Written in April 2020.
Just 3 months ago, I toured snowy Hokkaido tasting their bounty of kombu, oysters, and uni.
Just 2 months ago, I played Mahjong with my neighbors and won three rounds in a row.
Just 1 month ago, our Governor called for a statewide shutdown. And the stock market crashed.
How the world has changed. One moment we celebrated the first day of 2020 with Oshechi ryori. Cheers to a new decade of hope and optimism! Two months later, the world imploded with a deadly pandemic. Everything about my life has been postponed, canceled, or shut down. My grandnephew’s first birthday. My nephew’s June wedding. My niece’s baby shower. My monthly book club meetings. Calligraphy classes. The local Haru Matsuri event. The library. The bookstores. The gym. My Mahjong sessions. The morning hikes. My favorite restaurants. Planning for our next trip.
New words and phrases I have learned over the last few months: self-quarantine, shelter-in-place, social distancing, self-isolate, stay-at-home, curbside service, and Covid-19.
I am finding that I worry more now. I am over 65 and have asthma which places me in the high-risk group. Though I feel perfectly healthy, it makes me feel a bit nervous. I worry for my elderly Nisei aunts and uncles who are in their 90s. I worry for my nephew who is a doctor at NYU. I worry that they will run out of ventilators and hospital gowns. I worry for my neighbor who was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer just a few weeks ago. I worry about my friends and family everywhere, but particularly those in Japan. I worry about the small mom-pop restaurants I’ve come to love so much. Most of all, I worry the world may never be the same again.
The pandemic has brought out the ugliness in people. The most outrageous examples are the racist incidents against Asians because our President insists on calling Covid-19, the Chinese virus. Ignorance breeds hatred. On the opposite spectrum, you have the selfless medical professionals, including those who came out of retirement, dealing with the onslaught of sick patients all over America. These doctors and nurses are sacrificing their own lives to save others. I pray for their safety and am forever grateful to their service.
But behind every dark cloud, there’s a silver lining. Everyone is more sanitation-conscious these days. I hope this good behavior continues even after the pandemic. Fewer cars on the road translate to fewer carbon emissions. Struggling restaurants generously donate bento meals to local hospital workers. Friends tell me the waters off the coast of California sparkle now. I read the dolphins are back in the canals of Venice. Wildlife is freely roaming the national parks. The shutdown has given nature a long-needed break.
Every evening, when I stand in front of our Butsudan, I tell my Dad, “You won’t believe what the world is going through now. It’s so crazy.” He responds, “Well, glad I’m not there. Gamanshinasai. As with everything else, this too shall pass.”
