March 22nd of the marvellous 2020. The year when my annual horoscopes advised I should have my suitcase and passport handy and be ready for, and I quote, “unplanned trips, unforgettable adventures, and unfamiliar places and people”. And have in mind I’m a Taurus, guys, so this was supposed to be, like, the time to let go of, like, planning, be audacious and discover new things (really hope you read this in your head with a very cheerleader-basic-white-bitch kind of voice). I am not sure the astrologist writing it was referring to me finding out that it takes 11 big steps from my bed to my couch, or 60 little steps if I take the tour one foot in front of the other. Still, it was kind of an adventure finding out the latter because I tripped 5 times. Not to worry, I am relatively okay (I can’t stress out *relatively* enough), and that happened just because I was sort of drunk, and I have 0 physical — or emotional — stability at this point.
Not to anyone’s surprise, I was in my living room (#StayHome), alone. Well, with a half-empty bottle of Jameson (now the drunk part is clear I assume?), a half-smoked pack of HEETS, and half a gross of unanswered messages on various social media networks. And yet, the last time I felt covered by that shroud of loneliness was when… well, never before really. I had just witnessed the possible arrest of someone who’d disobeyed the curfew that was in place as of that evening. My reaction? Glued myself to the window, filmed it with the drama effect to share with my friends on Instagram of course, but most importantly, I felt sooo excited as it was the closest to feeling like I am a part of another person’s life than I had felt in days. And. It. Sucks. Balls.
Coronavirus has, excuse the pun, gone viral and spread across the world, social media and every aspect of our existence. Life, as it was a month ago, is now a blurry and distant memory of a time we had all taken for granted. Time B.C. (that is Before COVID-19) when hanging out with friends didn’t mean resorting to Skype and FaceTime, grocery shopping wasn’t considered “going out” and didn’t include dressing up as if you’re in Chernobyl in 1986. But then the COVID-19 pandemics happened. Kindergartens, schools and universities closed first. Soon followed the malls, gyms, the ban of public gatherings, and to everyone’s (or at least everyone I’d consider being friends with) biggest disappointment, bars. Then the other measures. First came isolation, then the mental breakdown, then came the army with a 9 to 6 lockdown. Yay!
Anyone that knows me is well aware of the fact that I am not a person who is made for sitting still. My life up until about 2 weeks ago was in constant movement, much like those one-legged air dancing dolls at an auto-dealer lot. I like being on the go, and I like being surrounded by people. Heck, I love people, in all of their messed-up-heavy-baggage-emotionally-scarred kind of glory. I love talking to them, listening to them, empathizing with their issues, and my fave part — pretending that I know the solutions to their problems. And right now, despite being connected to them 24/7 online, I bloody miss them in person.
Disclaimer: I only give advice; no one is making them follow it. Why would anyone ask for guidance from a girl in her quarter-life crisis in the first place is beyond me. I do try my best. You didn’t have to listen to me when I said you could do a slow drive-by in front of Brad’s house, Nancy, how could I know he still lives there. I also didn’t think you’d seriously go through with it. Anyway.
All of that changed by 180 degrees, quicker than anyone can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. I haven’t left the house in days, and I am stuck with this annoyingly anxious and fidgety person who manages to think of the worst-case scenarios in all possible situations (pleasehelpme?). Not replying? Oh, he must be DEAD or hospitalized in the intensive care unit with tubes and other medical equipment.
So, she has to be kept busy AT ALL TIMES. She’s not a person who sleeps during daytime (or like, any time), so naps are out of the question. She tried baking, kept on piling up food that she wouldn’t eat so had to give that up. She sorted out her books, both alphabetically and by cover colour. Spent time on social media. Washed her hands.
Masturbated under the excuse it was “good for the immune system”. Started a Reddit thread about pasta reserves. Binge-watched Fleabag. Washed her hands. Got to the end of Netflix. Newfound alcoholism (newfound is debatable). Social media. Washed her hands. Vowed to finish a 1000-piece puzzle. Realized she first needs to have a puzzle. Gave up on the puzzle idea. Masturbated. Unsubscribed from years of hoarding automatic emails. Washed her hands. Replied to texts from her ex. “Worked from home”. Had no skin left on her hands. Washed them anyway. And we were only on day 3. Oh, and did I say social media?
