EVERYDAY, I wake up with a silent prayer on my lips that I’ve woken up to another new day. Most times, the day progresses quite routinely: I have lunch, then take my home-brewed cup of coffee (sometimes with dessert), then prop myself in front of my iMac, and start typing out the day’s stories for the paper. If there was a virtual presser that was clear enough for everyone to see and hear, the words just flow rapidly from my fingers.
On some days, more interviews on a topic or the big issue of the moment need to be done, and I either call up sources to interview them, or if they’re hostaged by their Zoom meetings, we talk via Viber or text messaging.
There are a few stops as I quickly glance through my Twitter feed or at the TV for current affairs or any news just to make sure the world hasn’t been blown up yet by some egocentric maniac.
After I turn in my work, and if there are no pressing errands (like a quick trip to the neighborhood drug store to refill my maintenance meds, or to the community talipapa for my fruits and veggies), I breathe a sigh of relief and then plop my bottom firmly on the sofa. I quickly surf through the different cable TV channels for some entertainment, or if nothing interesting is on there, switch to the streaming services to which I’ve subscribed.
There are breaks to take calls from friends, and the messaging on Viber or Facebook have become more frequent, with discussions—usually idle chitchat on the latest who’s-who are bumping and grinding—but lately mostly centering on political issues, vaccination problems, and a general discontent with the way things are being run in the government.
After all is said, and the day is done, it’s off to sleep listening to calming bedtime stories of Matthew McConaughey, Idris Alba and Stephen Fry, with a blackout mask firmly planted over my eyes.
I’ve read stories in the New York Times and other media outlets on the terrible toll the pandemic isolation has taken on people’s mental health. So sometimes, my friends and I chat about this, and what kind of difficulties they’ve been facing recently (mainly the agony of relearning basic school subjects to help their kids in their online classes). But a few have confessed to short escapes from their children by having a walk around the village, or going to the supermarket.
They often ask me how I am because they know I live away from Big Sister and her family, and my other nieces and nephew. I love them for the concern they’ve shown me, and the food and other ayuda they send me. Super thanks, super friends.
I tell them that generally, I’ve taken to this pandemic lockdowns like duck to water. Even before Covid-19, I’ve been working from home except for the times I had to attend onsite press conferences, launch events, and lunches or dinners with family and friends. So I often respond that I’m okay. Have had no mental health issues, I tell them. (I have the Golden Girls to keep me company!)
Or so I thought.
Lately, however, I’ve been having brief bouts of unexplained weeping while taking a bath, or just sitting on the couch, working my online scrabble. Once I caught myself bursting into tears while doing, of all things, my laundry. Then another time, it was while attending Sunday TV Mass online. (Yes, pretty much like that scene in Home for the Holidays, where Holly Hunter is sitting in bed and suddenly starts crying for some yet unknown reason.)
Self-analyzing, I realized that this started happening when the surge of Covid cases was first announced. And the numbers kept rising…the highest at 8,019 cases on Monday. Almost half of the seating capacity of Araneta Coliseum when watching a basketball game. And there seems to be no real, concrete, workable plan to vaccinate us.
The other day, I woke up and started sneezing. While during normal times I would have just ascribed it to my allergic rhinitis, I immediately plopped a potato chip in my mouth to see if I could taste it. (I could, so, yes, it’s just another case of allergic rhinitis, which is common this time of the year.)
Then just this Tuesday, I felt like I had a general case of the bleahs, and grabbed the thermometer to check if I had a fever. (No, I didn’t. And I could still smell things and taste my food, thank God.) But while I was taking my temperature, I was furiously counting the days when I last saw the girls at lunch, and when the handyman was last in my home to make some repairs. Still, I’ve been drinking paracetamol every six hours to keep any fever at bay caused by godknowswhatever virus, and a 3-mg melatonin tablet, which medical studies show some promise in preventing and in higher doses, treating Covid.
Obviously, these are all symptoms of some deep-rooted fear of the unknown. It’s dread over how this Covid story is going to end for all of us. I cry-pray more frequently that the Lord somehow enlightens our country’s leaders to help the nation which now seems at its lowest point, and beg Him to continue to protect me and my family from this hateful virus.
Soon after the first lockdown in March 16 last year, I often joked with my friends, “See you after Christmas!” because I suspected government inefficiencies would be unable to halt the spread of the virus. So right up until January, I guess I was still fine.
Then February came and went; I spent my birthday alone although there were the reliable warm greets from friends and family on social media and messaging apps, while a series of gifts and birthday food was delivered to me.
Then we came to one-year anniversary of the first lockdown. It has been exactly a year since I was with my family, physically and in person.
All other countries have been rolling out vaccines for their citizens, while we’re still stuck at home, in yet another two-week lockdown, with no apparent clear thinking from our leaders forthcoming. We can’t feel their empathy to our plight. So far, the few vaccines that have arrived have been jabbed into our health workers, and a number of local government officials who have jumped the line ahead of senior citizens and people with co-morbidities.
If our leaders would only read the social-media posts, they will realize how much more vicious and angry the people now are. Even their usual defenders have called it quits and have begun appealing for more competent people to take charge of the anti-Covid program.
And as we read and watch all these exchanges between defensive government officials and their critics, it feels like the light at the end of that long tunnel to a better normal after Covid is dimming. Yeah, now you’re crying, too.
Image credits: Happiful
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