The year of living cautiously
WHAT a strange and unusual year, with Covid-19 crippling not just a nation, but the whole world.
I remember very clearly the day when British Prime Minister Boris Johnson grimly announced the first lockdown on March 23 last year. It is clearly etched in my mind because that put paid to all excitedly made plans to celebrate my birthday at a newly discovered halal steakhouse.
In no uncertain terms, Johnson said: “Stay at home, avoid human contact, cancel birthday parties, postpone weddings and delete all family gatherings from diary.”
It is a year that gave us the new normal, opening up to a plethora of other terms that has so far dictated how we should live our life — some confusing, others downright unimaginable. There were also phrases like “WFH” and the term “furloughed” dredged up from a register I never heard of.
So what, if a birthday celebration now means sitting around the table with immediate family members in the same house and joined by others on Facetime or WhatsApp? It was exciting, novelty... something to share on Facebook.
But soon enough, it wasn’t just the birthdays that we have to spend in the confines of the house.
Ramadan and terawih prayers, as well as Hari Raya celebrations, were not what it used to be. While we welcome family prayers together, we missed the atmosphere of Hari Raya open house at the Malaysian High Commission and friends’ houses.
But don’t fret, even vicars gave sermons to empty halls or from the confines of their kitchens, and the Queen herself cancelled her birthday celebration. Even Christmas was not like how it was.
The pandemic is fair, in that sense.
People who once enjoyed the high life, be it travelling for work or pleasure, had to make do with a walk around the back garden or a nearby park.
Work means sitting in front of your laptop or other devices, speaking to colleagues or clients, perhaps in their kitchens or bedrooms with the occasional pets making an appearance.
Those who do go out to work now must don face masks, creating a new market for the creative minded.
Coming home means straight to the sink to do the mandatory 20 seconds handwash or better still, a shower, before you could hug your loved ones.
The pandemic changes everything that you deem necessary to carry in your bag if you have to leave. For now its the sanitiser, wipes and masks.
The only people you wait eagerly everyday to appear at your doorsteps are the delivery men, that is, if they don’t hastily disappear as soon as you open the door.
Although you are advised not to meet friends, in the likely event that you do at the aisle of a supermarket, you can choose to avoid or fist bump by way of greeting.
Indeed, the pandemic has ensured that you employ every part of your limbs, if that meant not touching someone or something.
I find my knuckles particularly useful to press lift buttons. Places that were usually crowded are now like ghost towns as borders are still closed. Those who do go out are mostly anti-lockdown activists.
The pandemic really hits home when people you know have become statistics for the virus infection, and that you are not likely to see your relatives in the homeland any time soon. This applies even for those living in the same country, where we have been advised not to visit regardless of circumstances.
Work wise, millions of people have lost their jobs, forcing many to rekindle their old passion, such as cooking and sewing to make a living.
I became a grandmother the second time round to lovely Amaya, a “lockdown baby”. It wasn’t until she was a month old that I could “see” her... in the park, from a distance.
Enough of a year of living cautiously. I pray we go back to how it was because I long for the longest hugs with people that I have missed so much.