Filipinos #CopingWithCovid — Reine Marie Bonnie Melvin, France

 

The fol­low­ing inter­view is part of my series, Fil­ipinos Cop­ing with Covid.

Reine Marie Bon­nie Melvin (Bon­nie) was born in Mani­la and has lived in Paris France for many years. She is the award-win­ning author of A Nor­mal Life and Oth­er Sto­ries and the nov­el The Betrayed. ~ Cecil­ia Brainard

Cecil­ia Brainard Inter­views Reine Marie Bon­nie Melvin
Inter­view con­duct­ed via email on May 25, 2020
Copy­right 2020 By Cecil­ia Brainard

Cecil­ia Brainard: Are you still in lock­down? Are you alone or with oth­ers? Do you see oth­er peo­ple, and do you prac­tice social dis­tanc­ing if so?
Bon­nie Melvin: France went into lock­down on March 16, and began to ease out of it on May 11. For the first two months, there were very strict restric­tions on move­ment. Peo­ple were asked to work from home when­ev­er pos­si­ble, and we could go out only with a cer­tifi­cate stat­ing the rea­son for our move­ment – gro­cery shop­ping, urgent med­ical vis­its, work (for essen­tial work­ers), an hour of exer­cise (but only with­in a kilo­me­ter from home). Parisians still lined up to buy their baguettes and cig­a­rettes, of course.

Since May 11, we no longer need a cer­tifi­cate to leave home, and many shops have opened again (though cafes, restau­rants, cin­e­mas etc. remain closed). Schools are par­tial­ly open, but many par­ents are keep­ing their chil­dren at home. Pub­lic trans­port is reserved for work­ers (with cer­tifi­cates) dur­ing rush hour. The country’s bor­ders are still closed, and we can’t trav­el beyond 100 kilo­me­ters from home (so I can’t escape to my lit­tle cot­tage in Nor­mandy – there are worse prob­lems, I know). Peo­ple are encour­aged to con­tin­ue work­ing from home when­ev­er pos­si­ble. France is divid­ed into “green” and “red” zones – in the red zones, includ­ing Paris, the virus is still active­ly cir­cu­lat­ing, and the rules are much stricter.

Just before lock­down on March 16, my younger daugh­ter Oona returned home from uni­ver­si­ty in Lon­don and stayed with me. She has been the loveli­est lock­down com­pan­ion, gen­tle and thought­ful and inter­est­ing – and busy, as she has a lot of uni­ver­si­ty work to do. I spend hours every day work­ing on a new book, read­ing, exer­cis­ing and pro­cras­ti­nat­ing; she spend hours read­ing, study­ing and, I think, think­ing. She is on the cusp of dis­cov­er­ing adult life, and every­thing is open for her (as open as the world can be for the class of 2020). She reads, I sense, to explore inner and out­er lives, where­as too often I read now more for con­so­la­tion than explo­ration. Odd­ly, and despite this, we tend to love the same books.

We have lunch every day in our tiny bal­cony over­look­ing the gar­dens of Mont­martre. I love cook­ing for her because she appre­ci­ates every­thing. We have long con­ver­sa­tions over meals, and I’m dis­cov­er­ing the won­der­ful young woman she has become, after she has been away three years. (She came back for hol­i­days dur­ing that time, but was very busy with friends when she did.) Being with her unex­pect­ed­ly like this has been the great­est plea­sure and bless­ing of lockdown.

My old­er daugh­ter Kas­sia, her part­ner and baby man­aged to leave for Nor­mandy before lock­down on March 16. They all got quite sick with the virus soon after, so it was a wor­ry­ing time for about two weeks, but they are all well now and recent­ly returned to the Paris area. Since May 11, I’ve been see­ing them all again, almost every day, and it’s been such a close and hap­py time – anoth­er great bless­ing of lockdown.