By day 5 she had watered her plants so much that instead of bursting into spring bloom they turned into seaweed. In all fairness, the only thing budding right now is the global pandemic, existential dread, and for some weird reason, the tissue industry. Still no idea why people stock up on toilet paper instead of batteries. You can always wash yourself, Karen, but let me see you running your vibrator on wet wipes.
Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, heck even TikTok, are at the heart of this crisis, giving “structure and stability” to our lives because, as a collective, we have stopped tracking time and wearing anything but P.J.s. We’re in the second lines of the battle with the virus — bravely staying on the couch and sharing memes as the most efficient way to #flattenthecurve. We now do Skype dates and virtual parties, use programs to watch Netflix together and cling on to the one form of human interaction we have left — through a screen.
However, a general conclusion we’ve all reached is that it is far from grand, and that online adds up to but cannot substitute face-to-face communication. The situation gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “quality time”. For reasons unknown to me, but I’m sure an evolutionary biologist would have an answer, actual human interaction and physical contact turn out to work far better (guess it has to do something with those damn hormones) than a string of emotionless letters on a screen, like the FMLs, LOLs and other pointless abbreviations. Also, none of us remembers what we used to talk about B.C., and there is an overload of information, some of which is pretty contradictory.
And oh my God! Every single time I open social media, there is *an influencer* telling me how to make time in self-isolation oh-so enlightening and productive, and use it, like, to work on myself and stuff, and, like, learn, like, knitting, kung fu, work on, like, a business plan or, like, solve world hunger.
A. I am not that person.
B. I don’t even hang out with people like that.
I am beyond thrilled some people are productive and enjoying “time off” (as if this is a long-planned cityscape confined to the size of an apartment) — I am not. So, instead of following someone else’s to-do lists and unfulfilled dreams that they hope the CoronaFairy will make come true, I think it’s best if we just do whatever the fuck we can give the circumstances. Even if it means calling your friend on FaceTime 3 times a day, staring at the ceiling for a while and drinking at 10 am. Hey, I don’t make the rules, the worldwide consensus is that we’re all following airport time now.
But wouldn’t it be great to have a person, in real life, to sit with at this virulent, messy, I-don’t-know-the-time-and-date airport? The moments spent in my solitary drunken stillness made me realize that nothing can replace real human contact. No number of selfies sent and received can make up for the lack of that face sitting on the couch next to you. No chuckling emoji can depict the sound of laughter of the person sending it. No virtual hugs sticker can even start competing with the warmth of a real embrace.
When all is said and done, it is people — not profiles, that matter.
Maybe I won’t use this time to take an online course at Harvard. It doesn’t seem very probable that I’ll manage to come up with an idea for the next Silicon Valley unicorn, and I certainly won’t become a more harmonious person who has her shit together and is at one with the world. But maybe that astrologist was onto something. This whole Armageddon situation has pushed me to step out of my comfort zone without ever leaving the house, whether I like it or not.
It has, very forcefully, made me realize that more often than not, things are beyond our control. I see people taking chances that they wouldn’t have otherwise. People being open about their feelings, sharing their struggles with being away from friends and loved ones. Losing friends and loved ones. Mental health is more important than ever. We have seen inspirational examples of people putting themselves out there and giving whatever they can authentically offer, breaking open a medium with human generosity and empathy. Because right now, we are all together in being alone. Maybe it will teach us how to really be together when this is over.
The coronavirus is inflicting a lot of damage, the scale of which we will have to wait (at home) to see. But it is also forcing us to reconsider who we are and what we value. And I can’t help but wonder — even when, one day — which seems awfully far away right now, the day-to-day life returns to normalcy, will we ever go back to normal B.C.? More importantly, — should we?
So cheers, friends, to winging it as we go, and taking life one quarantined day at a time, at home. 🥂
P.S. Please keep in touch with family and friends, and don’t hesitate to reach out to relevant institutions if you are having a hard time in self-isolation/quarantine.
