So, here we are again.
Nearly a year since we exited our 50 days of lockdown 2020, cutely referred to as the "circuitbreaker" or whimsically known as CB2020 - a rude Hokkien term, but that was in an earlier post. We are told we are still in Phase 2, in a state of heightened alert. However, looking at what we can and cannot do, it feels remarkably like it did all those months ago on 7th April 2020. Was it really only 13 months ago?
The neighbours are holding their eve of lockdown2 parties, as if it is the end of the world - again.
Aunties are cramming shopping trollies with toilet roll, bags of rice and cooking oil only to have to stand in non-socially distanced queues at the check out.
Everyone is running around like it is their last day of freedom.
I suppose, technically it is, if you consider freedom as a bunch of loud women huddled together for the sake of exercise, or bros digging their nose and slurping their soupy noodles as they sit close together on those seats marked with an X at the corner coffee shop.
Did no one see this coming?
Have so many of us become complacent that now we have a vaccine, local transmission rates have been low for so long, and other news has crept into our daily digest, we think we are out of the woods?
I can't help myself. I suppose being the only one in the family who cannot take the current available vaccines, I am more aware and vigilant about what is going on in the world, and, as the BBC stated, in "little Singapore". It was not so much that the locally tra
nsmitted cases were steadily rising and then jumped over the past month or so, but rather that more clusters were emerging, along with those wildcard unlinked cases.
The new B.1.617.2 mutation has gone into mega stealth mode. To the point that over the past couple of weeks, when I have ventured out to run errands, other than seeing my tutoring students, I have developed the habit of leaning to one side like a character from The Matrix in fear of coming into contact with anyone or anything. I am not normally paranoid, but anyone with a sniffle or clearing their throat, made me jump. Even the cat falling through the stairs for the third time made me jump, thinking the house was falling down.
I developed a sixth sense. Or maybe it was merely a heightened bout of kiasu-ism. Over the last ten days, I made sure that I tied up loose ends. We sorted out the tracetogether tokens for the family (or rather my partner did); I stocked up on contact lenses before I ran out; I got my glasses repaired; I arranged household repairs, just incase no tradesmen were allowed; I bought plant pots and soil to keep me occupied in case of too much time on my hands, and I purchased a new bed for my son. If there was no stock of an item and I was told to come back, I politely thanked them, declined, and explained I didn't want to come back. I received some strange looks. Yet, I felt a storm brewing, so not wanting any broken teacups, I let them think I was a little strange.
And then, the announcement came, just as I was messaging my students and parents to inform them that regretfully, I was moving lessons back on line this weekend. I was in a shopping mall, distancing myself from everyone while I waited for my glasses to be repaired.
That regret, turned from, I-am-doing-it-to-protect-you-and-me, to: I have no choice. I feared my students would cry "not again!" Which, of course some of them did.
Nevertheless, I find myself in awe of the dedication of the vast majority, young and old, who want to continue studying, enquiring and learning. I realise, for some, it is impossible to continue, but for the others, it is an opportunity to once again experience learning a little differently.
I feel very blessed to be in that position, while for so many, life may descend, once again, into the unknown of strict rules and behaviour. And, who knows, supermarket runs at 4am in the morning, because there will be no-one else around.