It Comes In 3s

I got my results and became part of the Statistics on Thursday.

A first cousin, who I haven't met in ages had coughing bouts and fever spells the same week I did. Her results revealed that she was Covid Positive on Sunday.

Another first cousin, someone I haven't met in a lifetime (lol), thought it was a simple case of allergies. She was sneezing and coughing until they thought of having her saliva-tested last weekend and the result came out - positive. 

That is three in a week. Happened under different and peculiar circumstances, and I had a weird feeling that our misfortunes had something to do with the general cleaning I did in our old house in Santa Mesa.

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You see, that almost-century ancestral house never runs out of kababalaghan stories. From fair-looking beings greeting you out of nowhere to invisible entities poking you in the middle of the night, you name it and the tenants would likely tell it. When the sibling was still a toddler, she was delirious in one of her fever spells. The tawas session revealed that she was being toyed upon by the duwendes. A half-brother, who once lived in the farthest corner of the house dreamed of seeing shadows watching over him. He was sick of tuberculosis and needed to be isolated. 

He recovered weeks later.

Despite its haunted reputation, everyone believes it's a lucky house. All children (those who enrolled at least) were able to complete their studies and lead better lives despite the odds against them. No one who lives in that house ever got seriously sick (at least that's what the elders and the current tenants say.) So I treat the house with reverence, and in my desire to bring back its better days, I may have inadvertently triggered the elementals who lay undisturbed in its deepest recesses for decades.

Desperate to understand the connection between my transgressions and the peculiar affliction that came down to my family, I was likely granted an audience. In one of my dreams, I was back in the same room I cleaned the week before. There was an assembly of shadows and I was asked to speak and air my side. I said that I thought of cleaning the house and putting lights in my mother's abandoned room to bring it back to its pristine form. In my thoughts, I wanted that place to shine, even host more tenants who might benefit from the house's generosity. I do not recall apologizing, but I knew that I spoke with selfless intent and that I conveyed my desire to become the custodian of the house. The shadows were silent. I do not recall feeling their wrath or anger. Meanwhile, I saw a bunch of children gleefully peeking out from the second floor kitchen's low ceiling. 

Later on, I would learn from the caretaker that these assembly of entities were the same entities the tenants randomly come across when they tread along the unlit corridors. 

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The next morning, I partially got my sense of taste and smell back.

The Fallout

Our world came crashing down on the night I found out I was Covid positive.

Those persistent, disruptive coughing bouts were the most glaring sign. Those moments when I had to take in more air and breathe with little discomfort in my chest were already a takeaway. And those mild fever spells, which immediately disappear when I take paracetamol were the biggest red flag of them all. And yet, I played down my symptoms, believing they were something else.

On the day I arrived at the Weatherman's unoccupied house in Cavite, I started losing my sense of smell, and then my tastebuds also started to fail me the next day. Then the uncontrolled bowel movement soon followed. By Saturday, the day after I learned of my real condition, the list of all the common symptoms was at last, present.

At home, they were frantic about the condition of the Matriarch. She was one of the most exposed, being my close contact. Another close contact was asked to quarantine in our old house in Santa Mesa and this setup leaves the house more vulnerable than it has ever been before. The Brother-in-Law, sensing our state of disarray, had decided to stay over and help look after his children. His presence somehow gave us a sense of relief and order was restored to a house that has never seen a crisis of this magnitude.

Closer to the front, I started contemplating about my fate. The guilt and shame that comes with being the afflicted break you into pieces. You begin to feel anxious about your 74-year old mother; the children at home who were unvaccinated; you look at the Weatherman taking care of you, who just assumed his Covid status since he didn't take the test, and see the mess you have unleashed upon the world. In consolation, the Favorite Aunt, who is also the family doctor, said it was nobody's fault; that it was bound to happen sooner than we all think. Despite this being a lie, I try to keep her thoughts in heart while my mind drifts from one doomsday picture to another. By nightfall of Saturday, on my second night in quarantine, the chest pains were more pronounced, like my lungs were being filled with concrete, that thoughts of being rushed to the hospital became a real possibility. But I had no way of measuring my oxygen saturation so I wouldn't know.

Meanwhile, another aunt who was checking up on me confided that her daughter, a first cousin, were also showing symptoms similar to mine. She would take the test that weekend and would later find out she is Covid positive as well.

That's two in the family in a week, and we have not even seen each other in ages.

Statistics

Tuesday. 

It all started with throat discomfort. It was itchy and somewhat painful, but I paid little attention as it was not that bothersome, to say the least. I was bent on renovating a corner of my mother's old room in our ancestral house in Santa Mesa and my one-track mind meant that it should be done without delay.

