, as a symbol of the crouching Narcissus, peering fixated at his own reflection. It is no coincidence that this is also the story from where we have gained the word ‘narcissism’.

 

Today, in a locked-down world, we no longer have to turn to the daffodil to find necks hanging in fixation of a reflection. To corona, add virus. And to virus, add viral. Never before have been so dependant on social media and technology. Messages of hope, recorded acts of kindness, and a global effort to carry on life as normal, have all become part and parcel of our digital, covid-2020. But simultaneously, as a product of self-isolation, we have also reached a new-level of technological and self-conscious fixation. With little else to do, cue Instagram, Facebook and Twitter, giving our thumbs more than the daily recommended hour of exercise they need, as they scroll through streams and streams of pictures. In a world of self-isolation, there’s nowhere else to look. The more we scroll, the more we long to marry ourselves with the images we see of others. We seek to find a reflection in the lifestyles that are projected online. Lifestyles so perfect, yet equally unattainable, for the very reason that they are projections; images; mirages of reality. 

 

More than this, as we find ourselves suddenly confined, separated, and displaced from family and friends, we have come to rely more than ever on FaceTime, Zoom calls and Snapchat, to keep in touch via more than just written text. What do these all have in common? The front-camera. I find myself more often looking in the top right-hand corner of my phone, at the reflection of myself on FaceTime, than I do at the person I’m FaceTiming. I spend more time taking the photo to send to my friend on Snapchat, than I do writing the message. I’ve even found myself spending more time stood in front of my bedroom mirror each morning, now that I have more time inside, and less motivation to do anything else. In short, my world has quickly become a house of mirrors. The difference between me, and a daffodil? They only bloom in early Spring, whereas I survive all year with my neck bent, and my eyes fixed, on reflections. 

 

And so, as Good Friday quickly approaches, the daffodils begin to retreat, and covid-19 remains steadfastly woven into the fabric of our current global climate, narcissi, narcissus, and narcissism remain in the back of my mind. They act as a subtle reminder to take a breather and seek out the places around me that reflect nothing but light.