COVID-19 lockdown diary: As intense as the silence
I woke up this morning in an atmosphere much brighter than when I had slept. From my window, I could see blue skies, cotton clouds, and quiet streets. With this peaceful sight, one wouldn’t think a stormy terror of screeching winds and roaring downpour passed only yesterday.
Today, it’s as if the gloom never happened.
Today, too, the government is easing the lockdown in Metro Manila in what is officially called a “modified enhanced community quarantine”. Some businesses are allowed to operate on a limited capacity.
The semblance of a slow morning today — I woke up at 9 a.m., the earliest so far contrary to my usual that’s anytime between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. — afforded me a rare calmness. I enjoyed scrambled eggs with mushrooms for brunch as I finished Jostein Gaarder’s “Sophie’s World”, a required reading in my friend’s philosophy class in the university, which I borrowed before the coronavirus outbreak.
For about half an hour after a supply run, I laid in bed. I was awake. I was silent. My first thought was to identify the stillness as a lazy afternoon. How long has it been since I last did something like this? since the last time I felt this calm while I’m not doing a thing?
My most recent memory of such quietude was spending afternoons in my red-walled bedroom in our family house in Laguna during my adolescent years. My thoughts would wander the entire day, and I wouldn’t even try to catch them.
As I matured in years, life had become a chase of deadlines, where to-do lists are marathons with no finish line. There was always something to keep me busy. There was never enough time to accomplish everything.
When a lockdown due to the pandemic threat was implemented, many resorted to panic. And panic came in many forms: flocking to bus terminals to go home to the province, hoarding food items and toiletries in grocery stores, and worrying so much that it keeps one from a restful sleep, among others.
While many were anxious, I admit I was excited about the unexpected pause in the drudgery of living. I had only two thoughts back when the lockdown started: 1) this will be easy, and 2) finally.
The first stemmed from my tendency to be independent and self-reliant, having grown up with an emotionally withdrawn father and an overseas worker mother, while the second was due to my habit of making to-do lists by which I run my life. With the global health crisis postponing plans and delaying deadlines, the urgent and important tasks were no longer the priorities they were before.
I told myself that this forced furlough is the someday I had long hoped for: that day when schedules are freer and may be allotted to goals that were often relegated to the backburner. This included reading books that have long been collecting dust in my shelf, watching films and series on Netflix, and getting back to my childhood hobby of journaling.
But then, I couldn’t help but write a more definitive list of what I hoped to do as the world grapples with the standstill, foremost of these are to re-establish a regular yoga practice, develop healthful habits that would stick until after the lockdown, and put my home in order, finally.
At least the first few days of my self-isolation — that was, after my shortened work trip in Los Angeles, California — was a breeze. However, I began losing momentum in the weeks that followed. I reminded myself that it’s okay to focus first on my mental well-being, that it’s not helpful to hold myself to standards that were set even before the health crisis began.
Still, there’s a nagging feeling that I wasn’t making the most of my time. It didn’t make me feel better that while I was productive in one aspect of my life — the bare minimum of keeping myself alive — I was falling back on the others.
This frustrated me. I felt inadequate.
During this period of isolation, I kept bouncing between extreme productivity and debilitating lethargy. For so long, I’d been telling myself this set-up is only temporary, but today I’ve begun the process of accepting the fact that this will henceforth be the way we are living our lives: social connections are made through phone and computer screens, where technology is preferred over presence; cultural norms, like handshakes and hugs, no longer signify warmth but danger; and eating out becomes a two-pronged luxury, with enjoyment and convenience marred with health risks.
It took a while before I realized that a better question than “What can I do today?” was “What do I feel like doing?”. I kept reaching for my lofty goals, living within the confines of my square bullets, that I failed to consider if I were even standing on solid ground.
By welcoming this new standard of living, I learned to enjoy the company of the only person I will ever truly be stuck with, not only during this lockdown but also for the rest of my life: myself.
I’ve watched several operas, thanks to The Met’s free nightly streams, and I broadened my knowledge of classical music. I finished reading three books; I am nearly at the end of one and about to start something new. I’ve watched several films and series that I enjoyed. I’ve written more in the past weeks than I ever did for the same duration. I am also graduating from my TwoSet Violin-inspired 40 hours of practice by the end of this writing. And, not least of all, I’ve kept myself alive. Though not in the best shape physically, emotionally, and mentally, I am active.
^ An attempt at astrophotography in April
At the stroke of midnight, the city stops its motions. Only lampposts and establishment banners illuminate the barren streets. Around this time, I enjoy standing by my only window, looking at the city I now call home, gazing up at the stars blanketed by the night sky. The peculiar sight comforts me in this time of uncertainty where it’s not uncommon to sleep as the sun wakes and enjoy the first meal of the day past noontime.
I’ve always enjoyed looking at the celestial showcase even if I struggle identifying constellations. (At least I always get Orion’s belt right.) It reminds me of humanity’s boldness to think that the ever-expanding universe revolves around an individual, yet we are but small, dispensable beings in the greater scheme of things.
But enjoying the view of the heavens affects me differently now. Looking up, I see myself. It’s a fresh insight, though not unfamiliar: that we too are stardust, perhaps made of elements as in all other organisms that were blended together in a star.
From Sophie’s World, an excerpt:
This only reinforces my philosophy that life is the interconnectedness of everything. Sometimes, the little, seemingly inconsequential details have the most potential to create a bigger impact.
This pandemic is changing me in sublime ways more than I expected it would. And I’m grateful. I hope you are, too. •
Today, it’s as if the gloom never happened.
