Seeking Normalcy In A Pandemic

I never thought I would ever experience a pandemic in my lifetime. It always struck me as something depicted in novels, movies, TV shows. Something spoken about in the past tense or in theoretical dire situations at medical conferences.

And yet here we all are.

I first read about the emergence of a new flu in China on the news back in December. This stuck in my mind because I remember passing by thermal scanners in the airports we transited through travelling to Singapore and Taiwan. I thought it prudent despite minimal public information on this flu. After all I remember how it felt during SARS and everyone was terrified. When school was suspended for over 2 weeks and the Singapore government distributed thermometers, with temperature taking during class hours becoming the norm for months.

After earlier news reports called this new flu the Wuhan Coronavirus, we now know it as COVID-19.

When I read about the panic buying in Singapore last month, I was taken aback. Despite being dismayed by the hoarding behaviour, I understood people were acting that way because they were scared. Panic buying in cities has now been reported on widely both here and across the globe. No one knows when the pandemic will end, or when cases will decline and put a stop to the spread of COVID-19. With so many unknowns, being frightened is instinctive.

In a demonstration of how quickly things have been changing here: I borrowed a book from the Vancouver Public Library (VPL) downtown on Sunday. Less than 24 hours later, the city announced the indefinite closure of all libraries, recreation centres, and other facilities across the city. That same day I went out for a hot chocolate. 4 days later, all restaurants and other dining establishments were ordered shut with the exception of those able to offer delivery or take out services only.

The thing that makes it all feel surreal is the fact that life is still moving along despite the sombre tone of every conversation. Answering emails and meeting deadlines seem so inconsequential during a pandemic. I’m fortunate to still have a job to report to daily, and to be able to work remotely. But the stark contrast between people dying and writing emails is humbling.

I’ve been so caught up in the daily avalanche of pandemic related updates that I didn’t even realise it was officially spring until a coworker mentioned it. It’s been a gorgeously sunny past few days here, but transit is nearly empty with Skytrain cabins and buses alike eerily deserted despite the clear skies and sunshine. I’ve gotten used to people donning surgical masks everywhere in public. There’s a despondent air that lingers everywhere.

It’s alarming to know we’re living in the midst of a pandemic that can spread undetected. It’s been so disheartening to read about racist attacks and hoarding behaviour. But for every one of these stories, there are so many more about people helping those in need, communities coming together, businesses supporting their newly unemployed staff.

Take reasonable actions to mitigate your fear and control what you can. Stock up on a reasonable amount of food for your week, wash your hands regularly and avoid touching your face. Feeling isolated? Try asking friends for a video call coffee hang out or dance to your favourite song. Seek out and share stories of people stepping up in this trying time.

Lots of people are feeling anxious at this time and everyone has different ways of coping. Reach out to a friend who’s not doing so great. Instead of refreshing non-stop on the news, maybe watch a lighthearted movie, read a book, or even stick your head out the window and feel the warmth of the sun. Share your worries with a trusted friend, maybe stress bake or repost a funny meme.

It feels isolating to be stuck at home with our lives and routines disrupted, but we can and will adapt. Everyone is in this together.

This too shall pass.

Angry Bird

I was an angry teenager.

My sister used to call me “angry bird” after the mobile app because of my tendency to frown deeply when something upset me. Growing up, my siblings and I were taught that saving face was a priority. Angry bird was not in line with that concept.

I remember there being so many reasons to be angry. Much of my anger stemmed from struggling to understand how I fit into the world I saw around me while feeling the pressure to make my parents proud. As the third child and elder daughter, I always felt simultaneously like a misfit and a peacemaker, altogether too old for my age. I somehow grew into a mediator role between my siblings and parents all while being unable to process my own inner conflict.

The anger was how I processed fear, shame, and anxiety. Anger was easier to feel and harness than constantly feeling afraid and less than. Anger felt productive. Shame was suffocating.

And I felt shame deep in my bones. I was the obese kid in class. I wasn’t smart enough. I was athletic but not athletic enough. I wasn’t attractive enough. And then there was the cherry on top, believing I was intrinsically disordered for liking other girls.

When I felt I couldn’t bottle the anger anymore, I needed to find an outlet to release it. I didn’t want to hurt others by lashing out on them so I hurt myself. I learnt fairly quickly that I had to find more discreet ways of doing so to avoid unwanted attention. The physical pain was temporarily cathartic but the scars that developed gave me another reason to feel ashamed of myself. It was an endless cycle. I didn’t feel I had anyone to share my anguish with so I put on the facade of a well adjusted teenager.

I never found it difficult to make friends. I found it difficult to find friends who were able to peel back my carefully nurtured layers of protection, friends who I could trust to understand where I was and support me through it. I didn’t need a posse, just one or two would have been enough. It took a while but I found them.

I learnt how exhausting wielding anger as a defence was. If I got into a heated argument that couldn’t be resolved, I would feel completely spent after. Not only would I review the unpleasant exchange repeatedly in my mind, but I was physically tired out.

Imagine how your body feels when you’re mad. Your heart rate increases, you might find it difficult to focus, your head starts pounding. Can anger be productive, a force for action? Yes. We see people rallying around a cause because of an incident that upset them throughout the course of history. In the long run however anger as fuel is unsustainable, both mentally and physically detrimental.

With a lot of practice at understanding why and how I felt, I slowly began to stop instinctively substituting fear for anger. Having a good group of people around me also meant learning to trust others to support me when I needed help or a listening ear.

These past few years, I’ve been feeling that old prickle of frustration again at issues unresolved. Some of the people most important to me continue reacting adversely to a truth of mine. This time round I knew what the roots of my anger were. A strong sense of fear, dread, and helplessness at being unable to change who I am and enduring strained relationships with people I love.

There was also resentment at the realisation the future I was taught that I could have, had to be let go. It was drilled home in every aspect of life: get a good education, then a good job. Find a life partner, get married. Apply for a flat together and have children. The national dream of stability and a nuclear family.

I wanted to get married in my childhood church and host the wedding dinner in my mother’s old school chapel. If we could have bought a flat as a couple, I wanted it to be close to family. If I had daughters, I wanted them to go to the all girls school I went to. If I had sons, they would go to its brother school. I would maybe sit on the PTA and engage in the age old tradition of comparing my child to someone else’s.

What I wanted is run of the mill. But the barriers in place to do any of this back home are immense. The administrative and societal challenges insurmountable. The reality is that there would likely be a public outcry if I tried to send any daughter of mine to my alma mater. The reality is what I wanted is a fantasy.

So I create different expectations and new frameworks for what is feasible. I set about letting my imagined future go. As painful as it is, going about life with the misguided hope that maybe someone someday will extend you a lifeline isn’t a way to live.

I haven’t self-harmed in nearly a decade and I’ll have the scars for the rest of my life. They’re a reminder to be patient with myself and those around me, to be kinder. And now I know I have the rest of my life to look forward to.