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No room for discouragement

The days were endless. It was always hot in the street. My face had started to break out in a rash, especially around my mouth, imprisoned by the cloth mask. There were only three of us at home: mum, a sick sister and me. So we decided, without much choice, that I should be the one to go out, in the middle of the pandemic, to buy the groceries and run all the errands.

Because of health restrictions, the government had decreed a curfew and you could only be out on the streets until a certain time. Anyone found outside their homes after 3 p.m. was arrested and sent to community service. Because of this ruling, people would go out in the mornings and fight to get into places to get what they needed. Only a few managed to enter the establishments and buy what they wanted.

Also, due to the lack of public transport, people had to leave very early in the morning and walk. I would get up at 4:30 in the morning, bathe, eat breakfast and dress as if I were going to war: gloves, mask, antibacterial, jacket, tennis shoes and a backpack to carry whatever provisions I could find during the day:

"Give me a blessing, mother!" -I asked before leaving, as if those motherly words were a shield for the deadly virus.

"God bless you!" -my mother would ask, trying to give God the responsibility of taking care of me, since she couldn't do it herself.

From the moment I left my house, I entered an unknown, almost dystopian dimension: houses closed, vehicles stopped, lines of people walking, their faces covered, looking from side to side, to keep their distance; on the corners, stationed, soldiers trying to avoid the chaos, latent at all hours, due to fear and hunger. In my own bubble, walking along the pavements, the only thing that kept me company were my thoughts:

"If I can get into the Chinese grocery store today, I will buy not one but three packets of milk,_ I imagined my load of food. And that thought made me so happy, that under the mask, my mouth was smiling. ‘And later, as a surprise, I'll make a glass of milk for my mother and sister because they haven't been fed for a while,’ I thought, worried about the skinny faces of the women at home.

With that desire, she queued endlessly, under the sun, praying to be lucky enough to get in and buy what she needed:

"Maybe there's chicken and I'll be able to buy two, so I don't have to queue here again and tomorrow I can go somewhere else,_ he would mentally plan, trying to buy a minute of time from life. But reality was sometimes desperate and cruel. And when I entered the supermarkets, it was as if a group of hungry locusts had passed by earlier: there was nothing on the shelves, the fridges were empty and I had to carry only a few things.

"What did you buy?" -my mother and sister would ask as soon as I got home. I felt like I was in prehistoric times when our ancestors went out hunting and according to what they hunted, they ate.

"I only got coffee, sugar, flour and grains,’ I began to pull the products out of the bag like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat, “but I didn't get any meat,” I tried not to sound sad.
Never mind,’ my mother pointed out, ’We'll see how we deal with that.

"No. Tomorrow I'm leaving earlier and I've already found a place where there's everything," I exclaimed positively. "There's milk, flour, nice fruits, toothpaste, detergents," I described as if a supermarket could be a paradise.

In the evening, while we were having coffee, I promised them:

"Tomorrow I'm going to buy milk. It's been a while since we've had bread and coffee with milk," I'd delight and savour, imagining that delicacy in my mouth.

"We'll eat hot bread with butter and coffee with milk and cinnamon," my mother would suggest with her eyes closed, remembering a not so distant past.

"Coffee with milk with cinnamon and chocolate," said my sister, who has always had a weakness for chocolate drinks.

"Oh, no, if we're going to add chocolate to the coffee, instead of bread, we'd better make some biscuits or a cake with pieces of almonds and walnuts," my mother would open her eyes, looking for support from her daughters. We would affirm what she said and we would spend the night imagining what we could eat the next day. Those late-night imaginative gatherings made our nights less hot and lighter.

Then, the next morning, as I was walking as usual, in the middle of the mute wind and the sun, I was thinking:

"And if I get flour today, mother will be able to make a cake, a cake like she wants. And maybe I can eat a big piece of it, or maybe two.....

All images are from my personal gallery and the text is translated with Deepl

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Thank you for reading and commenting. Until a future reading, friends