Apart from those two weeks of wor­ry, lock­down was bliss­ful. I think many artists live in a kind of lock­down any­way – or dream of liv­ing in one – and I rel­ished hav­ing so much time, with­out social oblig­a­tions, with­out tasks out­side the home, with lit­tle out­side work. Time seemed to stretch as it did in the sum­mers of my child­hood, in my grandfather’s house by the Pasig, when there seemed to be 24 hours between wak­ing up and lunchtime, then anoth­er whole day between lunchtime (and sies­ta) and evening. Paris was so qui­et for two months – hard­ly any cars, no gath­er­ings in the street, the tiny streets around Mont­martre emp­ty of tourists and filled with bird­song and the exu­ber­ance of spring. It was like liv­ing in anoth­er century.

At times like this, the unessen­tial falls away. True friend­ships strength­en and resur­face, and it was a gift to be in clos­er touch with friends from dif­fer­ent peri­ods in my life – Mani­la friends, my old ele­men­tary and high school class­mates, uni­ver­si­ty friends, writer friends, often in dif­fer­ent parts of the world – via mes­sages and video calls. Since lock­down began, I’ve had a reg­u­lar Sun­day video chat with two Assump­tion class­mates, one in Mani­la and one in New York, and it’s been mov­ing to learn how sim­i­lar our expe­ri­ences have been, despite the sur­face dif­fer­ences. Also, there is some­thing irre­place­able about friend­ships like these that have last­ed decades – we’ve known each oth­er since we were chil­dren. Friends from Mani­la – wher­ev­er they are in the world now – under­stand things that don’t even need to be said, and which my Paris friends nev­er will, no mat­ter how I try to explain. There is some­thing about a cri­sis that pulls the pieces of a life togeth­er and makes me real­ize what and who real­ly mat­ter. Lock­down in some ways helped me take mea­sure of my life – the writ­ing I want to do, the friends I’ve known for decades, my fam­i­ly of the heart, the kind­ness and con­nec­tions. I feel very grate­ful for these dif­fer­ent rela­tion­ships, scat­tered and yet sol­id. I would feel unmoored with­out them.

Since May 11, Paris streets are busy and noisy again. The bars and cafes are still closed, but many offer take-out. The weath­er is beau­ti­ful, and my neigh­bor­hood is full of young (and not so young) peo­ple drink­ing from plas­tic cups and hang­ing out on the side­walks or on the stairs of Mont­martre, no social dis­tanc­ing mea­sures dis­cernible. It wor­ries me. I con­tin­ue to prac­tice social dis­tanc­ing when I go out, and con­tin­ue to iso­late myself as much as pos­si­ble – not just because I’m afraid of the virus, but because I’m so much hap­pi­er in a qui­et life, with peo­ple I love near­by. I see my fam­i­ly, my boyfriend and a hand­ful of very close friends, and life feels very full.

I took the sub­way once or twice, but many peo­ple there don’t respect social dis­tanc­ing and talk loud­ly into their phones, with­out masks, so I try to stay in my neigh­bor­hood as much as pos­si­ble. I know I am priv­i­leged, with a home and food and loved ones near­by, but I wor­ry about what the world will be like when we emerge from this – the social, polit­i­cal and eco­nom­ic impacts of the virus and lock­downs around the world. I don’t know what world awaits my daugh­ters and grand-daughter.

CB: Are you work­ing? If yes, are you work­ing from your home or do you have to go to your place of work?
BM: I work as a free­lance edi­tor, usu­al­ly from home, and a lot of work was can­celled dur­ing the lock­down. But assign­ments are trick­ling back again, and I cross my fin­gers that they will continue.

CB: Were you affect­ed finan­cial­ly by the pan­dem­ic? Did you lose your job? Did you get assistance?
BM: Yes, my rev­enues took a big hit in March, April and May, but there has been gov­ern­ment aid for employ­ees and busi­ness­es, includ­ing inde­pen­dent work­ers whose rev­enues dropped by more than 50%, com­pared with the same peri­od last year, and that helped me and many oth­ers get through the peri­od. Many friends on per­ma­nent con­tracts are either work­ing at home or on tem­po­rary “tech­ni­cal unem­ploy­ment,” fund­ed by the gov­ern­ment. The gov­ern­ment is shoring up var­i­ous sec­tors (includ­ing the cul­tur­al sec­tor) with aid and ben­e­fits for now, but that won’t last very long, and the eco­nom­ic fall­out could be dis­as­trous. In addi­tion to the like­ly eco­nom­ic dif­fi­cul­ties ahead, I wor­ry that this will fuel the far-right move­ment, pop­ulism and xenophobia.

