Art by Neal P. Corpus
The image of the future that I have in mind is filled with dark spots — like a painting speckled with black strokes, seemingly out of place, creating a sense of disquietude. On one hand, there is a part of me that craves the same sense of normalcy that I had before the quarantine. But the other, more perceptive part of me recognizes that there is no going back to how things were. The world as we know it has changed so drastically in the past month. Gone are the days of worrying about minor inconveniences. Now, we worry about what our tomorrows will look like — if we’re going to have tomorrows at all.
It’s a hard-to-swallow pill, but we’re waiting like sitting ducks. Waiting for something. Anything. Hoping that one of these days, we’ll open our eyes and we won’t be locked down in this dreary reality anymore.
We have moved into this new life of isolation like newborns equipped with nothing. Nothing could have really prepared us for this sort of situation where the routines that we have so dearly clung onto are suddenly reduced to non-essentials. What used to feel like can’t-live-withouts now seem like far-fetched dreams that happened a lifetime ago. And while there are people who continue to thrive in these circumstances — those who live in gated communities who can afford to stay at home, those who have enough savings in the bank to last over a month — there are also people on the opposite end of the spectrum. People who have depended on a meager daily paycheck to stay alive, people who now, more than ever, are faced with the blatant disparities in society.