Click here to read in spanish

No hay lugar para el desánimo
Los días eran interminables. Siempre hacía calor en la calle. Mi rostro había comenzado a presentar una erupción, especialmente alrededor de la boca, aprisionado por la mascarilla de tela. En casa éramos tres solamente: mamá, una hermana enferma y yo. Por lo que decidimos, sin tener muchas opciones, que debía ser yo la que saliera, en plena pandemia, a comprar los víveres y a hacer todas las diligencias.
Debido a las restricciones sanitarias, el gobierno había decretado toque de queda y solo se podía estar en la calle hasta cierta hora. Cualquier persona que se encontrara fuera de su casa, después de las 3 de la tarde, era apresada y enviada a hacer servicio comunitario. Debido a esta resolución, la gente salía en las mañanas y se peleaba para poder entrar a los lugares y obtener lo que necesitaba. Solo unos pocos lograban entrar a los establecimientos y comprar lo que querían.
Igualmente, por falta de transporte público, la gente debía salir muy temprano y hacer el recorrido caminando. Yo me levantaba a las 4:30 de la madrugada, me bañaba, desayunaba y me vestía como si fuera a la guerra: guantes, mascarilla, antibacterial, chaqueta, tenis de tela y un morral para meter las provisiones que pudiera encontrar en el día:
_¡Échame la bendición, madre! –pedía yo antes de salir, como si aquellas palabras maternas fueran un escudo para el virus mortal.
_¡Dios te bendiga! –rogaba mi madre intentado darle a Dios la responsabilidad de cuidarme, ya que ella no podía hacerlo.
Desde que salía de casa, entraba a una dimensión desconocida, casi distópica: Casas cerradas, vehículos detenidos, líneas de gente caminando, con el rostro tapado, mirando de lado a lado, para mantener la distancia; en las esquinas, apostados, militares intentado evitar el caos, latente a toda hora, por el miedo y el hambre. En mi propia burbuja, caminando por las aceras, lo único que me hacía compañía eran mis pensamientos:
_Si hoy logro entrar al almacén chino, voy a comprar no uno sino tres paquetes de leche –imaginaba yo mi carga de alimento. Y aquel pensamiento me hacía tan feliz, que debajo de la mascarilla, mi boca sonreía- Y más tarde, de sorpresa, les haré un vaso de leche a mamá y a mi hermana porque tienen rato que no se alimentan –pensaba preocupada por los rostros flacos de las mujeres que estaban en casa.
Con ese deseo, hacía colas interminables, debajo del sol, rogando tener la suerte de entrar y comprar lo que requería:
_Tal vez hay pollo y podré comprar dos, así no tengo que volver a hacer la cola aquí y mañana puedo ir a otro lado –planificaba mentalmente intentado ganarle un minuto de tiempo a la vida. Pero la realidad a veces era desesperante y cruel. Y al entrar a los supermercados, era como si un grupo de langostas hambrientas hubiesen pasado antes: no había nada en los anaqueles, las neveras estaban vacías y debía llevar solo unas pocas cosas.
_¿Qué compraste? –preguntaban mi madre y mi hermana apenas llegaba a la casa. Yo me sentía en la prehistoria cuando nuestros antepasados salían a cazar y de acuerdo a lo que cazaban, comían.
_Solo conseguí café, azúcar, harina y granos –empezaba a sacar los productos del morral como un mago saca del sombrero, un conejo- Pero no conseguí carne –intentaba no sonar triste.
_No importa –apuntaba mi mamá- Vemos cómo resolvemos con eso.
_No. Mañana me voy más temprano y ya conseguí un lugar donde hay de todo –exclamaba yo positiva- Si vieras. Hay leche, harina, frutas bien bonitas, cremas dentales, detergentes- describía yo como si un supermercado pudiera ser un paraíso.
En la noche, mientras nos tomábamos el café, les prometía:
_Mañana voy a comprar leche. Hace rato que no nos comemos un pan con café con leche –me deleitaba y me saboreaba imaginando aquel manjar en mi boca.
_Comer pan caliente con mantequilla y el café con leche con canela –sugería mi mamá con los ojos cerrados, recordando un pasado no tan remoto.
_ El café con leche que sea con canela y chocolate –opinaba mi hermana que siempre ha tenido debilidad por las bebidas achocolatas.
_Ah, no, si vamos a echarle chocolate al café, en vez de pan, mejor hacemos unas galletitas o una torta con pedazos de almendra y nueces –abría los ojos mi mamá buscando el apoyo en sus hijas. Nosotras afirmábamos lo que decía y así se nos pasaba la noche imaginando lo que podíamos comer al día siguiente. Aquellas tertulias nocturnas e imaginativas nos hacían las noches menos calurosas y más livianas.
Entonces, a la mañana siguiente, mientras caminaba como siempre, en mitad del viento mudo y el sol, iba pensando:
_Y si hoy consigo harina, mamá podrá hacer una torta, una torta como ella quiere. Y tal vez podamos comernos un gran pedazo, o tal vez dos…

Creative Nonfiction: No room for discouragement/ No hay lugar para el desánimo

No room for discouragement

All images are from my personal gallery and the text is translated with Deepl

Thank you for reading and commenting. Until a future reading, friends