We all heard the warning signs last January about what was going on in Wuhan. But as with all international news, sometimes it seems so far away.
This is a straightforward account of how in the span of end February to mid March, between life in New York and Manila, I felt how the virus went from a distant cloud of headlines to right at my doorstep.
LAST WEEK IN NEW YORK: Week of February 24
I need to go to Manila for an immigration interview.
I hear mass to say thanks: it’s the last step of the process for my permanent residency application.
My partner and I have dinner with two friends, in the same neighborhood where he proposed.
I monitor the flight situation from Hong Kong to Manila.
I need to let go of my original ticket because the Philippines has announced quarantine for passengers arriving to Manila from Hong Kong.
I rebook via Philippine Airlines.
I research further on the coronavirus, in the context of what to do while traveling.
I take an Uber to JFK airport. It’s an unemotional departure from my partner. Confident that we’ll be reunited soon, I tell him he doesn’t even need to drop me off.
FIRST WEEKEND IN MANILA: February 29 to March 1
I arrive in NAIA. I’m surprised that the arrivals screening was quick. All that was required was to submit a form detailing my travel history.
I have lunch with friends in a mall.
WEEK OF MARCH 2
I attend to immigration documents.
I find out that there is an “unspecific line” in my X-ray and I need to do a sputum test. The sputum takes two months to culture. My immigration interview needs to be postponed.
“Is it the coronavirus?” I ask.
No. The worst case scenario: tuberculosis. Even if I’m not displaying symptoms, it could be latent tuberculosis.
Desperate, my partner and I use this whole week to call up family, friends, doctors; with hopes of salvaging the situation.
I try to see a pulmonologist for a second opinion. They are all fully booked, on emergency leave, only accepting “emergency cases,” or not accepting new patients.
I realize that our hospitals in Manila are starting to feel it.
My partner and I realize we have no choice but to wait until mid May for my sputum results.
I have dinner with friends in another mall.
I have dinner at my in-laws’ place. The front desk lobby has a hand sanitizer. The elevator buttons have an added adhesive sticker, which the guard explains they replace every day. I greet my mother-in-law. She gestures, “no beso because of coronavirus.”
I attend a housewarming dinner with my dad’s friends. No one is wearing masks.
Whats App chats: plans to go to Boracay, Palawan or Siargao.
WEEK OF MARCH 9
My sister-in-law gives me three surgical masks. We read articles about it.
I start to get worried. I spend a whole afternoon reading up on the coronavirus.
I make a note to sell tickets to Blood Orange and Ali Wong, booked for March in NYC.
Friends want to see me. I want to see them. But we start to feel like we should stay home.
President Duterte declares community quarantine.
Construction work for renovating a section of our house is put on pause. The contract workers lose earnings.
My parents put their spa business on hold. Staff go home, yet they still have to shell out their salary.
A domestic travel ban is in place. Our helper, who had planned to go home to Cotabato to visit her family, decides to postpone her trip.
Sunday - we have a family meeting. Our household has three senior citizens and my sister-in-law is due to give birth in May, so we can’t take any chances. We discuss preventative measures and decide which room in our house will be the quarantine room.
New York - my partner describes how restaurants are still full, people are still going to bars; as the mayor advises to proceed with business as usual.
Whats App chats: invitations to e-hang.
WEEK OF MARCH 16
My sister can’t come to our house anymore. So no one can help her take care of her daughter. It’s hard.
My cousin who is a med tech gets assigned to help out for covid efforts.
My brother-in-law who is an opthamologist prepares to quarantine should he be called to do the same.
Travel articles that I had been pre-commissioned to write have been cancelled.
I go to the grocery. Only me or my brother is assigned to do it. There are rations for items like toilet paper and canned goods. The cashier looks miserable.
There is only one gate open in our barangay (town). Upon entering, a security guard takes my temperature: 36.2.
My mom and I mix bleach and water to make disinfectant for our home.
My mom collects ribbons, glue, bubble wrap, and foam. They are sent to a doctor making DIY face shields due to lack of medical supplies.
I FaceTime with a friend. Her husband, who works in trading, tells me that the Philippine market had to shut down for two days for logistical reasons. The market then went down 24%.
New York - positive covid cases make up 40% of the USA’s records, at the time of writing.
Whats App chats: one of us is sick.
***
I try to stifle feeding into worst case scenarios. But my partner and I have gone from not seeing each other for a few weeks, to three months, to now—indefinitely.
Yet we are all experiencing some form of separation. Others worse than me, for sure.
***
This week, my mom showed me a video when I was speaking during the opening remarks of my wedding last November 2019. I was talking about how I realized how rare it is to get everyone together nowadays and for us to just honor the time we made to show up, be present.
How ominous.
The problem is, we think we have time.