Taking lessons from the lockdown king
I think it’s week 8 of quarantine … or possibly week 25. As my niece so eloquently put it when she wished me a belated happy birthday last week: What is time these days anyways? Time flies when you’re busy, or when you’re having fun. It slows to a crawl when you are stuck at home with only your immediate family for company.
It also happens to be the month of Ramadan, so there’s been no snacking between dawn and dusk to help while away the hours. This is a big blow to my sons, who are both fasting this year. Prior to Ramadan, they observed a strict pandemic eating schedule: snack, breakfast, snack, snack, lunch, snack, snack, snack, dinner, dessert, dessert, why is the fridge empty?
I love my kids. I love my husband. This is what I repeat to myself, even as the sun cycles drag by in “Groundhog Day” fashion. I am grateful for my blessings. I will not complain. Oh all right, maybe a tiny bit of complaining.
When the reality of the COVID-19 pandemic first hit home, my husband and I made a pact that we would get through the lockdown without arguing, that we would keep the peace and settle all disagreements calmly and quietly. We made this vow back when we thought it would be a quick two-week shutdown, three weeks tops. Let this serve as a warning to all: The road to domestic bliss is paved with impulsive promises. Somehow, we have stuck to our no-fight promise. Also, it’s fine that my right eye won’t stop twitching — it’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway.
I’d love to take credit for our household peace, but the truth is I’ve been schooled by a master. My husband, a natural introvert, was made for lockdown conditions.
Before the lockdown, I thought I was an introvert too. I write books and my only hobby is reading — of course I would be fine with long hours spent at home, without any company except family.
Turns out, not so much. After the first two weeks, during which I called up friends and family and texted everyone, the restlessness set in.
I missed people. I missed seeing my parents. I miss my brother. I miss my nieces and nephew and my entire extended family. I miss hanging out with friends. Being in selfimposed quarantine is doubly difficult during Ramadan, a month usually spent surrounded by community, and this year observed in total social isolation, with mosques shuttered.
So I’ve decided to take some lessons from the lockdown king — my husband. He is living his best life stuck at home. Every time I look over at him, he is completely immersed in whatever task he has set himself. So far, he has cleaned out the office, rebuilt our local internet network and put together a new basketball net for the kids, in addition to his job. The lack of socializing does not seem to faze him at all.
Meanwhile, I have to take long walks just so I can see other people’s (masked) faces.
From what I can gather, the key to thriving during this type of lockdown is to immerse yourself in a project. My husband has thrown himself into complicated jobs that require an obsessive attention to detail and take an extraordinary long time to complete. I know because I’ve had to hear about them all for the last several weeks, and I still don’t understand the technical jargon.
My kids have managed to follow their father’s example — both taking on long-term projects that require a lot of focused practice. For Ibrahim, it’s improving his basketball skills. For Mustafa, it’s surviving grade nine online learning.
We all miss other people, but I seem to be the only vocal one, the only one initiating video calls with grandparents and friends, and looking forward to video conferencing with colleagues. Clearly I need to find a long-term, time-consuming hobby too. I’d take up breadmaking, if there was any yeast left in the city. What’s a girl to do?
I knew who I was marrying when I signed on the dotted line seventeen years ago. My husband was always going to be the sort of person who could fast sixteen hours and last months in family lockdown without breaking a sweat.
And I was always going to be the person who wrote a snarky column about it.
That’s family, I guess — we play to our strengths, and support each other through our weaknesses. Ramadan Mubarak to those observing the month. Stay safe everyone.