My wife and I began to suspect it was all for real on the third or fourth day after the novel coronavirus became a conspicuous element of the news cycle. We have long since admitted to ourselves that yes it’s happening, and yes it’s big.
Through our apartment’s front windows, we can see a serious chunk of Beijing’s Central Business District. Around the time of the international new year, the imposing skyscrapers – old and new – lit up in a display of confident bombast, sending out celebratory beams of light into the sky and into each other.
Yet all this flickered out, instead of erupting into true dazzle for the lunar new year, as should have been the case. The optimistic and bustling futurism of the Beijing I got quite used to has now been replaced by a more subdued version.
Four days ago, it was time to collect medical supplies from the hospital for my wife’s elderly parents. Preparing for the journey was quite something. As I watched my wife carefully tuck away her hair under a hat, put on two masks, one on top of the other, place ski goggles over her eyes, then pull on disposable gloves, and then a plastic raincoat on top of her winter clothes, I felt like we had become characters in a film.
Inside the hospital, a new State insurance healthcare rule – reflecting the realities of the current epidemic – allowed the taking of a huge packet of three-month supplies, as opposed to the usual one-month limit.
Her parents reside within a gated community, which has now begun filtering incoming people very carefully, with proof of stated business and thermometer readings. Periodically we come over to bring in some groceries, take out the garbage, and so on.
We only go shopping about once every 10 days now, but when we do, we shop for two families, and for twice as long. And it’s not just us. People’s supermarket carts are fuller than before. The lines at the cashiers have quadrupled in length. Everyone is wearing masks.
At home we’ve assigned a cupboard for canned foods. The store shelves are still stocked well enough, but I sleep better at night knowing I’ve got some tuna, spam and beans tucked away.
Although we’re both healthy, and my wife’s parents also keep their various conditions under control, still we fret about the implication of overstretched medical resources. We know that our much-loved Peking Union Medical Hospital College has alone sent hundreds of doctors to Wuhan to help fight the epidemic. We know that all over China the priorities have changed, for now. Definitely not a good time to bother the health system with stuff that can wait.
Over the last two years my wife and I have become members of a close-knit community of half a dozen young families living in our building. We had planned to meet up and make merry just after the lunar new year, but now we’ve all forsaken physical contact. Even those of us who are next door to each other.
Yet we continue communicating via WeChat, sharing jokes, anecdotes, encouragements.
In the past we all used to give each other tasty snacks and various small gifts. Now it’s masks. Just recently one of the neighbors – a young film sound engineer – shared his supply of face masks with us all, after managing to find a batch. He left packets in front of our doors.
Of course my wife and I are worried. This is only natural. We discuss news updates every morning and every evening. On the internet, the numbers can be quite frightening. Numbers? Human fates.
Then there’s the economic dimension. Many businesses will lose money, and we also will likely lose money (We’ve certainly cut consumer expenses down to essentials for now).
Yet, with people mostly staying at home, this health crisis is also a time to reconnect with family and with yourself. I, for example, am now catching up on books which I’ve been waiting to read or re-read, and films I’ve been waiting to watch or re-watch.
But that’s not all. My wife grabbed with both hands the opportunity to get me to pull my weight around the house, and now I have become acquainted with the arcane arts of the vacuum cleaner, and also the ancient cryptic wisdom of dishwashing.
From our kitchen, I can see people in the windows of the apartment building just across the way. One of the tiny figures is jumping up and down, waving its arms, doing aerobics to keep fit while cooped up at home. Good idea. Time we started doing something similar, to keep the blood flowing.
Our initial optimistic hope that in a week or two everything would be back to normal is obviously not going to happen.
But we’re keeping calm and carrying on.
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