Songbirds

When a novelist finds the power of written words, according to short story writer Joseph Conrad, that's going to make you hear, to make you feel, and, above all, to make you see.

That is all, and it is everything.

My recent reading of Songbirds by Christy Lefteri is a good example. The story appeals to all the senses. I hear the cacophony of birdsongs. I feel the arduous way birds making migration to cross borders, to search for better life, to find themselves trapped. I see hundreds of grey herons, blue rock thrushes, crossbills, coal tits and tree creepers. One by one, they fall prey to the lime stick on poachers' mist net. They crash into the massive net, flapping and screeching, struggling and crying. 

Up and down and up and down and up and down they go, moment by moment, one by one, from migration routes to the grave. 

Songbirds, at first glance, is a story about migratory birds crossing the Mediterranean Sea. But then I realised that the story is more about the migrant workers leaving hometowns to find new life abroad, and the tragic way they find themselves more trapped than they had been before. That's a disheartening and true story of worker leaving home. 

Like the birds caught by poachers, the domestic worker never returned.

Fever

For some reason that I don’t understand, it has continued to bother me to think of my passing a virus to my family. I kept thinking: Stay away from your beloved ones when you’re sick.

During my recent Krabi trip in Thailand, I kicked up a fever on the day of arrival. These days a high temperature is a little horrifying, isn’t it?

My minds started racing. I had no idea how I was going to protect my family if we were staying together in a hotel room. My wife was more empathetic and keen to look after me.

“We could have been infected by now if you’re having the coronavirus. Don’t worry. All that matters is that you’re getting better.”

I slept and leaned out of my bed to keep a safe distance.

I waited for the symptoms to come up for me to check. Sore throat: nil. Loss of taste or smell: crossed out. Cough: not much. I put on my mask.

I managed to go kayaking - slowly - and then recovered without knowing what the heck that germ is.

For that, I thank my wife.

By the Sea

Elizabeth Strout's novel Lucy by the Sea is a beautiful chronicle of our pandemic before the era of vaccination. Truly it is.

Lest you think you're alone when you feel like you've been hung upside down over a cliff with mask on, Lucy from this novel will be your companion. Feel free to listen to Lucy's thought every time she watches the news. "This will end, I kept thinking. This will have to end. And every night it did not end, or indicate in any way that it would ever end."

Reading about anxiety on catching the virus can sometimes trigger our anxiety. OK, that's not entirely true; I'm bringing this novel on my Thailand trip this week. Naming the emotion - whatever the hell that is - is actually a way to tackle it. Our family loves travel. As much as we don't want to catch the coronavirus, being on a plane and having a restful, restorative week can be a sensible, healthy thing to do.

Marvellous, eh? Trust me, it is.