Month: April 2020

PAUSE is challenging New Yorkers collectively and individually. The hardest thing for me is the sudden disappearance of routines. To fill up my “schedule,” I quickly found a list of projects for myself. Most items on the list require long hours of labor and plenty of patience.

A few nights ago, after hours of gardening work—trimming yews to be exact, I cleaned up and was ready to make dinner. I noticed the Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, leftover from sauce-making, and poured myself a glass. Whether it was my dehydrated body crying out loud for liquid, or it was the low alcoholic content fooling me, I gulped down half of what’s in the glass in one breath. Then, I remembered that I hadn’t had much to eat all day, and I was starting to get a little tipsy.

Because of my work requires sharp awareness and precise execution, I have been a “social” drinker for years. Wine and liquor find their way into my kitchen as cooking ingredients. But I am not unfamiliar with the feeling of “under-the-influence.”

My knifework slowed down. My weary feet suddenly found rhythm as I dropped the ingredients into the saucepan. I was humming some unknown tunes and carrying on a monologue.

I wasn’t aware of the tension building up inside of me in the past weeks. I thought that I was managing things just fine. That was until I sensed a slight looseness in my attitude. I smiled and allowed myself to relax for the moment, nonetheless, with a sense of guilt.

I am among the most fortunate during this difficult time. I cannot fathom the struggles many others are experiencing. What I am capable of, as an individual, is so limited. . ..

. . . One of my greatest pleasures is to listen to my downstairs neighbors sing to their baby girl. . ..

Most New Yorkers live in compact spaces on top of each other. Conflicts and arguments are not uncommon among neighbors. In most situations, people manage to cohabit in their shared space. It is rare when a group people can create a loving and lovely environment together.

For sixteen years, I have lived in a small co-op building^[1] where everyone gets along famously. We know each other by name; stop to chat in the hallway; share our concerns. In the center of our group effort to build a better home together is a very capable co-op board, keeping an eye on our finances and daily operation of the building.

Recently, Jonathan, our board president, initiated an Outlook group to facilitate easy communication. With the situation continues to change outside of our little conclave, we are able to reach out to our neighbors, sending good wishes and offering helps, without knocking on doors. Yesterday, in one of his almost-daily messages, while reminding us to keep the noise level down, Jonathan wrote about listening to nursery rhymes from downstairs.

I haven’t seen Bruna, the star of the little tale, and her parents for a while. I could picture her mom, a public-school teacher, busy planning for remote learning while caring for her—with the help of her dad, of course. I could relate to Jonathan’s sense of comfort, hearing gentle singing from below. That one single line brought me warmth and hope.

Before the pandemic, we were all busy with our lives. We had different routines. As close as we were next to the neighbors, and as thin as the walls were, we didn’t always hear each other. If the neighbors were having a party, we had options: Go out for our own fun or invite our own friends over. Worse comes to worst, we could knock on their doors. Suddenly, we could hear our neighbors day and night, as if they just moved in yesterday. It is a very strange thing—at least for me. It is even more strange that, with the newly found closeness, we are keeping further distance from each other.

I, with my piano playing, have been a regular noisemaker in the building. These days, the frequency of my offenses has increased. From time to time, someone might have heard me raising my voice to my young students who had turned away from the computer screens. I don’t know if they miss the beautiful singing from my singers.

I am, from my desk, sending my love and best wishes to the lovely people who have been, and will continue to be, part of my life.

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^[1] What is a co-op apartment/NYC