The Come-Back, Day 27. It's Not Over Yet
The number of infected with the coronavirus keeps going down in Galicia. There are barely any new infections. Yet, we tensely wait for the moment people are allowed to freely travel within the country. Already, people have arrived here from Madrid surreptitiously. I'm sure most of them were justified in their trip, and that they feel fine, but the particular vileness of this virus is that the incubation period is so long, and that during that time, you can easily infect people without knowing.
I think the population can be split into two camps. One, the afeared of catching it, that comply with wearing a mask, washing hands, and keeping their distance. The other, that sees that the danger has passed, and that life is meant to be enjoyed, even if in the middle of a close crowd of friends.
I belong to the first camp. It's not that I don't believe life should be enjoyed, but that I want to be able to enjoy it without lying awake at night, wondering if I'm going to get sick from attending a birthday party with fifty people. Or, from going out one evening and sitting almost shoulder to shoulder with someone from the next table, because the owner of the establishment decided that recuperating lost income was more important than providing social distancing.
It's not so much a question of age, either. My daughter and her friends are cautious when they go out. Last night, they went to a bar run by a friend that was holding an inauguration night. The three wore masks, and when they got there, saw there was a line waiting to go inside. But those in line weren't wearing masks, and were standing so close, they were invading each other's personal space. Inside wasn't much better, either. So, they decided to forego the inauguration, and went to sit outside at a terrace with other friends. None of the others were wearing masks, but they weren't sitting close together, either.
My husband wears a mask outside the house. Before going in to work he stops to take his morning coffee at a nearby bar. The others who are in there are mature men, also on their way to work. None wear masks nor try to keep their distance from each other. It angers my husband that most of his acquaintances act as if everything were fine again.
It does seem like everything is as it always was, sometimes. I step out of the house, and it's June with its silky air and the smells of green things shooting up. But, I drive somewhere, and it's apparent that everything is not okay. Masks, disinfectanct gel at the entrance to every store, bags for gloves at the supermarket that make you want to just ball them up and throw them out for all the good they do, bunching up around your fingers. People are still sick from this virus, and a few are still dying every day. This is not over.
People are impatient. If it was always difficult to learn to wait for good things, it's even more difficult now. Many of us have grown accustomed to instant gratification in this modern age, that we also want nature to instantly gratify us by getting rid of this virus. But nature doesn't work that way. We try to rush it at our peril.
Life continues.
I think the population can be split into two camps. One, the afeared of catching it, that comply with wearing a mask, washing hands, and keeping their distance. The other, that sees that the danger has passed, and that life is meant to be enjoyed, even if in the middle of a close crowd of friends.
I belong to the first camp. It's not that I don't believe life should be enjoyed, but that I want to be able to enjoy it without lying awake at night, wondering if I'm going to get sick from attending a birthday party with fifty people. Or, from going out one evening and sitting almost shoulder to shoulder with someone from the next table, because the owner of the establishment decided that recuperating lost income was more important than providing social distancing.
It's not so much a question of age, either. My daughter and her friends are cautious when they go out. Last night, they went to a bar run by a friend that was holding an inauguration night. The three wore masks, and when they got there, saw there was a line waiting to go inside. But those in line weren't wearing masks, and were standing so close, they were invading each other's personal space. Inside wasn't much better, either. So, they decided to forego the inauguration, and went to sit outside at a terrace with other friends. None of the others were wearing masks, but they weren't sitting close together, either.
My husband wears a mask outside the house. Before going in to work he stops to take his morning coffee at a nearby bar. The others who are in there are mature men, also on their way to work. None wear masks nor try to keep their distance from each other. It angers my husband that most of his acquaintances act as if everything were fine again.
It does seem like everything is as it always was, sometimes. I step out of the house, and it's June with its silky air and the smells of green things shooting up. But, I drive somewhere, and it's apparent that everything is not okay. Masks, disinfectanct gel at the entrance to every store, bags for gloves at the supermarket that make you want to just ball them up and throw them out for all the good they do, bunching up around your fingers. People are still sick from this virus, and a few are still dying every day. This is not over.
People are impatient. If it was always difficult to learn to wait for good things, it's even more difficult now. Many of us have grown accustomed to instant gratification in this modern age, that we also want nature to instantly gratify us by getting rid of this virus. But nature doesn't work that way. We try to rush it at our peril.
Life continues.
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