Dear Yuri,
We’re under siege at home, locked down for weeks now, because #StayingHomeIsCaymanKind.
Opening doors and windows to let the outside in brings a hot and sticky breeze. Citronella burns and insects buzz in the darkness, behind the screens. The stars are bright here.
The dog snoozes, always alert to potential threat: the fridge, a distant bark, a neighbour’s zoom date. Our daytime Government-approved exercise is hers too: walkies and stick. We can shop too, by surname, our masks rendering the ID check somewhat pointless.
By night, we are under curfew. The police helicopter drones overhead and patrol cars turn in our cul-de-sac, lighting the night blue and red. Making sure we are safe. There is nowhere to go: bars, restaurants, cinemas, gyms, beaches – all closed. We cannot lawfully gather: three is a crowd on this island.
A natural procrastinator, there is, unsurprisingly, as much to distract me as ever. Productivity at the dining-table office remains low, and countless opportunities for self-improvement are being missed. The 24/7 coverage was initially compulsive, but that phase has passed.
I dip in and out now, overwhelmed by the incessant flow of science and data and death, angered by the leaders of the free world, and intolerant of those peddling conspiracy. We’ve relinquished our freedoms, with varying resistance, and the myth of certainty has been exposed. The collective grief goes beyond the painful loss of each individual life.
It’s at night that I worry: I’m an ocean away from family, marooned inside a closed border, no immediate way home. So far we’ve been lucky, but what if…?
By day, I remember gratitude: the skies are clearer, the birds come closer, and sing louder. I have enough; I am safe; I feel love.