Almost all the writing I’ve done lately has been to do with cancellation and refund policies. If the government closes the borders, what happens to my train ticket? If the government closes my school, what happens to my English test?
Or I’ve been writing to check that people are okay. But surprisingly little of this. Despite the pandemic dominating much of every conversations I have, I’m unwilling to consider the fact that loved ones may be at risk. “It’s only the old and the sick who die”, I think to protect myself. As if they don’t matter, suffer, love and are loved just like my family.
It shows me how selfish I am, we are, as a person and a species. The mass-mobilisation of money, resources, science and technology to combat a global crisis shows that it’s possible. We can come together to fight off threats to our existence. But despite being possible, nothing is being done to protect our planet.
Perhaps the reluctance to commit to personal, national and global change is similar to my reluctance to admit there is a threat to my way of life, and to life itself. Perhaps we all want to continue living in a bubble of belief that everything is fine, and will be fine whatever I do. We all self-isolate from threats to our existence, quarantine ourselves from uncomfortable realities behind our screens and personalised algorithms.
It’s scary, but also comforting that nature deals with threats to its existence too. And at the moment, we are that threat.
Which is giving me a whole lot more to write about.