CB: Do you go out? To take walks? To see rel­a­tives or friends? For exercise?
BM: Even dur­ing the strict lock­down, from mid-March to mid-May, I went out for a dai­ly walk, usu­al­ly for an hour, up in the qui­et streets of Mont­martre. I loved watch­ing the flow­ers and trees come to life in the spring­time. About once a week, I walked with close women friends (our daugh­ters were in kinder­garten togeth­er) from the neigh­bor­hood, keep­ing a strict dis­tance between us – that was easy to do because we could walk in the mid­dle of the street (there were almost no cars on the road). I walk less now because there are so many peo­ple out­side, but I try to exer­cise sev­er­al times a week, usu­al­ly at home.

CB: Do you wear a face mask? Do you prac­tice social distancing?

BM: Yes, I wear a mask and gloves each time I go out, and I car­ry san­i­tiz­ing gel with me, as well. I prac­tice social dis­tanc­ing as much as I can, but my chil­dren, close friends, boyfriend and boyfriend’s chil­dren all see their own friends, so there are more and more risks of expo­sure, even with all the hand-wash­ing and masks and phys­i­cal dis­tance we can muster. It begins to feel like Russ­ian roulette.

CB: Please describe in a few sen­tences your dai­ly routine.

BM: I make cof­fee when I wake up, then go back to bed with my mug and a book. Then I answer email, do busy-work (edit­ing or admin­is­tra­tive work), per­haps do some exer­cise, then pre­pare lunch, eat on the bal­cony with my daugh­ter. In the after­noon, I con­tin­ue the busy-work and also work on my new book, then often go for a walk. I try to med­i­tate even a lit­tle every day. Some­times my boyfriend will pick me up on his motor­cy­cle at the end of the after­noon, and we’ll have wine and din­ner in his beau­ti­ful gar­den, just out­side Paris, amid the ros­es and hon­ey­suck­le and wis­te­ria. He has a won­der­ful house, with a gar­den stu­dio for writ­ing, but I hes­i­tat­ed about mov­ing there because I thought I would miss the buzz of Paris. Lock­down made me real­ize I’m so much hap­pi­er with­out the buzz, and a very qui­et life seems extreme­ly appeal­ing now. (He is very appeal­ing, too.)

CB: Do you go buy your own gro­ceries? What pre­cau­tions do you take?
BM: Yes, I buy my own gro­ceries – I wear a mask and gloves, and use con­tact­less pay­ment with my cred­it card. But it is still stress­ful – many cus­tomers don’t fol­low the one-meter dis­tanc­ing rec­om­men­da­tion and don’t wear masks, and at times every­one seems to be pass­ing with­in inch­es of every­one else. I dis­in­fect every­thing when I get home, wash the fruits and veg­eta­bles… I spend more time dis­in­fect­ing than shop­ping, I think.

CB: Do you order food to go? What pre­cau­tions do you take?
BM: Lock­down was a time for home cook­ing, and I loved it. Now a few restau­rants in the area are offer­ing take-out, and we’ve had a few take-out meals on the bal­cony, with chilled wine – it feels like a feast. I won­der now why I spent so much time in restau­rants. I’m not eager to go back to eat­ing out so often, once restau­rants open again. All that expense on food, for a momen­tary plea­sure in the mouth, might be bet­ter spent on oth­er things – I think there will be a lot of sup­port need­ed in many areas once we are out of this, and I’m like­ly to feel increas­ing­ly uneasy about self-indul­gence – and about sit­ting in a crowd­ed, enclosed space.

CB: Do you shop online or do you go out to stores that are open?
BM: I go to stores as much as pos­si­ble, but I order online as well when I can’t find what I need. I keep dream­ing of a min­i­mal­ist lifestyle and try not to accu­mu­late “stuff “(though I do accu­mu­late it, despite myself, and am always try­ing to get rid of things that I have and don’t use – it seems like a nev­er-end­ing bat­tle). I thought I’d do major clean­ing-out-of-clos­ets dur­ing lock­down, but I didn’t, main­ly because wad­ing through stuff dis­mayed me.

