Dear Yuri,
I look out the room of my bedroom window, sunlight slipping in like gold, and peer upon the gardens of my neighbours. I’ve always glanced on them with a half-hearted annoyance; they are the reason I paranoidly shut my blinds on a night, terrified they can see into my inner sanctuary. Ever since I accidentally made eye contact with one of them, her eyes wide with shock, hair frazzled just at the sight of my snooping, I’ve almost been too scared to even observe the sky without another fatal mishap.
My perspective has shifted during this lockdown however. I risk a glimpse across our dividing fences and watch the scenes unfold right before me, a free theatre play. I study their games of tennis, their laughter, their lounging under the same, communal bask of warmth that has been beating over our heads these past few weeks. Their discontent at our family’s loud music is equally noticeable, and suddenly I’m sympathising with these people I’ve never even given a thought about-I remember the parties the folks next to us used to throw, the pounding headaches and sleepless nights spent. Suddenly I’m seeing these distant figures across the street as humans, and it’s liberating.
At the moment, there’s a certain desire to find blame for the crime of corona. Everyone wants to pin the responsibility down on someone, catch the culprit red-handed, turn on family and friends and everyone who might be spreading the dreaded disease. It’s easy to believe that the enemy is the nightmare neighbour next door. But it’s not. It never was.
See you soon Yuri.