Things are moving quickly and I’m still finding it all so difficult to get my head around. And that’s despite knowing I’m one of the lucky ones. It feels as though a year’s worth of stuff has happened in a week.
On Monday, Jacinda Ardern made the announcement that in 48 hours, New Zealand would progress to Covid-19 Alert Level 4. That’s the highest of levels. She was calling it early as two incidents of contagion had been identified within communities that weren’t directly linked to an overseas visitor. So when we woke up this morning, we were in lock-down. For the next month, and maybe more, we’re not allowed to have physical contact with anyone apart from those people we live with and we’re not allowed to leave the house except for essentials. My immediate reaction was one of relief. I was glad that someone was taking charge and taking charge in the way I hoped they would.
But it’s a strange kind of relief and has brought with it waves of other, often conflicting and confusing, emotions. After I heard they’d closed the borders, I woke up in the middle of one night feeling horribly claustrophobic. Trapped in New Zealand. As if it were a tiny, lidded-box of a country. Which it isn’t. It’s vast and it’s beautiful and my morning walks and runs continue to take me up hills to views that blow me away. And those walks and runs don’t have to stop. Thankfully, daily outdoor exercise is considered an essential during the lock-down. Which is just as well because it seems all Kiwis were born either wearing running shoes or on the saddle of a bike.
Sometimes I feel scared too. Which is not about contracting the virus, I don’t think. But sits alongside feelings of uncertainty. None of us know how long this thing will last and finding out that my visitor’s visa will be extended until September, no questions asked, is a relief. And is worrisome. I’d been managing just fine for last six months but now I don’t like being so far away from my loved ones for who knows how long. Although being in New Zealand does mean I’m still fairly close to my far-away son. But not really close enough. I can’t hug him. And if I had decided to go back to London, there would be no hugs there either. I’d be holed up somewhere on my own in isolation. So, all things considered, Christchurch does seem the best and safest place to be.
So, you see, I’m in a muddle. And perhaps that is so because given all that is going on, doing the right thing doesn’t necessarily feel like the right thing. But something has to feel normal. So on Tuesday, encouraged and inspired by friends and their children in London, I drew an apple. Not that drawing apples is something I normally do. But taking the time to switch off the noise and engage in that simple activity made me feel so much better. Yesterday the instruction was to draw broccoli and it set me right back. Broccoli is hard. But today I’m going to attempt a tomato. And I think it’s going to be okay again. The ChO’Cs grow them in their garden. Autumn is in the air and it’s gloriously sunny.
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