I've had a sense, since the beginning of the lockdown 2 weeks ago, of living through history. There's been a very quiet voice nagging at the edges of my subconscious that I should be documenting what's going on, that I am living through something pivotal in our collective narrative that should be recorded, albeit on a very superficial level. Perhaps it's because I'm a history nerd- I used to know most of The Diary of Anne Frank by heart (don't get me wrong, I have no illusions of being a modern-day Anne Frank; more of a Bridgette Jones in the Time of COVID) that I have this need to document what we are experiencing, as individuals, as families and as a country, under unprecedented circumstances. Perhaps it's because I am trying to put some order to the flood of emotions that have been overwhelming me since the threat of a pandemic morphed into reality, and writing is my way of managing the myriad of emotions threatening to engulf me. Or maybe I've just read one too many dystopian novels.
The past two weeks have been simultaneously nail-bitingly stressful and unexpectedly poignant. I have found myself immersed in uncertainty: uncertainty over the nature of this novel corona virus and whether it is going to have the devastating consequences on our society that Spanish Influenza did; uncertainty over whether our economy will collapse under the economic strain of lockdown; uncertainty over what the future of my job will look like; uncertainty over whether I and my family will survive this pandemic. I have read hundreds of articles in an attempt to figure out the nature of this virus, what effect it will have on our population, what it will do to our already shaky healthcare system, what our curve will look like, whether we should flatten the curve or develop herd immunity, whether we should wear masks or not. Basically, I've read myself into innumerable nights of insomnia. At the same time, I have discovered the bliss of slowing down, I have found a love for planning meals together with my family and cooking or baking with my children and husband, I have done puzzles and played board games and I have learnt gratitude for my children's teachers and for my domestic worker and for wine.
In the end, I suppose that I mean these lockdown diaries to be a little bit of everything. I'd like them to be a record of how COVID19 affects our country and our healthcare system, in case there is some historical value to this time, and also how, on a personal level, it affects healthcare workers. I'd like them to be the story of how our family navigates this uncertain time and what it means to be stuck in a house with the same 3 people for 5 weeks. I'd like them to provide entertainment and to force me to write. I want them to be a reflection of what we are are all experiencing right now: the expected lows and the unexpected highs, the humour, the craziness, the fights and the forgiveness, the garden runs and the alcohol rations, the cleaning floors, the trying to figure out school maths problems to teach your child and the excessive baking. But perhaps most of all, I'd like these diary entries to unite people in their humanity. Maybe that's what the voice in my head has really been telling me: that now, more than ever, when we are so physically distant, we need not to be emotionally alone.
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