CB: Do you wor­ry about the future? Do you have night­mares or bad dreams? Do you feel some anx­i­ety? Or do you sleep well and feel nor­mal as usual?
BM: I wor­ry about my children’s future – in terms of jobs, in terms of what’s hap­pen­ing to the plan­et. Since lock­down end­ed, I some­times feel anx­ious about the future – it comes in waves. Sleep is prob­lem­at­ic. I was much hap­pi­er dur­ing lock­down and am hav­ing a bit of end-of-lock­down blues.

CB: What do you miss doing, with this pan­dem­ic? For eg eat­ing out, or going to church, orsee­ing relatives?
BM: I don’t miss very much as I’ve stayed close to those dear­est to me, wher­ev­er they are in the world, and I’ve also had lots of time alone, which I love. And again, I know I’m among the lucky ones because I have every­thing I need and feel very sur­round­ed by lov­ing fam­i­ly and friends. What I miss most, I sup­pose, is being in the coun­try­side – watch­ing spring unfold in my gar­den in Nor­mandy, the red and pink climb­ing ros­es on the cot­tage walls, the long sun­ny days, the wild ducks that come to nest in the pond for a few weeks every spring, the dri­ve through coun­try roads to the long, emp­ty beach­es bor­dered by dunes. A friend has been stay­ing in my house since lock­down began, and she sends me pho­tos of the trees and ros­es, so I watch the changes from afar, on the tiny screen of my cell phone. Ani­mals have become less fear­ful as humans stay indoors, and deer ven­ture out of the for­est and into the gar­den there.

I’ll miss trav­el­ing to Mani­la, too, as I had hoped to do in Octo­ber for the vela­da with my Assump­tion class­mates. I hate fly­ing, so I won’t miss that, but I will miss trav­el­ing to see friends abroad – I had hoped to trav­el to the San Fran­cis­co area, too, lat­er this year, to vis­it dear friends.

CB: Do you have tips about sur­viv­ing this pandemic?
BM: No tips, real­ly – just a reminder that life is frag­ile, that my expec­ta­tions – and what I take for grant­ed – are frag­ile, and the real­iza­tion that books, lov­ing rela­tion­ships and a spir­i­tu­al life (or at least the yearn­ing for one) have sus­tained me through­out all this and made me hap­py. Now we’ll see what comes next.

Read also:
Coro­n­avirus: The Begin­ning, by Cecil­ia Brainard
How Fil­ipinos Are Cop­ing With Covid, Part One (Cecil­ia Brainard, Pos­i­tive­ly Filipino)
How Fil­ipinos Are Cop­ing With Covid, Part Two (C. Brainard, PF) 
How Fil­ipinos Are Cop­ing With Covid-19, Part Three (C.Brainard, PF)

Covid-19: An Encounter with a Bee Dur­ing Quarantine

Inter­views follow:
Lia Fer­aren, Germany
Tere­sa Con­cep­cion, Canada
 Ofe­lia Gelve­zon Tequi, France
Reine Marie Bon­nie Melvin, France
New Zealand: Jay Mon­til­la & Moni­ka Tawngdee
Lin­da Ty-Casper, Mass­a­chu­setts, USA
Bar­bara Ann Jacala, San Diego, CA, USA
Bri­an Ascalon Roley, Ohio, USA
Eliz­a­beth Ann Besa-Quiri­no, USA
Inter­view of Cecil­ia Brainard by 95.9 Star FM Bacolod (DJ Bil­lie), USA

Inter­views of Fil­ipino Amer­i­cans #Cop­ing­With­Covid

All of the above links are part of the Philip­pine Covid Archive of Fil­ip­inas Her­itage Library.

tags: #coro­n­avirus #covid19 #covid #Fil­ipinos #cop­ing­with­covid #Paris #France #Europe #Fil­ipinoFrench #French­Fil­ipino #Fil­ipinoAmer­i­can #Bacolod #Philip­pines