Contract received

Today I received my voluntary severance contract to review and sign. It immediately threw up some questions that I am pursuing, although I have been asked to return by Friday, which is in 3 days time.

It also made the fact that I am leaving my company all the more real. After 11 years at one place I have been feeling quite institutionalised. That said, there are plenty of jobs around right now. The economy is strong, or at least it was. And recruiters are telling me that they are carrying out virtual interviews and onboarding via webex. I am optimistic.

But the state of the world just gets worse and worse. Today a 13 year old boy died, with no underlying medical conditions. This disease seems to be going for younger and younger people. This was never something that I thought I would live through. The Excel Centre, where I might have gone in May for the annual Adobe Summit conference is now transformed into a hospital. There are field hospitals being erected in Central Park. The next two weeks are going to be hideous.

So tonight I applied for more jobs on LinkedIn. It's a fairly easy process. And this morning I re-worked my CV. Just as hundreds of people are dying, young as well as old.

The blue apex

It's quiet outside. An occasional car passes by, perhaps a dog walker or a jogger. I can see the Shard from my living room window, with its blue lighted apex, shining like a beacon of hope that we will all get through this difficult period.

It's easy to sound a bit dramatic when writing about what is happening right now. Cocooned inside my flat, I have only the views from my window, or the sounds from the street below, to convince me that there is life still going on. Like the opening scene of a horror film, where the people have all vanished, except for a few shell-shocked individuals roaming about.

In addition to that it is easy for my imagination to go wild. I listen to the news and the daily mortality rates are starting to reach surreal proportions. We've seen it happen in Italy or course, and now Spain. But surely not in Great Britain, where everything is great, where we make great decisions to protect our great people.

We are all deluded. It is going to hit us, hard. We are following the trajectory of Spain and Italy, only a couple of weeks behind. In a short time we will be war-weary as if it really is the Blitz, with bombs raining down on us from this invisible enemy.

Today in the online news I read about a 108 year old, who had survived the Spanish flu, only to succumb to this new disease. I often think of my own grandma who was struck down in 1918, lost all her hair, but yet survived. It really is a game of chance whether it takes us or not. A game that we can cheat though by implementing social distancing and washing our hands. But still a game. A horrid game.

So let's keep looking up at the blue apex, that gives us hope, that celebrates our NHS. It might let us forget how we never bought enough ventilators, or that we stopped testing in the community, or that we refused to participate in the EU procurement scheme. Let's keep living our lives via the spirit of the Blitz.

Self-isolation - Day 18

I would consider myself a loner; there is only so much of people that I can tolerate. This is something that has crept up on me over the years, although I recall at school feeling the same. Being alone during the pandemic has allowed me to reflect on what exactly this means.

At school I would find conversations with the other kids boring. There was a small group that I hung out with, but more often than not I would drift away and walk the corridors during break or lunchtime. That was okay for a while but it soon felt awkward to me. I began to dread my free time, which wasn't really free to me, it was as if I was condemned to socialise and interact. Generally I drifted into my own thoughts as a means of escape.

This social inadequacy followed me into adulthood. In the sixth form I would do the same, having nothing to say to the other students. At university, I would spend a lot of time in my room, social distancing myself.

I have been social distancing all my life. This is not something new to me.

In later years I value my alone time. At work I am forced to interact, but there is usually a topic of a professional nature that I am comfortable discussing. Ask me something about my private life and I seize up. On the phone the other day, when the IT director called me to discuss my voluntary severance, he asked me what I consider to be personal questions: did I live alone, did I live in a flat or a house? I reluctantly answered but it made my skin crawl.

Opening up has always been a problem for me. I think it is definitely related to my social distancing strategies, and also to the gay thing. These days the young define themselves without any qualms. It is not something that comes naturally to me. For years I have had to hide who I am, and all of a sudden people seem annoyed that I wouldn't reveal to them who I sleep with?

I have built up a hard crust over my skin throughout the years, and I am not ready to shed it now. I know it is good to talk and share feelings, blah blah blah. That's fine. I'll share them by writing them down. I just don't want a conversation about it. I'd rather drift away along the corridors in my mind, considering all the different outcomes and permutations of my next steps.

That said, on Day 18 of my confinement, I am feeling rather strange. I have spoken to R every day on the phone, and I dabble in social media (although keep a safe distance). But actually there is something about having a living, breathing person in the same room that I am missing. I miss R of course, and talking to him is not enough. I wish we were isolating together, as he is my soulmate. That is not a question of being social, it is more than that.

