Diary Of A Lockdown: Days Fifty-One To Fifty-Five

29/04/2020 - 03/05/2020

DAYS FIFTY-ONE TO FIFTY-FIVE - 29/04/2020 - 03/05/2020

Well, it’s not quite the end of an era, but it’s still something I couldn’t have imagined I’d be writing, just a few weeks ago: today marks the last day in Italy’s ‘Phase One’ of lockdown. From tomorrow, 4th May 2020, some restrictions will be lifted for the first time, as I’ve mentioned before: being able to visit family members, exercise outdoors, visit parks and purchase take-away items from some bars and restaurants. Whatever happens, we are about to witness some kind of shift in the routine we have established over the last two months. I’ve been inundated with messages from friends and family abroad about this, heralding the “good news”. Except, I can’t help but feel it isn’t good news: there’s a whole host of other emotions clouding my ability to celebrate ‘the coming of the second phase’.

You might ask, as I have frequently asked myself in recent days, why that is. Why can’t I just be grateful for this small improvement, and feel glad that things are looking up? Bear with me, as I try to both understand and explain it. 

Firstly, there’s the trepidation I feel at the prospect of going outside for a walk for the first time in eight weeks. Despite not being overly thrilled with my current way of life, it is, for better or worse, the one I have become accustomed to and perhaps it has even inadvertently become a kind of comfort zone out of which I will have to force myself, like throwing back the covers on a cold morning to get out of bed. Of course I know that this is somewhat contradictory and perverse, considering that I have spent the last fifty-five days longing to be outdoors and drink in a view that isn’t the one from my kitchen window (charming as it is). I also know that when I put on my trainers and set off on my walk tomorrow, it will be intense and visceral; I’ll look at the city through the eyes of a child, as if I were seeing it all for the first time, no longer taking for granted the giant umbrella pines towering overhead, or the pastel-coloured buildings with their ornate door-frames and balconies dripping with wisteria. But...so will everyone else. I wonder if I should wait a few days, for everyone to get it out of their system and the novelty to wear off- but I worry that this privilege will be taken away again as quickly as it was granted. 

How will we all keep our distance? What if people don’t heed the warnings, or wear a mask? What if I will end up contributing to a second wave, or catching the virus myself? Is it worth the risk? I suspect it’s normal to feel some degree of anticipation towards something that has been so forbidden for so long, and in fact it seems I am not the only one feeling so reluctant to jump for joy. The Guardian reports that, as we enter Phase Two in Italy, “few will find reason to celebrate”, adding that “the mood is sombre, not only because the virus, despite its slackening, continues to claim lives, but also because people are on edge after having been forced to stay at home for more than 50 days”.  

Aside from this understandable anxiety of a set-back, there’s a quieter voice in the back of my head that takes on the character of a pouty teenager: “What’s the point anyway?”, it huffs. “If I can’t work, I can’t earn money, I can’t see my friends, I can’t do the things I love like travelling and hosting dinner parties and going away for long weekends, then...what is the point of going outside for a bloody walk? Surely I should just stay in and sit in the dark, wallowing in self-pity? I won’t be able to work for at least six months, I won’t be able to go home to Scotland, I won’t be able to go anywhere or do anything, so what is there to be so damn happy about anyway?”. I know, I know: first world problems. Mercifully, these selfish moods only last a few minutes and I am able to shake myself out of them, reminding myself how lucky I am to be able to go out at all, that I am healthy and have a roof over my head and should be thankful for just being alive. Then of course, I feel overwhelmed with guilt for being such an ungrateful, spoilt brat. But the sense of perspective is useful; things will look up eventually, I won’t be unemployed forever, one day the band will strike up again and I’ll be sitting around a table with loved ones - even if I can’t picture it yet. So going for a walk may be a tiny victory, but it is one for which I should be - and this time tomorrow no doubt will be - immensely grateful. 

The hardest emotion to put my finger on, is the feeling that we are slowly, irreversibly creeping towards a future which is new and unknown, and I have no idea what it even looks like. Things can’t go back to the way they were, for so many reasons: on a purely practical level, I for one won’t be able to perform in live music venues for many months to come, due to restrictions, and my job as a tour guide will be pretty much redundant until international travel makes a come-back (experts predict this may happen in spring 2021 or even later); personally, however, this period of reflection and isolation has made me face up to the fact that I was seeking a change, anyway - pandemic or no pandemic. I won’t bore you with the details, but I have had to admit that I have been feeling dissatisfied lately, and have been clutching at straws to distract myself from those old itchy feet. What this means I’m not yet sure, but I can no longer ignore the fact that tomorrow’s new phase is edging me one step closer to having to make some big decisions - and that, quite frankly, is daunting. Will I leave Rome and move elsewhere? Do I need to go back to university or change my career? Am I pursuing the wrong passions, in the wrong place, at the wrong time? When everything else has been stripped back, and we have nothing but time on our hands and four walls to stare at, we are forced to look inwards and perhaps face some of the things we have been brushing under the carpet, for goodness-knows-how-long. I am sure I, like many others, will look back one day and wonder, if Coronavirus had not come along, whether I would have been bold or honest enough to make that change.

I am under no illusions that this rollercoaster of emotions is unique to me. One of the most common phrases that comes up time and again in exchanges with friends here is “You’re not the only one!”, or words to that effect. According to Sky News correspondent Sally Lockwood, “almost everyone” she interviewed in Italy on the matter “was dealing with their own personal struggle.” She cites an O.A.P who burst into tears upon being asked, simply, “How are you?”, a taxi driver whose savings were not likely to last the month, and the tragic suicides of Italian healthcare workers who were under extreme pressure, fighting the virus. 

Lockwood reminds us that Italy “had to process the shock of being the first country in Europe ordered to stay home”, and that it quickly “became a country of unwelcome firsts:

The first to show its hospitals overrun with the sick.

The first to call in the army to transport the dead.

The first to launch a criminal investigation into care home deaths.”

According to her article, Italy’s death toll from the past 10 weeks now stands at over 28,000. It is no surprise then, hope has “faded”, as “Italians realise that normality as they knew will not resume anytime soon… 

But it’s hard to imagine life as before”, she says. “The national trauma of the first outbreak is perhaps still too raw.” 

I hope that this may provide some insight into our tepid collective response to the “good news” that a few restrictions are being eased, tomorrow. But just so we (I) don’t lose perspective and slide into those Sunday evening blues, here’s a fitting, uplifting song by a band that comes from my native Hebrides, reminding me that above all else, I am simply lucky to be alive. It’ll be the first song on my playlist as I venture outdoors tomorrow. 

Alive (by Angus MacPhail)

We may not see tomorrow but today the earth is ours
Unknown the new horizons in the hands of higher powers
But now we bear the blessings when the golden stars align -
Feel the grace and hold the wonder you're alive.

You're alive, you're alive and the stars are on your side
Feel the wonder of the world, you are alive!

For the days, for the days when the world's in your hand
The silver dawn is waiting. On the hallowed ground you stand.
When all the gods are giving and Polaris is your guide,
Feel the glory of the gift you are alive.

When fortune gives the glow of peace and plenty on our way
Surrender to the ocean and ride the seventh wave.
We sacrifice our solace in the struggle to survive
But now you're on the wave and you're alive.

Our battles with the tempest in the dark unyielding skies
The giver of our wisdom when from the fight we rise
Hold your dreams and passion and again you'll find your fire
When the storm passes by you'll be alive.

It's a warm night in summer on your island of the grain.
The sea reflects the moonlight and the magic comes again.
There's music in the air and a promise on the tide
Feel the bliss wash your being, you're alive.