That same week, I played Tropico 3 until the early hours of the morning, only to wake up a few hours later to work, prop up my garden, or do some errands at home like going to the market to procure our needed foodstuff. I had also been constantly coated with dust all the time, from piles of scrap paper, dried mouse shit, to moldy clothes that I had to throw away. For two days, I went home exhausted, and then I would take a bath without even resting.

Wednesday.

The throat discomfort developed into a cough. I also had a slight fever that I still paid little attention to. Who would have thought those were already the tell-tale signs. It was only when the coughing became more frequent and more forceful that I knew something isn't right. I was afraid, deep down, but my intention to leave home to isolate myself elsewhere was what I had in mind.

The sibling, having seen colleagues getting afflicted with the virus didn't wait any longer. She had me reported to the Favorite Aunt for being a possible suspect. I woke up with a simple message from her, Thursday morning.

"Magpa-RT PCR Test ka na."

I also received permission to evacuate and quarantine elsewhere.

That same day, the results came in and my world came crashing down.

Thus I was added to the Statistics. A number nobody wanted to become.

The Old House In Santa Mesa (First Part)

People say that when you are about to hit 40,  your priorities change. You begin to think about your holdings, you worry about the kids (in my case, my nephews and niece), and you spend much of your energy trying to put things in order because your gut feels time is no longer by your side. 

Since the start of the second pandemic year, I have been gradually taking over the custodianship of our ancestral home in Santa Mesa. Nothing fancy. It's more like being the eyes, arms, and legs of my mother (and her sisters) who are the real patrons of the property. I have been a passive player for much of the year - so much that I even went to great lengths to avoid getting involved with tenants' payments. But since last week, I made some big moves that I have never expected myself.

The plan was to put some new electrical outlets and LED lights where my mother's room used to be. It was at the farthest corner of the house and for 20 years, it was largely abandoned. We don't even know if the receptacles out there are still functioning. Last time I checked, the room was a rat-infested bodega with moldy clothes above the aparador, dead roaches on the floor, and scraps of partially gorged paper everywhere. 

A tenant, whose room was flooded downstairs moved in recently to occupy the kitchen outside my mom's quarters. Her arrival somehow dispersed the gloomy vibe pervading in those places. More importantly, her transfer provided a convenient excuse to finally make some big renovations in case we decide to make my mom's room available for rent someday.

Once I was able to make arrangements with the electrician, reclaiming the abandoned areas of the house before nature renders it unfit for habitation immediately commenced.

- to be continued

Move

There was a time when walking from our house in Santa Mesa to my gym in Malate was my warm up, before some heavy and repetitive steel plate lifting tore my muscles apart. And there used to be a time when I could not fathom how some people would refuse to walk for a block or two, and instead preferred to ride a jeep, or cab, or whichever was available. And there used to be a time when people around my age would get exhausted simply by walking around UP Sunken Garden while talking about the mundane stuff, or anything that comes to mind. 

Years after acquiring the Toyota Revo from the Favourite Aunt and completely rejecting all forms of physical activity,  I would finally understand.

There is no doubt that in the past years, I have grown exponentially in body girth and mass. Last time I checked (which was early this year), I was 50 lbs overweight. I am now considered an obese person, whose health precariously hangs in the balance. I would have liked to return to the gym, but like lifelong and nurturing lovers who have parted ways, unexpectedly, the magic isn't there no matter how you try to find it elsewhere.

And the consequences are fast catching up. The heavy and constricting breaths are more apparent now. The sagging layers of skin add more years to my age, and the occassional discomfort in my groin area might be a symptom of a more serious body ailment. However, given this pandemic, a trip to the clinic might not be forthcoming. It is just fortunate that I have turned my back from the vices before they too add to the strain my body is already recieving.

But should I cease posting blog entries, it would likely mean I stopped moving, permanently, or the muses who continue to prop me suddenly walk away, leaving me unable to write a single word that would cascade into a story.

Still, there are attempts to regain some lost ground, like when I bought from Lazada (an online shop) - that was having a sale this month - resistance bands, which I have yet to use, or when I thought of walking from home to Quiapo with a trolley bag in hand to perform my palengke duties. The latter, I was having second thoughts because it has been ages since I walked that far from home and I would be brisk walking under a 9-in-the-morning sun. With Electronic Dance Music ceaselessly pumping uplifting beats directly into my head, I managed to reach my destination with barely a sweat. It was a far cry from my long jog from one end of the Malacanan to the other, but this demonstration would do, should I decide a repeat attempt in the days to come.