But anyone else, I am weary to let them in. At some point, beyond all this in the future, I will need to venture outside and interact. For now I will endure my own company for a few more weeks.

Reflections on the past

Whilst this was now over 25 years ago, it is one of my greatest memories as I was starting out on my career. Fresh from leaving university, during the recession, in 1993-4, I took this opportunity. To go from the relative comfort of student accommodation and surroundings into a bleak world of poverty, disease and isolation in Ethiopia,  this was certainly an eye-opener for me.

I was based initially in Addis Ababa, at the Mother Theresa home. The reason was because upon contacting the Sisters of Charity in Queens Park, London, they simply stated that the majority of volunteers flocked to Calcutta to work alongside Mother Theresa herself, and that equally needful, perhaps less famous locations, such as in Ethiopia were desperate for help.

Addis was a raw place, where makeshift accommodation for the poor, sprawled under the shadow of a few luxury hotels. The home was located just near to Sidist Kilo, which I remember there being lots of steps where budding runners would exercise in the early mornings. The pale blue metal gate opened as our taxi arrived from the airport and we were welcomed by the sisters.

Children, lots of orphans, laughing and joking on the inside of the gate, whilst ragged children begging for money, remained on the outside. These were orphans from the recent Eritrean war, whose parents had been murdered. Then the patients in the wards, sick and dying. Literally dying, some from hunger, some from disease. Real people, with personal stories.

My role included laundry duty and helping feed the patients. Laundry was hard. No washing machines, just scrubbing, thrashing and squeezing dry the blue or white cotton sheets. The catering consisted usually of spooning out a very hot meat dish with a sour flat bread (injera). There was also a large bag of donated cakes and biscuits, provided by Ethiopian Airlines. The patients, those who could walk, queued up, always happy and smiling, some cheeky, to receive their meal. Over the weeks I got to know these people, and they became my friends.

Another time, I woke to find hundreds of villagers (in Dire Dawa) queuing up with tin cans to receive cooking oil, some so poor that they only had plastic bags and had to be turned away. I dispensed the oil from the drum with a tin can all day whilst my arm slowly cooked under the sun.

These are incredible memories for me, not from a white privilege point of view, but because of the people I met, the community behind the blue entrance gate, beautiful people, proud and elegant, displaced by terrible circumstances. And the locals on the outside of the gate, the cheeky ragged boys by the snack hut, the lady selling tomatoes on a plastic sheet on the ground., my school teacher friend. My locals.

As we endure the current pandemic situation, where our freedoms that we took for granted barely a few weeks ago have disappeared rapidly, I see myself drawing parallels with those people that I met in Ethiopia so many years ago. I think we will come out of this a better world, but it does us no harm to reflect on those who have always been deprived of our luxuries and western standards, and realise just how lucky we are.

Lockdown

Finally the Government showed some degree of leadership last night and announced a sort of lockdown. Johnson, looking nervous, sheepish almost, in what seems to be the most watched television event in British TV history, declared that the British public shall not venture from their homes, save a few exceptions.

I'm glad. The scenes of tourists flouting the advice last weekend was a stark reminder just how ill-informed the British public can be. We saw it with Brexit and now we see it with Covid-19. And this sense of British exceptionalism, that this thing is just the other, over there, abroad, where it won't hurt us, won't possible impact our daily lives, because we are exceptional. It's just bullshit.

As for Farage, he just seeks any opportunity to dig the knife in. He is a nasty piece of work, I think. The funny thing is that he was insisting that the Governement was inept at not closing the borders, therefore clarifying what we all knew before - that the British people do have autonomy from Europe, if we wish to use it. It didn't need Brexit to illustrate that. It just needed a virus...

For me, I'm about to enter my 3rd week of isolation, save a trip to the pharmacy and to the hospital for my monthly blood tests. Thankfully I have been accumulating food since last year, in what was preparation for a hard Brexit (which still might come). I have lots and lots of pasta and baked beans. What I am lacking is fresh produce. My grocery delivery tonight should help rectify that, although I received an email this morning to advise that I would not be receiving any flour, olive oil or wine. No home baking for me. I'll have two loaves of bread until next time. I'm trying to get on the "vulnerable" list at Sainsbury's so that I can have a slot for my next delivery. Let's see how that goes.

Work might end for me this week. I have put in for voluntary redundancy. I hope it was the right decision - I can survive quite cheaply if I need to, which is what I will be doing for at least the next few months.

I just hope that this country has made it's moves in time, and that we don't reach the critical stage that Spain and Italy find themselves in. What a humanitarian disaster.

Of course that would never happen to the exceptional British...

