Imagine a hunter-gatherer’s diary, circa 10,000 years ago. December 23: “Chase and kill mammoth.” December 24: “Build big fire.” December 25: “Eat mammoth. Before sabretooth tiger eat me.”
Theirs were lives that came with the small print: take it day by day.
I don’t know how many times I heard this ‘day by day’ bandied about over the course of this year. Each time I nodded but, really, under my mask I’d be chewing my inner cheeks and thinking about how much I want to plan.
The thing is, because of this day-by-day mantra, it feels that from March to December it’s been one long stretched day. It almost feels like we have been cheated of… time.
But is that so? Or is it just the effect of the torrent of gloom thrust upon us by the daily absorption of new and social media drama?
This has made me think a bit about our lives and what we’ve come to expect from it. My grandparents were born more or less a century ago. In the 1920s, no one really planned much. They were no hunter-gatherers but still they had no smartphones and swiping calendars.
In any case, what events would they have created? Wash clothes by hand and sing while doing it? Cook for a family of 10 every day? Walk six kilometres to work and back every day? There weren’t any weekend breaks, no flying visits to cities, no taxiing of children to private lessons or ballet or guitar and, above all, no constant bombardment of news. It was all about living in the present.
I’m not really being nostalgic and saying it was better back then. If someone had to throw me in a time traveller’s machine and transport me back to 1920 Malta I’d sit in a corner and cry even at the very thought of being able to bathe only once a week.
So, maybe in the long run, this one extended March-December day hasn’t been too bad and maybe it’s time to look back at what it has helped us appreciate more.
2020 has also helped us appreciate the joys of human interaction- Kristina Chetcuti
Firstly, it has made us see the plus points of hygiene. I think that BBC video clip about how germs spread and how they can easily be stamped out by hand washing was really the essence of it all. The vast playgrounds germs had at the beginning of the year are now stamped out by a squirt of sanitiser. Even the pain of rubbing sanitiser into a finger paper cut does not make us yelp; rather, it’s the satisfactory ache of acute disinfection.
The smell of Dettol has been almost as joyful as the smell of spring. In fact, ‘Marchember’ has been one long spell of spring cleaning. It also made us realise we hoard way too much clutter and that, really, we should adopt a more minimalist approach to storage. (Hopefully the significant other won’t notice what’s gone missing).
It has also helped us appreciate the joys of human interaction. I had never realised how much I love hugging and linking arms with my mother or greeting my friends with kisses on the cheeks. Yes, we had Zoom, Teams, WhatsApp video and Skype and we’ve used them for school, meetings, lectures, birthday parties and even a quċċija. But it’s just not the same. Waving at my grandmother, back in March and April, from behind glass doors was too painful and incomprehensible for me – let alone for her.
Isolation goes against our human nature, in whichever form. The attempt of caging migrants floating out at sea on Captain Morgan boats for weeks on end, while the boat owners pocketed thousands a day, made us realise the ugliness of stark greed and xenophobia.
Which brings me to the next highlight of 2020: the beauty of collective responsibility, of protecting and helping each other. The more we avoid crowds, wear masks, wash hands and keep our distance, the more we’ll be making it possible for the elderly, the vulnerable and those seeking refuge to be able to have a semblance of communal life as soon as possible. If we’re fed up, they are despairing.
Of course, 2020 has made us value essential workers. In fact, there were many moments throughout the year where I almost wanted to retrain as a nurse (I say ‘almost’ because I go queasy even at the sight of a catheter). People working in the field of healthcare deserve our applause and more. But it’s not only them – it’s also our supermarket cashiers, our grocers, our bakers, our pharmacists – who ploughed on throughout.
Justice activists also soldiered on in 2020, against all odds. Pushing and pressing even when everyone thought that COVID-19 restrictions would silence all. These months made us appreciate the resilience and determination of all those fighting for justice for the assassinated journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia and for the country. It’s been a daily battle every inch of the way, with her family, journalists, bloggers, politicians and magistrates threatened at every corner but this year has shown us that, eventually, the truth does out.
Yes, 2020 has been the year to go back to the day-to-day philosophy advocated by Jean-Paul Sartre: “Do you think that I count the days? There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.”
So, let’s pour some bubbly and toast 2020 for what it was. Then let’s build a fire, eat a mammoth meal, sanitise and embrace the days ahead, whatever they’ll bring with them.
I wish all The Sunday Times readers a very soulful Christmas and a much better New Year.
krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @krischetcuti