To sleep, perchance to dream
I spent the lockdown alone in my apartment. I was alone but it wasn’t lonely altogether. I was used to living alone as I’ve been living by myself for the past year. Also, I’m a solitary person — I actively try to be alone because the things I love to do, like reading a book or watching a film, is best enjoyed by oneself.
Like many, the past few months for me were a combination of shock and fear and sadness and anger. But unlike most, I had the privilege of enduring the lockdown in an air-conditioned apartment, well-supplied not just with canned goods and rice but also with oatmeal, cookies, bread, fruits and vegetables. And I was in the province — far away from the madding crowd. It wasn’t easy, but most people, I am aware, had it worse.
The crisis was global and the suffering was national but, on a personal level, it was the break that I needed. I worked at an intense, high-paced job the past five years — my first job, in fact. Thus, most of my life revolved around work, which we did from Mondays to Saturdays, and on some holidays even. And even at home I took with me the stress and pressure — work never ended. There were important life decisions that I did not make, or I outright said no to, because of the demands of my work. The longest I was away from work was four days. And that leave was only approved because of the good work I did in the months prior, and the good work I promised to do in the succeeding months.
When President Duterte announced on March 16 a lockdown in Luzon, it never occurred to me that we really would be locked down. That most industries — including real estate, where I belonged — would stop and only the essential businesses would be allowed to operate. That travel would be restricted such that for two months, most of us would be stuck in our homes. That the only travel I could do were my trips to the market every Sunday.
I thought the President would give in to pressure from business leaders and lift the lockdown after one week at most. But the April 12 deadline became April 30, and later May 15. As of this writing, lockdowns are still in place, albeit with some easing. I was out of the office for exactly 61 days. Last March, it was unimaginable, unthinkable, unacceptable, for that to happen. And yet it happened.
I was lucky to still have work during the lockdown, that my employer managed a work-from-home setup despite the significant loss in output. I was lucky to still have my full salary and not depend on the government or anyone else for my daily needs. I was lucky that when I didn’t have to work and do chores (cleaning my room, cooking, washing the dishes), I had the time to do whatever I wanted.
And, of course, I followed Churchill’s advice to never let a good crisis go to waste. I read books — at least one per week was my goal. I read Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath” because we might experience the Depression portrayed there. I read “Mass” by F. Sionil Jose to know what it was like living in an authoritarian society. I watched dozens of films on Netflix and local indie films that became available on YouTube. I even committed myself to that 10-season-long show called “Friends.”
Speaking of friends, I was solitary and all, yes, but I found solace in my friends, albeit digitally. We chatted and videocalled for hours and even had an “e-numan.” It was good to know that even though I was alone, I was together with my friends in being alone. And that the helplessness and rage I felt watching the news—I was not alone in that, either. People suffered and we were privileged to only read of and watch their suffering, but it still sickened us.
When you are alone for two months, you have the time to think. To reevaluate priorities, to reassess goals, to realign dreams. You also find what truly matters. In the middle of a global pandemic, where thousands die every day and there’s no end in sight, you appreciate life even more. You acknowledge life for what it is — as Alvy Singer said, “full of loneliness and misery and suffering and unhappiness, and it’s all over much too quickly.”
I know, I was just a regular nobody surviving the pandemic holed up in a comfortable apartment. I was not braving through it like our frontliners who deal with the virus face to face. But still, the whole experience gave me a fresh outlook on life: There is no longer any future. All there is, all there ever will be, is the Now.
We returned to work last May 18. One week later, I handed in my resignation letter. I have many reasons to leave, but those who know me know the kind of cojones I summoned, even as I was scared to be unemployed. I mean, we are in the middle of the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. Many have been laid off, businesses are bankrupt, yet here I was voluntarily resigning from work.
But in the end, it was long overdue. It took a global pandemic for me to realize that I am young but getting older. I want to write a novel, pursue further education, roam around this archipelago, and so much more — all of them impossible in my intense and high-paced job. Five years is a long time to stay anywhere. But this pandemic will be the Before-After moment of our generation. After this — and I assure you, like everything, this, too, shall pass — we will see life as Before Corona and After Corona.
I am leaving my old, miserable, burnt-out self in the Before Corona world. I want to step into the After Corona world with renewed ideals, with Hemingway’s conviction when he said “the world is a fine place and worth fighting for.” That’s what we will all need. Not unlike our grandfathers who rebuilt the world after it was decimated by authoritarianism and World War II.
After four months, I was back home — our true home, the one that I share with my family. The first thing I did was to open my laptop and to start writing this novel that had been on my mind for the past year. The second thing I did was to make a to-be-read list, starting with Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World.” I’m beginning to doubt my colorful imagination, because I can’t see how the next five years will be—not even the next five months. I have neither short-term nor long-term plans, other than my literary projects. And yet, I’ve never felt happier. I’ve never felt freer. I’m no longer swamped with the infinite complexities of work. I can now stop and think and do what I want. And that is, for the meantime, to read books, to write stories. To dream of a better world.
* * *
Mark Flores, 26, studied philosophy in college. He worked for five years in a real estate company that specializes in mass housing. He lives in Tarlac City.
For more news about the novel coronavirus click here.
What you need to know about Coronavirus.
For more information on COVID-19, call the DOH Hotline: (02) 86517800 local 1149/1150.
The Inquirer Foundation supports our healthcare frontliners and is still accepting cash donations to be deposited at Banco de Oro (BDO) current account #007960018860 or donate through PayMaya using this link.
