JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

SM North Edsa on First day of MECQ. Photo by Mark Samson.

Disoriented. Nothing’s changed—I have no intention of going out, and my street is still quiet—but now that the city is waking up from a 60-day coma, I dread returning to reality. Everything was simple in lockdown (ECQ). My only concern was to stay safe and maintain my sanity. The future was conditional—we could not assume that we would stay virus-free and get there. As long as I had food, books, videos, writing materials, and an internet connection (and the cats were well-supplied), I was fine.
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After weeks of microwave sunshine and temperatures high enough to perm your hair, the weather has swung to another extreme: lashing rain and rough winds that set off car alarms. Flooding is expected.

Mike T mentioned that he is looking forward to walking his dog around the block tomorrow, assuming the storm exits the city. Apparently Modified Enhanced Community Quarantine begins tomorrow, and we can go out for exercise. Hmmm. I think I will stay home till June, ponder the meaning of modified-enhanced, and see what happens. The real test is on Monday when people head out for work with limited public transport.

I will continue keeping this journal until Modified-Enhanced is downgraded to Basic.

The police general of Metro Manila, who arrests all who violate quarantine and social distancing rules—including street vendors who need to earn money so they can eat, and volunteers who feed the hungry—was caught having a birthday party. To most of us “birthday party” qualifies as a mass gathering and is therefore banned, but it’s okay because it wasn’t really a birthday party. It was a traditional mañanita with many well-wishers, food, and drink. Spontaneous feasting as opposed to partying, and certainly not “deliberate partying”. The guests just happened to congregate at random in the same area, and the spread suddenly appeared out of nowhere. People are so suspicious.
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The online book club discussion for kids went well, though the moderator was often flustered. I didn’t prepare a system for controlling the flow of the conversation: I was expecting long pauses as people collected their thoughts. In most Q&As with adults, getting people to speak is like squeezing whisky out of a rock.
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When this pandemic is over and we have settled into our new and hopefully improved (kinder, more equal or at least less ridiculously unequal, and less destructive to the planet) world, will I miss this strange, quiet period? Will this confinement seem like an idyll?

Working from home, away from the glamor and the perks of the job, unable to spend the salaries you have traded your freedom for on designer fashions and tchotchkes, breeds disillusionment. You see your job for what it is, and contemplate leaving it for something more…creative. Speaking from the other side of the divide, where you can do whatever you want as long as you don’t expect any sort of financial security, I have to say: Don’t quit your job. In more visceral terms, of course, but these times call for kindness. Let me talk you down from that economic ledge.
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Slept through an earthquake.

The mosquito zapper was delivered yesterday. Whenever a mosquito commits suicide by dive-bombing the blue light, I rejoice.

Today’s book: The Secrets We Kept by Lara Prescott, a fictionalized account of the hell that Boris Pasternak and his partner Olga Ivinskaya went through during the writing and publication of Dr. Zhivago, and the stories of the women of the CIA who worked to smuggle the banned novel into the Soviet Union. It’s a Cold War thriller about the power of secrets, as told by multiple narrators in different locations and time periods. It is a riveting read, and I would be surprised if it’s not adapted into a TV series.
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