Quarantine creates monsters. There is a feeling of numbness in the feet and hands because the routine breaks creative spirits, and brings monsters to life.

The aroma of 2020 was beautiful. Many saw themselves achieving their goals and aspirations. “Huu ni mwaka wa bwana na lazima tutabarikiwa” (This is the year of the Lord and we must be blessed), many said. Plans were made, but COVID-19 happened, and everything, for many, came to a standstill.

The lockdown has brought down noise levels, and so like others across India, I find myself catching unique birdcalls. But what has been most special has been the Muslim call to prayer, the azaan, several times a day. A few days into the lockdown, my partner and I figured out that there was a syncing of our routines with the azaan.

We used to hike in the hills of Northern California. I remember as a little girl he would race me up to the top. When I became a competitive cross country runner, he would take me to the trail the week before a race, and we would run it together, noting the areas where I’d need to pace myself, the turns and corners to speed up at, or be cautious of.

My strongest longings are for home. Being from a family of displaced people that faced the partition of India in 1947, the idea of home became central to my sense of safety and belonging. It became a motif of the will to reconstruct life after the trauma and pain of losing home. 

I was grateful that when I looked in the freezer I found some Italian sausage. I put that together with other veggies that we had, making sausage and peppers over pasta—good comfort food. Thinking about it, having the Italian sausage in the freezer is representative of a kitchen with lots of food in a comfortable house. We are fortunate and privileged.

We had just graduated out of college and entered the workforce. I was facing anxiety. How will I find work? How will I pay my student loans? So many things were going on in my head. It’s an anxiety provoking time. We don’t know what’s going to happen afterward, because the economy is bad, and the job market will be affected.

I made the kids put on boots and sunglasses, and we stepped out onto the patio, still glossy with rain. “We’ll take turns,” I told them. “First Izzy, then Teddy, then Mommy. Throw the cup at the ground as hard as you can, and you can yell anything you want when you do it. You can even swear if you want to, you won’t get in trouble.”

On Monday, I was back in London when the Prime Minister announced the emergency measures. I can’t travel to see her. She can’t leave the flat. Someone else has to buy her food and leave it outside the door.

Oh, yes. You already know: these corner delis have EVERYTHING. Breakfast sammies, Philly cheesesteaks, chicken or lamb or falafel over rice, an eclectic selection of healthy snacks and unhealthy indulgences, and random but essential items you should always have extras of around the house …

Clarity, confusion, ignorance, observation, springtime birds returning from wherever they wintered, anger, divisiveness, uncertainty, left versus right, fear, awareness, experiencing longer than normal wait times, short supplies, long lines, masks of every shape and size, solitude, loneliness, pain, every possible learning experience …

He had contracted a super-bug in the hospital and it was for our protection. All he would have seen was the masked family members around his bed near the end. I’ve always felt bad about that and yet now in this time of COVID-19, I am thankful that at least he had loved ones around.

I had been monitoring her slow descent for months, watching as her muscles grew weaker, her eyesight dimmed, her pain deepened. “Why doesn’t God just take me?” she asked again and again.  I had no answers.

I was heartbroken, after seeing a post of Seven Sisters from Southdown National Park: ‘They’ll still be there, in the same spot, when we can all get outside again safely’. I’ve been planning to go there, waiting for this perfect spring weather, trekking its edge for hours. Now, I might not get the chance to see its beauty before heading home to Indonesia. I might not have the chance to do things that I wish for.

Even as people go hungry, jobless, and homeless, and struggle to maintain a semblance of normalcy in their disrupted lives, social media is abuzz with pictures and posts of delicacies, beautiful homes, and pearls of wisdom on how to remain productive during the lockdown.

One day early on during the shelter in place, I was helping a provider, as an interpreter in Kiswahili. The first question the client asked was, “Why hasn’t the bus come to pick up my children and take them to school?”

One particular day, when the news about the death figures got particularly overwhelming, I imagined my window to be a patient, body still warm in the newness of death, and the fistful of sky visible from it became a hurriedly-stitched hospital gown providing a morsel of grace to the dead.

The framing of the pandemic as a war (in many countries) has echos of HIV, where the enemy is then identified as the infected person, not the virus. This has already played out in some areas in South Africa, with people being forced out of neighborhoods. Similarly, some provincial Ministers of Health are threatening (and enforcing) forced isolation for those who test positive.

Touching by word and deed

taking care of the neighborhood

Reminiscing randomly and

realizing the beauty of today

I take my mother to church. She is 91. I know how important it is that I go with her-- imperative is a better word. Church has been the comfort of her life, and also her cudgel. My mother doesn’t wash her hands before she eats, but she always prays.