Sleepless in Bukid-non
RANT HAS BECOME MY DAILY BREAD during this lockdown, which I had hoped would be lifted in Luzon as scheduled – on April 13. There was nothing I could do about it but count the days until this is over and resume whatever tasks I had in mind, which I would accomplish before returning to Vienna on April 30.
And then, Phil. President Duterte, upon the recommendation of his cheerleaders, decided to extend the lockdown for another 20 days. It was a shock, a blow to the many tasks I had started and put on hold due to the lockdown. The uncertainty and sleepless nights have become a nightmare, but there’s nothing I can do but respect the decision. But 20 days? It’s a stretch. Why not give us a reasonable timeframe, such as six months or even one year, to assess how we fare with the COVID issue and then decide whether lockdown is still necessary? If they don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel during this timeframe, consider another extension. However, prepare us for this—no more last-minute announcements when we have to drop everything at your command due to the situation, and you must act quickly. Twenty days, my foot! Tell us now—no need to keep us hanging in midair.
The national government is known for making swift decisions, as seen in the imposition of the enhanced community lockdown in Luzon, which took effect immediately after its announcement on primetime TV. Everyone was caught flatfooted. I’m not sure about the others, but I panicked. They said it would be over in one month. The doubting Thomas in me hoped against hope. One month? Really? And then the 20-day extension, another snap decision. Please give me time to prepare for what’s to come. Enough of your snap decisions!
You see, I scrapped my bucket list as they announced the lockdown. Nevertheless, I am determined to bring to completion whatever I had started once this is over; never mind if the time is tight until I bid farewell again to family and friends in the Philippines. This flight, BTW, has been canceled and rebooked for the nth time because of this lockdown. I’d see to it that everything worked on schedule: Tasks like my house annex construction which began in January and hoped to make habitable by April and then throw a party for family and friends after the obligatory house-blessing; dental appointments; pasalubongs to buy; take to the tailor that wardrobe I brought home for alteration (which I’m afraid will never happen because I keep on delaying for another day, enough time to do it. You see, procrastination rules my life); pick up that Barong Tagalog I had tailor-made for me by—take note—a posh boutique in Manila at Shang Mall, a pineapple fiber barong which I should have worn for a wedding interrupted—someone else’s wedding, not mine. Or maybe mine someday, why not? Hope springs eternal.
Hearing my daily rants, Nida, a friend and mother of another godson in Vienna, told me to come back soon. Dami mong problema dyan (heaps of problems, you have there), you could have joined the Austrian Foreign Ministry’s repatriation program for Austrians stranded in the Philippines, she said. I was not stranded here, though; I have a home here, but the first couple of weeks during lockdown were a disaster. The rules were confusing and changed daily, depending on who was enforcing them.
Consider the Quarantine Checkpoints. One day, the barangay council was in control of the checkpoints, and the next day, it was the police, and then the barangay council again. The rules were like shifting sand, confusing and changing daily, depending on who was enforcing them. There was a time when the wife of my gardener was on her way to town to get money from the ATM, then to her doctor’s clinic for consultation. The police stopped her, and they told her to go home. She claimed that it was a sundalo (a soldier) because of his camouflage outfit. The sundalo told her it was not her palengke (market) day. She knew it was not her market day, but this had nothing to do with her going to town. “It does not matter,” the police told her. She has to have a doctor’s prescription with her. She has yet to get one, hello? Do it on your market days, the soldier insisted. Again, hello? Either the officer was dumb, or the instructions were vague.
Those who set the rules in my hometown must ensure that they are clear and easily understood. This rule regarding assigned market days is a classic example of the phrase ‘lost in translation.’ We need better communication and planning to navigate these challenging times.
People from our barangay (village) have Tuesdays and Fridays as their market days. Some law enforcers or anyone in military uniform may interpret this rule as also allowing days when you are permitted in the town center. Do everything on your market day, like what the policeman manning the Checkpoint told the wife of my gardener. Lucky are those who live in the town proper, I said to myself. They can go to the market on the assigned days and to the only supermarket we have on any day. The supermarket is situated in the heart of town, alongside medical clinics, bakeries, pharmacies, banks, and ATMs. Perhaps I should consider relocating to an area where everything is accessible.
I love it here, though, even during these difficult times. But…