When Ramadan came, I was calling everyone my group to check on them and see how the treatment adaptations were working for them. One day before Ramadan ended, a woman who I had called asked me, "Are you getting paid for doing this?" I said, “No, we're volunteering.”

Our hearts turn heavy at every piece of news of a passing friend, relative, or stranger, whom hospital authorities decide must be buried with the special protocol.

I would like to say this about emotions: there are some sounds in our minds that we can never forget. The sound of an ambulance is among them, for me. It reminds me of 1995. That was the year when we started to feel the end of the war with Azerbaijan, which happened when the Soviet Union fell apart.

My brother Omar was working for Amazon delivering packages,. He knew he was at risk of contagion, so he told my mom at the end of March that he would not visit her until COVID was over. My mom did not like it, but she knew it was for her protection.

I was upstairs closing the bedroom shutters when I first heard the sound. What was it? I ran downstairs to find my husband and the boys standing at the open front door. The clapping was loud and rhythmic. They joined in.

I’ve noticed during this physical distancing period that despite being alone in my apartment and within my busy mind, there are daily moments that demand a quieting of thoughts to make way for collective emotional expression (grief and gratitude).

In April, my bones began telling me that the COVID-19 crisis isn’t something we can hope to put behind us; it’s something we must deepen into. This demands that we mourn the loss of beliefs killed by the crisis. Those beliefs served us for a long time, so they’ll haunt us like hungry ghosts if they’re not honored with a proper funeral and burial.

I discussed my feelings with a friend. Thankfully, I’m in a very safe space during the lockdown, but I know there are people who are stuck with homophobic parents, roommates, and landlords. My friend and I thought, “Let us start a virtual support group.”

My plans for June were drawn well in advance: I would finally take the “Camino de Santiago” with my son. He was named after the pilgrim saint, so reaching the holy city of Compostela, in Spain, was a mandatory trip. More than anything, it was an opportunity for deep sharing.

Quarantine creates monsters. There is a feeling of numbness in the feet and hands because the routine breaks creative spirits, and brings monsters to life.

I was heartbroken, after seeing a post of Seven Sisters from Southdown National Park: ‘They’ll still be there, in the same spot, when we can all get outside again safely’. I’ve been planning to go there, waiting for this perfect spring weather, trekking its edge for hours. Now, I might not get the chance to see its beauty before heading home to Indonesia. I might not have the chance to do things that I wish for.