By Terri Amador
The last three weeks have been a whirlwind of very surreal mini-events for me as it may have been for you. Isn’t it that life used to just seamlessly flow from day to day, week to week? Seamless to the point that we would sometimes forget what day it was or act surprised to realize how late in the afternoon it already is. Where’d the time go, is an oft-repeated query.
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But CoVID-19 has changed all of that in, what seems now, an ordinary instant. For weren’t we just working at the office, or in line to pay the monthly bills, or cooking adobo for dinner when the disease made its way to our shores? Weren’t we just minding our own business, trying to make ends meet, or perhaps working on improving ourselves, discovering nuances in our relationships, or planning that weekend get-away long overdue?
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My point is, for many of us, life was just routine, not marked by spectacular highs and lows (thank goodness!) and not excessive by any means. We just coasted along while enjoying the delights of spontaneity and the luxury of choice.
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At my house, my son and I enjoy acting on our cravings. He would, for instance, suddenly remember how we have not had Tinapayan’s mocha cake in a while, and I would say, Oh, yeah, right! And then I’m out the door to buy half a roll. Or I would straight off pine for ube cheese pan de sal and, just like that, bike to a Tibiao branch without need for much planning. Or perhaps I find that I’m all out of sesame seeds or that we’re running low on milk or that the rice bin is almost empty. These were not serious concerns at all. They were daily realities I dealt with in a straightforward manner because they were almost formulaic. If x happens then I will do y to get z.
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Sadly, the first two months of 2020 now seem like decades ago, and 2019, a bygone era. Being spontaneous beyond 8pm or at any time of the day, for example, is no longer an option. And never mind your cellphone! How about you make sure you don’t forget to bring alcohol and wear your mask instead? Both are de rigueur now, as are disposable gloves and a quarantine pass.
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In the first week after the imposition of the Enhanced Community Quarantine here in Iloilo City, we ran out of drinking water. In the past, that was a very minor problem because our trusted neighborhood pedicab driver slash handyman was always conveniently available to carry out requests for a minimal fee. But on that day there were hardly any sikads outside, and I had to stand by my gate for an unusually long time before I was finally able to hail an off-duty driver who graciously accommodated my petition.
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What was more atypical, however, was how the next things unfolded. By the time the driver had fetched his pedicab and returned, I had carried all three empty five-gallon jugs and placed them outside the gate. I had on my mask and plastic gloves but spoke to him from behind the entryway, half-opened by a stool slightly jutting out. Pointing to the seat, I instructed him to pick up my payment (which I put inside a small plastic bag) for the refilling and his service and not bother with giving me my change afterwards. He followed my instructions to a t and knocked on my gate soon after to let me know that the water jugs, now filled, were by the gate once more.
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We rolled the containers up to the porch but no further. They were certainly not going to enter the house until they were all disinfected, of course not. First with a chlorinated water spray; next, with an alcohol rubdown. We left them to dry thoroughly in the remaining heat of the afternoon sun, then vigorously washed our hands before marveling at the complexities now of even the most mundane of things.
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There are still moments when I just can’t believe it.
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Do I miss my “past life”? You bet I do. I miss the recklessness of buying siopao at 7-11, the impulsive side trips to the downtown area, the utter disregard for the setting sun. These are just a few of the things I delighted in…but also totally took for granted. And now, every time I don my mask and stay six feet away from the next person, I will remember the good, old days. The ones from only some months ago.
Terri Amador, a.k.a. The Lady on the Pink Bike, is a bike-to-work advocate who thinks she will be inspired to write essays that can help reverse global warming or, at the very least, contain even half a cup of sense. But don’t count on it.
