Sixty days now we've lived in this alternate universe. t's like we are in a spaceship. We watch the world from our windows, that blue thing out there with animals we didn't know still roamed amongst us, now boldly venturing out into the empty streets. Every now and then we put on the masks and space suits and venture into unknown territories, like the supermarket.
Routine has set in. There is little to do and we only have access to those physically with us. I would have expected time to go by particularly slow under these circumstances, but it is doing the opposite. it passes me by at warp speed. Somehow I blinked and we are in May.
There are muzzled sounds of the pandemic. I read about it and read about it, but I -with mine- live in a parallel universe. Those out there in the front lines talk of chaos and destruction. They have physical marks on their faces, wounds on their hands an feet from battling the beast. We live in eery quietness. Read, cook and work to the sound of the fan. We remain cocooned and in hiding. They say we are heroes, helping to flatten the curve. It certainly doesn't feel like it. Really we are just hiding from the beast. If not until there is a vaccine at least until there is a clearer sense of how we can beat it. Meanwhile the garbage collector and grocery store workers are in the frontlines. They are essential. We are just possible vectors that need to be kept out of sight.
May 25 Panama city. We remain under strict lockdown. Specific times are assigned randomly according to your passport. Days are determined by your gender. There are revolts in the street against these limitations. Not just here but all over. A certain sense of concern that there ruling class, in addition to being lost and guessing, is liking this sudden ability to impose their rules on their people. But the black death roams the streets, so I stay indoors with the fan. I'm not in a hurry to find it.