iv. other worlds

Never would I have thought that the flight I took from Singapore to Surabaya on the evening of 15 January 2020 would be my last flight out of Singapore, with no possibility of a return flight in the foreseeable future. Never. 

​

The pandemic had begun in Wuhan China and was reported widely to the world in late December 2019. We were warned of the impending danger of a worldwide spread of the novel COVID-19 virus. This viral information became general knowledge as it spread as speedily as the virus itself. At first, however, COVID-19 still felt as if it could be safely contained in China.

​

The very next day, as had been earlier scheduled, my Chinese lecturer colleague, Jianyong, returned to Malang from his homeland of South China. Once he had rested overnight, we both met on the evening of 17 January at my house, which was just two houses away from his. We exchanged our gifts as part of our annual home leave routine – I was gifted with a Le Pétit Prince umbrella, much to my delight, since I was an aficionado of The Little Prince. I gave him a tiny cross-culture graphic book written in three languages that we both could understand – English, Chinese and French. Yes, he was a French history major. 

​

As two foreign souls in this tiny town of East Java, we planned that we would have our annual dinner out at Malang’s most expensive restaurant the following weekend, before the arrival of the year of the Ox. Little that we know that this annual ritual we had held over the last four years would never materialize – every single thing we had previously done together would have been our last opportunity to do so. Our fate was sealed in Malang with the pandemic situation at hand. Literally. 

​

Within days, Work from Home (WFH) and self-quarantine measures became increasingly common. Staying up to date on news from China became our new daily routine. We were not sure if Jianyong had been infected prior to his arrival, since there had been no mandatory screening tests before departure at the time. Nor were there tests here in this small town. We had to be vigilant about our own health by checking our temperatures regularly, since we had been vaguely informed that fever and breathlessness were some of the early symptoms of the virus. We were also told to keep our immune systems strong by doing regular exercises. 

​

My walks to and from campus were my only outdoor activity, combined with yoga and light weights at home. Jianyong, however, kept his pre-dinner running routine – 25 minutes covering the familiar sloping lanes around the campus and the sprawling gated housing estate that we lived in. He was in good shape due to that, apart from the fact that he needed to lose a few kilograms after being fed and spoilt every time he returned to China. Soon, even his running had to be kept to a minimum and limited to times when there were fewer passers-by around the estate. This was to avoid any unnecessary encounters, especially when he needed to exercise without a mask. 

​

What became even more awkward was when we had to buy groceries and fresh food from the traditional market, especially when we started speaking in Chinese as we usually would. Those who could only detect the language without knowing what was spoken became quite unfriendly with their loud whispers. 

​

“Itu Cina. Bawa* virus,” they mocked unabashedly, leaping out of our way – the safe distancing was appreciated but the stares became unbearable. 

​

We resorted to speaking French as the lesser of the two evils for our secret coded communication, since English might be an easier language to understand in this part of the world. Apparently, foreigners weren’t as welcome during the pandemic era, compared to how things had been before. So, we stopped going to the markets and opted for the one and only international supermarket in Malang, which was owned by an Indonesian of Chinese descent. Fewer crowds, lesser judgment. More costly, but cashless. Yes! One less thing to touch. 

​

We turned the tediousness of sanitization into an improvised dance. We dropped our clothes into the washing machine as we entered the house through the side door, and then headed straight for the shower, as if performing a rehearsed choreography. Next were the items bought, then the reusable shopping bags. We only carried one mobile phone at a time during our outings to remove the need for yet another sanitizing scrub of our gadgets. Earphones, face shield, N95 and hand sanitizer were all the must-haves. Was this the new normal we had to get used to? 

​

Out of the blue came the unexpected news of an evacuation flight home for Chinese nationals. There was a highly limited number of seats since the health protocol dictated a reduced number of passengers per flight. When the application window opened, the flood of requests was overwhelming. Many were disappointed at not being able to get a seat on the first flight out, only to be grateful when the news came that upon arrival, nine out of the forty passengers had tested positive, requiring all passengers on board to be immediately quarantined. Jianyong had been selected for the second flight. However, it was postponed indefinitely until better safety measures could be put in place. 

​

“Pas de vol de retour,” he sighed, and I echoed, “Pour moi aussi.” This became our daily morning mantra on WhatsApp at sunrise, hoping that one day we would read something different on the news. The one thing different for sure was the ever-increasing number of infections reported from the most remote hospital in Indonesia, a location we had not even heard of. Yet it was not about how far away we were from the epicentre of troubled areas; it was the uncertainty at any given moment that wore us down by the day. 

​

“I will not be a statistic in this pandemic,” I pledged loudly to myself and to my two sisters in Singapore and older brother in Melbourne. We were bombarded with news about the virus, and felt as if we had become a hapless breed of trapped animals in zoos around the world. Photographs of busy New York now empty, shopping shelves in supermarkets barely stacked with any groceries let alone toilet paper rolls, and glass shop windows boarded up with planks were all floating across the internet to make us sink even lower in our state of depression. 

​

One evening, during our little chat on my open-air front terrace, a series of WeChat notifications rang non-stop from Jianyong’s mobile phone. There must have been at least 15 new messages. Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Thinking that these would be similar reminders of more adverse broadcasts from China that would disrupt our peaceful evening in Malang, we ignored it completely. When it was closer to bedtime, Jianyong picked up his phone only to have his eyes pop out when he read:  飞回家. 

​

Everything went by very quickly from that moment till the day he was all packed, having sorted out what he could bring within the limited 25-kilogram baggage allowance. I inherited some of his sports apparel, while other items were placed in bags for donation to the needy. Dismantling his house was not as difficult as I thought. We placed his books in a box to be shipped to China at an unknown time when it would be safe to send shipment from Indonesia. Next was the Swab test – done! My final visual of Jianyong was of him all wrapped up in a pair of white plastic overalls, wearing a hood, an N95 mask and a clear face shield as he waved goodbye from inside a car that was headed to the local domestic airport. From Malang, his flight would transit in Jakarta, before taking him home. 

​

The next morning, what floated into my mind was the nursery rhyme I grew up with: 

​

Two little dickie birds, sitting on the wall

One named Peter, another named Paul

Fly away Peter… 

I had resigned myself to the understanding that I might be here in Malang for the long haul of the pandemic. Alone. However, my solitude was my sanctuary. As we approached the year 2021, I understood that this was far more than a turning of a new year. This was an opportunity to consider who I really was at that juncture… and to ponder the answer to the question of what my purpose was in life. 

*Bawa is Bahasa Indonesia for “bring”. 

​

Having lived and worked away from Singapore for the past 23 years in Europe and Southeast Asia, Jasmin has returned as a better human with global cultural perspectives of living life. Currently, he teaches in an international college and acts as the President of Society for Reading and Literacy. 

​

Go back to Top of Page.