I was one of the first to know about COVID-19, as my sisters were in Beijing when the pandemic started. Our entire family followed the development of the pandemic closely as we watched it spread across the globe. I have been lucky to leverage their experiences with Japan’s delayed reactions. As China slowly contained the outbreak, I was left with the peace of mind that it is possible to come out in one piece, knowing my sister went through what I'm going through.
What sank my heart for the first time in months was a Facebook post from a young NYC ICU nurse named KP. In the short 1,700 words he deep dives into what his days are now like. Beyond the granular details, the core of his post was the difficulties of reconciling with what he had aspired to be and the current reality. The emotions of staying by a dying patient, the pain of not being able to support when he wishes to, the fear for his own life, and how each day, perhaps hour, is eating into his belief of the system and the world. It was hard to read, and it broke my heart.
Living in Japan now feels like being in a parallel dimension. Sure, this country has always been somewhat surreal compared to others, but now more than ever. While the entire world has been practicing social distancing to its fullest extent for weeks, Japan only started to pick this up in late March, after announcing the postponement of the Olympics. No doubt that it is getting serious in Japan, but it definitely wasn’t anywhere near “real”.
KP’s post made it real for me.
I have been trying to keep things lighthearted, creating some sort of norm with day-to-day routines. It’s not easy to go through social distancing alone in a foreign country, but some simple pleasures (such as brewing tea under the sun) made the quarantine days bearable.
Like many others, a chunk of my time is spent on reminiscing what life was like and hoping for the pandemic to pass. But as time progresses it’s getting harder to sit idly and play these thoughts on replay. Sure, we are not on the frontlines carrying the weight, we’re just obligated to sit on the bench (literally). But I demanded myself to have more reflection.
Of course, there are easy conclusions that can be made. The past few months have accelerated the transformation of traditional work models to remote/telework. Within just a few months, companies and enterprises have achieved a new level of digitization that would usually take years to accomplish. Yet while we can applaud the success of technological advancement, we are also forced to examine and reevaluate the robustness of our current healthcare systems. I think we can agree on a harsh conclusion: instead of fixing the system, for certain countries it is most likely that new ones will need to be made once this is over.
Yet what is the lesson that individuals should take away from this?
I remember one particular paragraph in KP’s post.
“I am 24 years old. I am an ICU nurse in New York City. I am in good health at this time, so I should have no reason to even think about writing a will. But yesterday, I resigned myself to the fact that my likelihood of dying is statistically more plausible than I had previously imagined.”
This struck me. Not only because of KP’s epiphany that death may happen, but how (without the effects of the pandemic) we rarely considered the possibility of death.
We tend to shy away from the topic of death, regardless of what age we are. With the help of medical resources and scientific research, the average lifespan of humans have increased over the past centuries. But no one has ever really cracked the mechanics of how to measure or predict the length of one’s lifetime. Why does one’s heart simply stop beating, while others seem to cheat fate? Certain precautions and healthy habits may go a long way with prolonging our time, but it’s fair to say that one of the challenges in our walks of life is that we never really know when or how we will meet our death.
The general mentality when facing this issue is simply to ignore. Since giving extra time and thought to this does not increase the probability of cracking the code, the easiest way is to ignore it. Yes, we all acknowledge that death is inevitable, but we don’t think much of it and we assume it won't be today, or anytime in the near future.
This sets the tone for how we want to live our life and the way we prioritize different needs and responsibilities. I remember time over time when I struggled to balance school, work and spending time with family, or other priorities I would like to think I hold dear to. The latter part of that equation simply had to take the backseat for other “more pressing matters”. I rationalized this with the assumption that I would have more time down the road.
If there is one thing that this pandemic has imprinted on me, it is to reevaluate this mindset and admit that I’ve been turning a blind eye - we never really know what tomorrow brings, and our life can end in these fleeting moments. The growing death toll, the confessions of people fighting in the front line and the endless sirens of ambulances all serve as a constant reminder.
Of course we cannot live everyday as if it is our last day, but neither should it be lived as though there are still countless ahead - I want this to be my take away.
The two main drivers of my emotions these days - fear for our lives under this unknown distress and small happiness from feeling loved, cared for, or simply being alive reinforces this new idea. The fear motivates me to seek what I cherish, and the small happiness reminds me how little I need in life, with certain past obsessions being completely irrelevant. New priorities have been set with what truly matters.
I still hope we will all come out of this in one piece. Perhaps it will be after a few more emotional rollercoasters and several difficult decisions, but stronger, better.
“ In the rush to return to normal, use this time to consider which parts of normal are worth rushing back to. ” – Dave Hollis
*Please click here for the Chinese version.
執行編輯：邱佑寧
核稿編輯：林欣蘋