Self-isolation: Day 9

The world is changing rapidly. It was never a stable place to be complacent in, but the last couple of weeks have shown me just how you cannot take anything for granted anymore.

I've now been in isolation for nine days, and it's not been too bad, in all honesty. For someone like me at least. For someone who craves solitude. For someone who hates crowds, small talk, talking in large groups. For someone who wants to escape from their job. For someone who might want sometimes to escape from life.

In fact I have always been like this. In the early years it was accompanied by a deep feeling of depression and self-loathing. These days it just comes naturally. Solitude. Peace. Self-reflection time.

However tomorrow I must venture out into the world in order to have my monthly blood test. I'm a bit worried about that to be honest. Hopefully it will be over in a matter of minutes as I don't need to see a consultant this time.

R left London last night for Sussex, concerned that there might be a coming lockdown in the city. So far that hasn't transpired, and it makes little difference to me, stuck as I am in my own building. I do miss him though. I miss our weekends together. But we still talk, that is the main thing. He is badly affected by these events, anxiety and worry being a main part of that. I so hope we all come through this soon.

Earlier this evening I caught the photo of my Grandma in the cabinet, smiling proudly on the day she reached her 100th birthday in 2010. It reminded me how she survived the Spanish flu in 1919. As an eight year old she lost her hair as a result. Her mother, tied between looking after her and her husband who was recovering from a gunshot wound from the War, left my grandma to be cared for by her aunt. I've often wondered why a mother would leave her sick daughter, but it was desperate times that, until current world events unfold, might we not understand.

Last night I opted for voluntary severance from my job, The LT had put a lot of pressure on employees to choose between unpaid leave, sabbatical or that. I chose severance as my escape hatch. I've not progressed in my workplace for some time now. My looming operation in the past few years put me off moving but now is the right opportunity. Not perhaps the right time, but the right opportunity. Let's see how that works out.

For now I follow the news, the economy, my pension; I work, whilst I still have my job, and I talk over the phone. I'm also cooking a lot, which kind of relaxes me. And god am I cleaning!

As I mentioned earlier, I look forward to the time that we can all come through this sudden whirlwind that has blown apart lots of people's plans, and in fact devastated many families. I hope it can be tamed quite soon, and we can all be free again.

Let's get through this

How quickly our world can change, our assumptions and dependencies.

Covid-19 is amongst us, a silent killer, a global killer, seeking out the vulnerable, inflicting misery upon all of us.

Who would have thought last year, amidst the hideous Brexit crisis, that another crisis, even more serious would descend upon us all? As we toasted in the new year, did we ever think that we would be enduring this situation right now?

As we look at the rising numbers of infections around the world, and in our own communities, we need to take stock of what is important to us. We need to also consider how we might protect each other in order to beat this threat.

The future now is uncertain. But I am certain that there will be an end to the crisis. I also think that the world will be a different place when we surface back to normality. Hopefully it will be a better place, where people support each other more, and we look after our vulnerable citizens better. Hopefully it will not be a world where selfish nationalism and self-interest out-weighs our self-reflection.

I am scared. There is no getting away from the fact that the unknown is scary. Who might I lose during this crisis? Will I still have a job? Will I still have a future? But I am trying to seek out the positives. I see that the number of infections in China and South Korea are falling. The numbers in the UK are rising, but at some point there will be a peak, hopefully a flattened one, but those numbers will fall.

And the deaths? If 2% of infected people in the UK die, that would mean (based on a worse case infection rate of 80%) that 800,000 people will die. That's 800,000 who only a few months ago were toasting in the new decade. Gone. Family members and loved ones might be amongst them. I might be one of them.

All we can do is mitigate, avoid or reduce social contact, wash our hands. I am self-isolating because of my immunosuppressants. In the absence of clear government guidance I managed to get a doctor's note to work from home for the next two weeks. Then in two weeks, if there is still no guidance, I will get another. It's lonely, but it's necessary. I still have to attend the hospital next week, however, for blood tests. I will take precautions. I have already spoken to them and my consultation will be carried out over the phone, so I should be in for only a short while. At some point, however, I need to pick up medicines.

I really hope this all draws to its conclusion quite soon. I know we will get through this. I'm not going to apply jingoistic war analogies as some are doing. This is different. We have the internet to help us, we have better access to news; and at some point we will have a vaccine.

For the time being, I will carry out all those chores I have delayed in my flat, water my plants, scroll through Netflix, whatsapp my other half. That is the hardest part, the love and companionship, but I know it is only temporary. This nightmare is only temporary.