Today, too, the government is easing the lockdown in Metro Manila in what is officially called a “modified enhanced community quarantine”. Some businesses are allowed to operate on a limited capacity.
The semblance of a slow morning today — I woke up at 9 a.m., the earliest so far contrary to my usual that’s anytime between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. — afforded me a rare calmness. I enjoyed scrambled eggs with mushrooms for brunch as I finished Jostein Gaarder’s “Sophie’s World”, a required reading in my friend’s philosophy class in the university, which I borrowed before the coronavirus outbreak.
For about half an hour after a supply run, I laid in bed. I was awake. I was silent. My first thought was to identify the stillness as a lazy afternoon. How long has it been since I last did something like this? since the last time I felt this calm while I’m not doing a thing?
My most recent memory of such quietude was spending afternoons in my red-walled bedroom in our family house in Laguna during my adolescent years. My thoughts would wander the entire day, and I wouldn’t even try to catch them.
As I matured in years, life had become a chase of deadlines, where to-do lists are marathons with no finish line. There was always something to keep me busy. There was never enough time to accomplish everything.
When a lockdown due to the pandemic threat was implemented, many resorted to panic. And panic came in many forms: flocking to bus terminals to go home to the province, hoarding food items and toiletries in grocery stores, and worrying so much that it keeps one from a restful sleep, among others.
While many were anxious, I admit I was excited about the unexpected pause in the drudgery of living. I had only two thoughts back when the lockdown started: 1) this will be easy, and 2) finally.
The first stemmed from my tendency to be independent and self-reliant, having grown up with an emotionally withdrawn father and an overseas worker mother, while the second was due to my habit of making to-do lists by which I run my life. With the global health crisis postponing plans and delaying deadlines, the urgent and important tasks were no longer the priorities they were before.
I told myself that this forced furlough is the someday I had long hoped for: that day when schedules are freer and may be allotted to goals that were often relegated to the backburner. This included reading books that have long been collecting dust in my shelf, watching films and series on Netflix, and getting back to my childhood hobby of journaling.
But then, I couldn’t help but write a more definitive list of what I hoped to do as the world grapples with the standstill, foremost of these are to re-establish a regular yoga practice, develop healthful habits that would stick until after the lockdown, and put my home in order, finally.
At least the first few days of my self-isolation — that was, after my shortened work trip in Los Angeles, California — was a breeze. However, I began losing momentum in the weeks that followed. I reminded myself that it’s okay to focus first on my mental well-being, that it’s not helpful to hold myself to standards that were set even before the health crisis began.
Still, there’s a nagging feeling that I wasn’t making the most of my time. It didn’t make me feel better that while I was productive in one aspect of my life — the bare minimum of keeping myself alive — I was falling back on the others.
This frustrated me. I felt inadequate.
During this period of isolation, I kept bouncing between extreme productivity and debilitating lethargy. For so long, I’d been telling myself this set-up is only temporary, but today I’ve begun the process of accepting the fact that this will henceforth be the way we are living our lives: social connections are made through phone and computer screens, where technology is preferred over presence; cultural norms, like handshakes and hugs, no longer signify warmth but danger; and eating out becomes a two-pronged luxury, with enjoyment and convenience marred with health risks.
It took a while before I realized that a better question than “What can I do today?” was “What do I feel like doing?”. I kept reaching for my lofty goals, living within the confines of my square bullets, that I failed to consider if I were even standing on solid ground.
By welcoming this new standard of living, I learned to enjoy the company of the only person I will ever truly be stuck with, not only during this lockdown but also for the rest of my life: myself.
I’ve watched several operas, thanks to The Met’s free nightly streams, and I broadened my knowledge of classical music. I finished reading three books; I am nearly at the end of one and about to start something new. I’ve watched several films and series that I enjoyed. I’ve written more in the past weeks than I ever did for the same duration. I am also graduating from my TwoSet Violin-inspired 40 hours of practice by the end of this writing. And, not least of all, I’ve kept myself alive. Though not in the best shape physically, emotionally, and mentally, I am active.
^ An attempt at astrophotography in April
At the stroke of midnight, the city stops its motions. Only lampposts and establishment banners illuminate the barren streets. Around this time, I enjoy standing by my only window, looking at the city I now call home, gazing up at the stars blanketed by the night sky. The peculiar sight comforts me in this time of uncertainty where it’s not uncommon to sleep as the sun wakes and enjoy the first meal of the day past noontime.
I’ve always enjoyed looking at the celestial showcase even if I struggle identifying constellations. (At least I always get Orion’s belt right.) It reminds me of humanity’s boldness to think that the ever-expanding universe revolves around an individual, yet we are but small, dispensable beings in the greater scheme of things.
But enjoying the view of the heavens affects me differently now. Looking up, I see myself. It’s a fresh insight, though not unfamiliar: that we too are stardust, perhaps made of elements as in all other organisms that were blended together in a star.
From Sophie’s World, an excerpt:
‘... When we look up at the sky, we are trying to find the way back to ourselves.’
‘What an extraordinary thing to say.’
‘All the stars and galaxies in the universe are made of the same substance. Part of it have lumped themselves together, some here, some there.’
This only reinforces my philosophy that life is the interconnectedness of everything. Sometimes, the little, seemingly inconsequential details have the most potential to create a bigger impact.
“It used to be thought that the events that changed the world were things like big bombs, maniac politicians, huge earthquakes, or vast population movements, but it has now been realized that this is a very old-fashioned view held by people totally out of touch with modern thought. The things that really change the world, according to Chaos theory, are the tiny things. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe.”
― Neil Gaiman, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch
This pandemic is changing me in sublime ways more than I expected it would. And I’m grateful. I hope you are, too. •