A Letter to My Grandchild

Dear future grandchild,

Perhaps when you are able to read this letter, I am already in heaven or the transitional place in between heaven and earth (I hope so--mind you, I believe in the Afterlife, and I hope your generation still does).

I am writing this letter to tell you of a particular and peculiar time during the course of my life.

The year was 2020. I was almost 34 by then, with two kids, yeah... your dad and your auntie (or, your mom and your uncle--depending on to which of my children you belong, dear). 

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2020 was a pretty number. It read pretty, at least. But boy.... what that year brought to us! A calamity will sound a bit condescending. 

That year, a virus went spiraling down the abysmal well of torture--psychologically and physically. 

They said it started in a place called Wuhan in China and it spread uncontrollably all over the world. In some countries, the virus took thousands of death tolls. Italy was the first country to succumb to the virus. Even the haughty Uncle Sam had to admit a defeat by the virus. 

Where I was living, Australia, the virus was shipped through luxury cruises. 

At first, the virus only successfully attacked the elderly, but as time went by younger people and even children also fell victims.

What was really torturing psychologically was that the virus made us prisoners in our own home. During its peak, that is its massive infections, we were made prisoners of our own homes.  We were not even allowed to go out unless it was to do shopping or going to work or to the hospital--those basic necessities.  Grandparents were not allowed to visit their grandchildren, and vice versa.  Friends and families were not allowed to gather for any reason, including death and marriage.  Visitors to the funeral were at once limited to only five to ten at the maximum.  Those who had their wedding during this pandemic had to be satisfied to only have five people at most attending their ceremony and party--if they had even the mood to hold it. 

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Public places were closed. Schools, parks, beaches, churches, mosques, malls, restaurants, cinemas--none was allowed to open to prevent people from creating crowds that could escalate the spread of the virus. 

So, yeah, we were literally prisoners in our own home. Police would even check on us and fine us if we were caught violating the so-called self-isolation or quarantine. 

The reason for such a strict measure was because the virus was believed to be transmitted from human to human, through the droplets of their sneezes and coughs.  So, physical distancing was a must.  Wearing a mask was also compulsory in many places. 

It was not only psychological toll, the virus also ruined the economy.

With many public places closed, millions of people all over the world lost their jobs. Businesses collapsed, especially airlines, tourism, and entertainment.

We were prisoners of our own home, so to travel abroad was out of the question. Even at once, we lived in a curfew. We had to be staying at home at night. PERIOD. If you were caught driving aimlessly at night around the city, you will be caught and fined by the police. Well, pubs, malls, and all public places were closed anyway, so where would you go? You were also not allowed to visit even your dearest ones if you lived in separate houses!

There was also travel restriction within the city. At one point you were not allowed to travel more than 30 kilo meters away from where you lived! 

Well, I've been talking a lot about the travel restrictions and curfews because these two have caused a chain of unprecedented domino effects. 

It was a totally queer time, to say the least. 

When we thought we had won the battle against the virus, it went back in the so-called second wave in many places, causing the restrictions to be put again in place.

I was a bit lucky I guess because where I was living, Tasmania, the virus did not come back. 

The State Premier closed the borders and remained strict with his travel restrictions. We were safe. We could roam around the streets. Public places were open. Many people returned to their jobs.

However, still, many of us were prisoners. Prisoners of our own land because we could not get out. Well, we could, but the process was too complicated, and it was not worth doing. 

There, my dear grandchild. That is my story of 2020. 

I truly and sincerely hope that this will remain a history that will not be replayed in your time and the next years to come.

Yours sincerely,

Your Grandmother

Tasmania, 28 August 2020