one week into this lockdown

my neighbour has been smoking a lot. or at least, more than usual, enough for me to realise that there’s someone in a nearby apartment who smokes on their balcony. smelling the cigarette smoke that wafted upwards past my balcony, my first thought was to tell this neighbour that smoking is bad! the government has warned that people should quit smoking and take care of their lungs, since this virus affects the respiratory system. then, i remembered that the government also said that rohingya refugees should pay for virus testing because they are “foreigners.” this neighbour can smoke all they want.

maybe it is a way of dealing with the uncertainty, instability, the stress. i have my four cups of tea and five dance classes a day, they have cigarettes. we are both searching for our best-for-now coping mechanisms.

i can count the number of cars on the long stretch of highway outside now. sometimes, there are two motorcycles. or ten cars, if i’m lucky. most of the time, the 1 km span of eight lanes lie there, empty.

i spend a lot of time on my balcony these days. not in the late mornings when it gets meltingly hot, but in the early mornings and especially in the evenings, now. 400 square feet feels tiny really quick, no matter how many ways you rearrange the furniture and how many directions you face. today, i watched the sunset from my balcony for the first time; for an apartment that faces east, i didn’t know that i can watch both the sunrise and the sunset from the same spot. i didn’t think that’s how angles worked, but maybe my building was tired of all this sitting and just had to stretch its back a little this evening. a spinal twist that brought the western setting sun into view.

my plants are doing a lot better, these days. the pandan, basil and garlic on the balcony are slowly, cautiously becoming friends. the monstera deliciosa (that’s spilling out of a pot i won’t be able to replace for at least a few weeks) has tiny new babies emerging from the soil every few days. my catherthea plant is un-dying — its yellow leaves are turning back to green, the edges unfurling to slowly open up to the world again.

i am learning to be in my body. i am learning to quiet my mind and listen to what’s inside. i’m learning that i have everything i need — everything i need is already within me and in this space. i am learning that my communities do have the skills to face the apocalypse — collective care, healing, art, expression, redistributing resources, making things with our hands, the ability to imagine visionary futures … we have been preparing all this time.