Day 19 - Sepia Portrait

Day nineteen of the quarantine.

The sun is bright but not too much to be annoying. I can still feel the presence of clouds somewhere in the background. I can feel them looming not too far behind the morning sun, waiting for their turn to take over the sky and rule the mood of the day.

Funny how I feel their presence more even when they are hiding, even when the sun is glaring.

Funny how you can feel the tale tell of impending gloom, in the middle of a bright morning.

Ever since the beginning of this whole chaos, I’ve been training myself, or rather, forcing myself, to do normal. To make normal the new necessity to survive. Wake up at dawn, make the bed, open the window, exercise, greet the sun, greet the plants on my front yard, clean the house, breakfast with toast and jam while talking to my Mom. I feel like we need to hold on to what little normalcy we have in our lives.

It’s the same ritual this morning. As the sun rose higher, I figured it would be nice to capture the brightness in which this day is started. So I took my camera and walked to the front yard. I crouched in front of one of the greens and shifting my position to find the best angle where the sunlight is filtered by the thin transparent leaves while getting the sun itself in the frame.



I see skies of blue

and clouds of white

The bright blessed day

the dark sacred night

And I think to myself

what a wonderful world



I just noticed Louis Armstrong's What A Wonderful World playing in the background. I figured my Mom must have turned on her playlist while sewing the cloth masks.

I kept on taking pictures, as the songs come flowing through the speaker.

Suddenly, like a reel of film, images after images invaded my mind. I was transported to a time where old songs played from the radio and we were little kids playing with our board game, watching TV from a TV set in a saloon, sitting on the couch staring at the tree branches swayed by the wind of dry season, nodding our heads sleepily on a Sunday afternoon, ready for a nap because there wasn't much to do back then. Everything was fine, back then. And we were convinced that everything will always be fine, back then. The world was so much slower.

I let my guard off and let myself basked in the wave of childhood memories in a soft brown and yellow hue. For a moment I felt peaceful and nostalgic.

But I couldn't help but feel that this serene moment is tinged with something. Everything is perfect. The day is bright, the flowers are fresh, the leaves are green, the world is fine, but something, somewhere, is off.

The nostalgic images reeling in my head blurred and slowly came to a halt. And then I saw myself in the frame, the me from decades ago, staring back at me with a solemn and detached expression.

I know. We're just picture, frozen in time in sepia-colored portrait.

And then it dawned on me.

I’m feeling like I'm starring in the opening scene of a horror apocalyptic movie.

Day Sixteen

I lost track of time.

Some people lost their job.



I have just spent eight hours of not talking to anyone verbally, and only very minimum chat with a few people over whatsapp.

I am completely okay with that. Oh you know I've always been okay with that. I love being alone and uninterrupted by random and mundane talks. Not talking for hours on end is never a problem for me.

But I feel like I have to change the way I see this right now.

I have always refrained from overstating my inclination toward solitude. While I prefer solitude in most days, I don't want to glorify this, because I know, one day I might going to regret it. And this one day might come sooner than I expected.

Every time I was on the verge of thinking or saying something like ugh I hate people or oh how nice it is being alone in the world, I stopped, and think about what would I feel should the world end when I'm still here. What would I feel when there is actually no one left on earth and I am free to be alone as long as I want.

Locked in a confined space for weeks like this, despite enjoying it so far, I can tell that my mind has to get more creative in conjuring many scenarios, which, I don't like to visit further.

By now I'm already quite agile in avoiding the dangerous territory, and stay focus on the only track worth walking on.

I think I'd have to start appreciating human interaction.

What day is it

This is day 'I don't even remember anymore' of the quarantine.

Things are getting worse out there.

At least that's how it looks from Twitter. So currently I'm taking a break from it. Checking only for important updates.

In real life, here in this part of the city, things are still more or less like usual. The only difference is the road is less busy.

I'm trying to keep my mind on track and not running to dangerous territory where gloom and darkness reign. I'm trying.

Last night I talked to a friend. Before the outbreak, we used to see each other every day, talking in between works, having lunch together, afternoon coffee together. In the middle of our conversation, he asked,

"What happened? What the hell has happened? The world was fine two weeks ago. And now everything is turned upside down. How did we get here?"

"Yeah, who would've thought", I replied.

Nobody knows.

While I'm typing this, gratefulness and guilt rose simultaneously in me.

I guess I'm lucky enough to be able to sit through this shit storm while literally sitting in my home, not much but pretty comfortable, with windows and garden and trees and all, and a view of my neighbor's roof.

On a rainy day like today, I am also blessed with a view of the rain flowing down the drainage pipe. It's a view so nostalgic, so unique of the old times when all you do in the afternoon is listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof or having just woke up from your nap, sitting by the window and watching the rain doing their rainy thing, punching needles on the water covered street, running down the sewer and disappear and running again and disappear again on an on like a hypnotic.

It's a privilege of childhood.

One we take for granted now that we're decades into this world.