Thoughts from today's grocery run
7:12 AM, Antipolo City, Saturday — my turn to go to our weekly grocery shopping. We have managed with our current stock from Tuesday last week to last a week and a half. As our stocks dwindle, we agreed that my sister and I make this week’s run to the grocery.
Here are my raw, uncensored and honest thoughts while exposed, at risk yet comfortably sitting from one meter apart from the next person, a roof over my head to protect me from the extreme summer heat. In an hour, the mall management would turn on the air conditioning. Needless to say, here are my thoughts from my, admittedly, privileged standpoint. Read with caution.
More than a month in from the Enhanced Community Quarantine (ECQ), I have become intolerant of public noise. I have never, nor will ever, understand why people think other people would be interested to what one is watching on their phone. Wear headphones, you jerk, why is that so hard to comprehend? You want to show off your phone? For what? Everyone has one now. Good luck not having your phone snatched. Crime rates have been down by 80% since the lockdown (source). Lucky bastard.
A contradicting voice in my head says: be compassionate, this is how they cope from the crisis. While the other rebuttal could say: is this then an excuse to be an inconsiderate ass?
Public noise, to me, is not supposed to be a nuisance but only white noise, for the longest time (dare I say, for most of life). Still, it is noise to me. I have gotten used to silence for more than 30 days that the noise I was so used to hearing frequently - beeps, ringtones, laughter, conversations, crumpling of plastics and paper, twisting open a bottle, footsteps, shouting... They all seem astoundingly intolerable now.
ECQ is somehow paradise to introverts like myself. It's a world free from some level of social pressure and intolerable humans.
Occasionally exposing myself to public and therefore, to the deadly virus, I had to train myself to create some headspace. As a social being outside of my personal and private sphere, I have no sense of control of my environment. These humans are as free as I am; they permit themselves to do what they will as much as I can. They thrive in noise, I do not. They thrive in loud music, I do not. They think they're doing the world a favor by playing their loud music, I think they're sent by some demon to wreak havoc.
My breath is all I can count on. By concentrating on my breath - that and acceptance of the noise, I create my peaceful bubble. It's hard staying on that bubble when there are constant threats that poke it dead or burst it open. But it's the most I can control; the best I can do to keep myself sane, at least for the few hours I have to risk to buy the essentials, to get a glimpse of another world — the outside world.
Falling in line to get a chance at buying goods seems like an eternity. I calm myself with the thought that nothing is permanent, everything is temporary and this too, shall end. It's a comforting lie I choose to tell myself. During those two excruciating waiting hours, it can only feel like an eternity.
It does not end when you enter the supermarket. It goes on but at least it gives you enough distraction because energy is focused on a particular task. The noise or unruly behaviour of most people are generally shoved off because you remain true to your mission: get those goods. At least a reasonable number. Don't hoard.
During the few minutes of shopping, you get a glimpse of hope, of more decent human beings like yourself - considerate and polite. The rude ones are just one of those who walk among us. It’s as if there's a general understanding and overpowering of more decent people around.
Then there's the line to check out where it all goes back.
Going back home is a feat, not quite an escape yet. Grocery bags that have to be decontaminated and you, you have to be decontaminated too. Careful not to make any more contact with whatever you can touch at home. So it's a race to the shower and scrub, scrub, scrub yourself clean.
Then, you attend to the groceries and place them carefully to the storage. Is it over yet? No, because you have to prep lunch.
Every husband complains about their wives who do not give clear instructions while "in battle" but it's the wives who are clear losers on this because they have to clean up after the mess of the war and take care of everybody.
Me? I go to battle, clean up my own mess, and take care of everybody else. I should be a Messiah.
I write this in the comfort of my home, after a decontamination shower, the blessing that is a clean, spacious home, complete with not much to complain about.
All thoughts are valid. They come and go. These do not necessarily have to define us.
Thoughts from…
Thoughts from… is a blog series I attempt to come up with in order to place my noisy, rowdy, raw, uncensored thoughts during the worldwide community confinement brought about by the alarming concern of the propagation of the CoVid-19 virus. It’s a letter I intend to address my future self for when hard(er) times hit life hereafter. If I’m not yet dead by then.