(A post I wrote a year ago as we struggled to make sense of what a pandemic meant)
I had hoped to go for a walk today but my body said "No, you're tired and if you push yourself you'll fall ill". My mind said, "No, there's a lot of irresponsible people out there who aren't self isolating and you can't afford to catch Covid-19 because it could kill you". My heart said, "No, stay home, just roll with it, find something else to do that will bring you peace and joy in a similar way". And so I am painting today. And spring cleaning. And rearranging things in my room so I can make it truly my hideaway.
Sitting quietly at home, I look at my paints with exotic sounding names like Burnt Sienna, Cobalt Turquoise, Ultramarine Violet, Cadmium Yellow, Pale Olive and Permanent Rose... and I wonder what to paint that will do all these colours justice. A landscape? A seascape? A spacescape? It's all really an escape... into a magical world where you can create anything you want and make something out of nothing. What a privilege that is, to be able to have an outlet like this to do such exciting things in the relative safety of my home.
And I think of the many people unable to stay at home because they have no home. What does it mean to them to "shelter in place" if the only shelter they have known is a street corner or a park bench? What does "lockdown" mean when perhaps it sounds a lot like "lock up" and maybe many are struggling, feeling imprisoned in their homes, unwilling hostages to a ravaging pandemic that makes no distinction between castle owners or slum dwellers. Trapped, perhaps, with family members who are like strangers to them, with nerves fraying and social distancing an impossibility with one room and five people caged like angry bears at a circus.
I think of those unable to stock up on food because they have no money, and a meal a day is a luxury while a week's food is a fantastical dream come true. Feeding their families is a daily sacrifice, feeding themselves is a daily struggle. What might it mean to some to have hindered access to shops and supermarkets, when they trawl through piles of refuse looking for scraps to feast on? I wonder just how much food a person needs ordinarily, and especially in periods of relative inactivity, and whether consumerism and overconsumption and overeating and just about over anything is so rampant that when we are asked to consume less we become afraid that we won't have enough, and hoarding happens, even as we are carrying around unshed kilos of our own.
I think of the disabled, the ill and the elderly, overlooked and passed over in normal times as if they existed on the periphery of society, and at times like this, their lives seem even less important, as targets of a deadly virus that will likely kill them off first. Frontline victims, sacrificial lambs in creating herd immunity, dispensable people who have served their purpose in a throwaway society given to measuring our worth in utilitarian terms. They exist, here and now, and someday, you'll be disabled, ill and old yourselves... think kindly of them, sow wisely in your thoughts and deeds towards them because you will reap what you sow when your time comes.
I think of those who have no one to care for them, and possibly worse, no one to care for, and all their life's longing and affection hoarded up in their hearts has had nowhere to go. Their hereto lonely lives have become even lonelier, their small social circles have shrunken in further, and they sit alone in front of the telly, by the phone, wondering if anyone remembers them and regretting their bitterness in the burning of so many bridges that help can no longer easily reach them when they might need it most.
I think of the poor, impoverished and war torn societies around the world, especially the children, for whom a safe home with loving parents, a hot meal, clean drinking water, freshly laundered clothes, a seat in a classroom, a dream of a future, and access to all the wonderful knowledge and beauty in this world is a seemingly impossible goal. And I look at the extravagant wastage amongst the rich, the lavish spending of the wealthy, the billions poured into salvaging an economy and I know without a doubt that we have the resources to heal the world, to eradicate poverty, to educate every child... but it won't happen because the have nots don't matter to those who have. It's every man for himself in a selfish world demarcated by borders and boundaries, race and religion, policies and philosophies, when really all that matters is our common humanity.
I find myself deeply saddened by the state of the world, guiltily grateful for all that I have, vaguely optimistic that many of us will pull through, and resigned to the fact that some of us will not. I think of the ocean and how much I love sitting and watching the crashing waves smash into rocks and feeling my place in the universe. There, in the face of certain and overwhelming majesty, power and raw beauty, I am tiny. My thoughts, worries and anxieties are many but really, they are tiny. In comparison to everything else, in perspective, and relative to all the suffering in the world today, my tiny, personal worries are miniscule. As I look out across my garden, holed up in my corner of Singapore, I am humbled, and almost ashamed, by all that I have.
I think I'll paint a seascape.
Thanks for reading,
Pav
