It was inevitable that people everywhere would suddenly start complaining of lockdown fatigue, given the sacrifices that have had to be made by the vast majority of nations across the world. Regardless of the fact that it was, and still is, for the benefit of us all, the denial of certain personal freedoms could hardly be expected to go uncontested for much longer.

In truth, while in the rest of the world many people have been feeling that the lockdown has been unfair and over-the-top (it wasn’t), here in Malta things have been pretty moderate, well explained and fully understandable. We do not face the possibility of seeing anger and frustration snowballing into something as sinister as has happened in the US in particular, where hundreds of obese Trumpian gun-toting protesters took to the streets much to the horror of the millions who wisely stayed home and followed public health orders like Germany, Italy and France.

It does not mean we have not had our clowns, even if this is really only a partial lockdown. While you and I, vulnerable or not, have chosen to play by the new, hopefully temporary rules, there have been pockets of egotistic resistance by groups of motorbike enthusiasts, secret party-goers and silly clusters of cinderellas on the road and the beach. I hope no one starts contemplating some sort of post-COVID-19 amnesty for these people, however big the fines imposed on them. Wherever you are in the world, this pandemic is no picnic.

People who have lost their jobs or been shelved for possible “re-use” in the future, even as  fruit-pickers, cannot be blamed for seeking a way to vent their anger in countries and cities that chose to only go full-throttle with their measures against the Coronavirus when it was already too late. It would have been the same here had not Robert Abela’s government and the public health set-up headed by Chris Fearne and his dynamic team led by Charmaine Gauci not foreseen the COVID-19 tornado before it even appeared on the horizon. They had us well prepared for the dramatic change that the planet, let alone this tiny blob of land, had to undergo almost overnight as we all woke up to world economies instantly in shambles and a silent enemy ripping through our lives.

On the brighter side of things, each and every one of us has more or less managed to adapt to life in lockdown pretty well. Doing it with a smile, like listening to a lullaby, continues to be the best way out of the frustration and the boredom, for the daily ritual does make you feel like an imbecile sometimes.

You wake up and get ready for your solo walk of the day that, for endangered creatures of habit, includes buying real, hold-in-your-hand newspapers. Condominium life makes it even more amusing. You go into the lift and the button-pushing is done with the tip of your keys. Crafty. You open common doors and gates with your elbow, as you do not know whether the last user has left his corona jewels on them. But why do your face and other parts of your body suddenly need scratching? You try with your elbows to stop the itching, but it’s not easy. It is so difficult that, as children, they used to tell us that if one managed to bite his elbow he or she would experience a sex-change!

You walk past people who quickly take their safe distance from you as you do from them. Was it like that during the plague? And try keeping a short discussion – no tête-à-tête, but two metres apart – with friends who also happen to be on their morning exercise. Impossible. People look crossly at you. You feel apologetic and quickly bid your goodbyes. The newsagent has taken the desired measures to protect his clients and, more importantly, himself. So you wait for the previous client to leave before you venture in, almost on tip toes not to disturb any sleeping bugs.

Then, back at your place, gloriously described as court, mansion and what have you, in applying false grandeur to a square block of flats. Then, there is still the problem of checking your mailbox − the physical type. People have been thumping junk mail into it and choking it. All of this, while your face and other parts of your body continue to itch, but what do you do?

Back indoors, straight to the bathroom to wash, bruise and batter your hands with soap and water. Breakfast and newspapers, clean hands because you never know about the fruit and the papers. Ah, but you had your mobile on, which you used during the walk. Clean hands. Clean mobile. You change your walking clothes to lockdown uniform. Clean hands. But your shoes, God knows what you have trampled on and brought in with you. Quick, clean hands. Some neighbours have the wisdom to remove their shoes before they go in, but to do so you have to touch them. Clean shoes, clean hands.

One good, wise-cracking friend wrote he’s been so bored he keeps going outside and knocking on his own door, then going back in and asking “who is it?”

Get used to it, some people have been telling us on the media and from within the wide spectrum of international, socio-political environs. But there is an upside to this too – public surveys suggest the Coronavirus lockdown is making significant relationships stronger. So why do I keep receiving on my mobile, endless cartoons and video clips of husband-and-wife, teleworking-mum-and-kids, teacher-and-apathetic-student situations of frustration?

Never as relevant

Given the surreal circumstances, May Day as an international celebration of workers everywhere – precisely last Friday – has never been as relevant.

With millions of jobs already lost across the globe and millions more at risk unless this Coronavirus nightmare comes to a conceivable end, the need for solidarity, the protection of working-class families and the consolidation of their rights is of paramount importance. We are here talking about the future of whole generations of people, families that depend on decent, successful businesses, those who form part of the 99%, while the 1% rush out to New Zealand and into their expensive bunkers, much to the Lord of the Rings’ chagrin.

There has never been a May Day like this one, not even during the two world wars. Virtual celebration has been the only respite, an on-line realisation of the shape of things to come, perhaps, if nations continue to persist in embracing racism, jingoism and other far-right malaises. Did it have to be a pandemic to bring many to their senses, if it after all truly has?