As the ECQ comes to a close and we slowly transition to GCQ a.k.a the surest path towards a second surge, I find myself surprisingly sentimental as I look back on our collective journey— from the initial mass hysteria: panic buying of spaghetti sauce, and daily pillorying of incompetent politicians and insensitive celebrities; to adopting more peaceful ways of coping: reinventing our struggling industries and channeling one’s frustrations into perfecting homemade bread recipes.
And just in case the world hasn’t had enough ‘this might be a blessing in disguise’ reflections, here are the ways the pandemic has redefined my day-to-day. Far from ideal, but, to borrow Alice Ripley’s words, close enough to normal to get by:
1. From Take Out Queen to Culinary Extraordinaire: As I type this, I find myself constantly distracted by the two-inch burn that now divides my right thumb into two hemispheres. I had an ingenious idea of prying off the air fryer’s sizzling lid with a fork, which ended up ricocheting on my unassuming fingers. My earthworm-shaped injury is the latest of a series of burns I’ve gotten since the quarantine enabled me to discover my inner Nigella. That is, if Nigella Lawson was completely clueless, (and too lazy to research online) about the do’s and dont’s of handling a hot pan. My husband Miguel, said that he would’ve felt bad for me, except that, after the previous battle scars I acquired on my thigh, left wrist, and pointer finger in a similar manner, he concluded that the problem wasn’t my cooking skills, but my stubbornness- something he gave up trying to fix a long time ago.
Cooking twice a day, though I sometimes complain about how tiring it is, has admittedly been such a joy. The chopping gives my brain time to rest, while the validation I get from getting a dish right even if it’s the first time I’ve ever made it, is a nice source of dopamine hit. To be honest, my cooking is not THAT awesome (yet, haha), but it helps that Miguel has a simple palette and doesn’t care much for gourmet food. I could serve him angel hair noodles cooked in salted water, just topped with parmesan, and he’d be over the moon.
2. Holding on to humour. Everyone copes with a f*cked up government in their own way. Mine is making a game out of the pressers to keep me sane and entertained— from the “What did he really mean by that”, to “How will the trolls defend and spin it this time” guessing game.
Juzel’s plate must be full with all the constant re-angling he needs to do these days. Knowing that the US have it just as bad with Trump is mildly comforting. Mildly.
Playing pranks on Miguel has been a great way to stave off cabin fever. I would wake him up at 6am, pretending it was already nine o’clock and that he missed his 8am call. I would bother him during zoom meetings, making inappropriate comments or doing lewd dances on the side to distract him.
The trolling backfired on me one day when I took off my sports bra behind him, not knowing that his video was turned on. I mush have flashed everyone for a good three seconds before Miguel frantically covered his camera. We didn’t hear any shocked reactions so we’re hoping that since the meeting hadn’t officially started, his teammates, though present, weren’t paying attention. That or they were just too kind to say anything.
3. Music is my constant companion, books are my daily escape. I read children’s books whenever I’m sad, and I realized that this crisis had affected me more than I let on based on the dozen children’s titles I finished in just two months. There’s so much comfort in being transported to a world where kindness reigns supreme, and the good guys eventually win.
Good music, though it has always been a constant in my life, evolved into becoming the bookends of my daily agenda. All my post-pandemic routines have their corresponding soundtrack: Nas, Lizzo, and Tribe Called Quest to get me out of bed in the morning, Duendita and Seinabo Sey for winding the evening down. Mozart, Mahler, & Massenet for reading (Classical Music in general, but I only named the Ms for some pretentious alliteration, LOL), and a schizophrenic mix of early 2000s hits, K-Pop, and what I’ve labelled ’Edgy Feminist’ music for working out.
4. Making time for who matters. It took the quarantine to make me realise how much time I had been allotting for people I barely knew and small talks I didn’t want or need to have. My New Normal is setting strict and healthy boundaries with how I use my time.
Meetings, unless it’s a planning session, are limited to an hour. I put my IG on private so I could go back to sharing for friends, instead of posting for an audience. I let go of the pressure to indulge toxic friends for the sake of looking kind.
This means I have more time to leisurely walk 2km in the mornings to buy a Subway sandwich. I could spend half an hour every day talking to my family over zoom about the same things: What did you have for lunch? What are you cooking for dinner? Did you go outside today? Are there more cases in BF? I have the bandwidth to exchange funny memes and voice notes with my cousins and best friends, in between work commitments.
More importantly, I could invest more of myself in my marriage. We both used to work late nights and travel so often that even if we’ve been married for almost five years, the lockdown felt like the longest consecutive time we’ve ever spent together under one roof. I read somewhere that one reason why relationships fail is because people often choose partners based on their interests from afar- e.g. taste in movies/music/hobbies, etc. and the intensity of a relationship; when what actually matters is your day-to-day compatibility: do you share the same values, do you argue in a healthy manner, is it fertile for trust and open communication?, and the consistency of your partnership. Apart from the fight we had on the second day of the ECQ about why our pillow cases don’t match, I’m happily rediscovering that there really is no other person I’d rather be stuck with during these dystopian times.
5. Reflecting on our humanity and shared responsibility. The lockdown required our laundry service to temporarily stop operations for eight weeks. Since the announcement was made in haste, they were forced to close down immediately, inadvertently holding hostage their clients’ laundry— including one month’s worth of clothes I had dropped off two days prior. As a result, I spent the first half of the quarantine constantly rewashing the seven remaining pieces of underwear in my closet. I also may or may not have used my towel for three weeks straight.
I was officially their first customer when they reopened three days ago. As soon as I saw the the lady in-charge of receiving and releasing the laundry, I blurted out, “Ate, buti bumalik na kayo!” (I’m so happy you’re back), regretting almost immediately the callousness and privilege contained in that statement. What compelled her to brave the virus-infested world was probably not ardent passion for ensuring people have lavender-smelling clothes, but that her circumstance in life may have left her no choice. Thankfully, she replied with the same enthusiasm about being back. She’s more tired whenever she needs to stay at home, she shared. “Lahat ng tao laging naka-asa sa’yo.” (Everyone’s always counting on you.)
I’d be lying if I said this pandemic hasn’t been tough. It jeopardised all the plans I had carefully set for 2020, and with it, the financial sustainability of the social enterprises I run. I spend many nights anxious about the burden of providing for my employees’ needs despite having very little income. I am still grieving the loss of my grandmother who passed away last month- the quarantine robbing our family of a proper goodbye. Despite all these challenges however, I know that I still belong to the 1% who have it easy. And while it’s good to acknowledge that and feel grateful for it, there is a louder call to make that privilege count, and help provide, in whatever small way, some hope and relief for those who aren’t as lucky.
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