A summary of fragmented thoughts, Proof of Living Moments (PLM) intends to have an account of what comes to my mind when I am reading on the subway, walking in the street or listening to a podcast. Thoughts often appear, then disappear into the ocean of unconsciousness, as if they have never existed.
As if that living moment has never existed.
I hope these notes are at least a proof of those living moments.
“After the Rain” by Feng Zikai/《雨后》丰子恺
April 4 was Qingming (清明) Festival, according to the Chinese traditional calendar. Qingming has been celebrated among Chinese since Han Dynasty (206 BC to 220 AD). As the first important holiday after Chinese Lunar New Year, Qingming marks the coming of the spring: bright and warm sunlight brings life back to the earth after a long and stark cold winter. So as human lives: families visit their ancestors' graveyards while strengthening bonds between the living and the dead, as well as among generations; spring outing is popular among young men and women, who will look for, and hopefully make love in the field! Kites are flying in the blue sky as the spring breeze gently blows. Indeed, in Chinese, 清（qīng）literally means “pure”, or “clear”; 明 （míng) means “brightness”. While it is often associated with activities including cleaning the tombs of deceased family members and ancestors (which sounds too serious), the word itself indicates days that are coming will be brighter and more lively.
Sitting in an apartment in Astoria, New York City, I heard sirens of ambulances near and far outside of my window from time to time. It’s the end of the third week staying home due to COVID-19. The sun is indeed bright. Hydrangeas I brought back last Wednesday from my last grocery trip are thriving on the balcony. The death toll in New York City reached 1,867 yesterday with a total of 63,306 confirmed cases in the morning of Saturday. Every topic on the newspaper, TV, websites, personal blogs (including this one), is about COVID-19: scary numbers, death tolls, CDC updates (now they say you should wear a “cloth cover” when you go out in public); parents slowly or quickly driven crazy by their children; teachers talking about online teaching; many many diaries about being in New York at this time; all the documentations of this surreal moment of the human history; millions of job lost over the past 3 weeks and a gloomy future with the possibility of a great depression, perhaps worse than the one in 1929. It felt surreal at the beginning, when all of sudden the world stopped and we were all “shelter-in-place”, seeing human faces most of the time 2D through Zoom. And now it’s more real than we want to believe.
And as far as we are still alive, life will go on. The question is how? Or, how differently will life go on?
I suspended my usual bike ride this morning, and canceled an appointment to the New York Blood Center ---- I was planning to donate blood there though eventually changed the appointment to a later date: taking a subway proved to be too daunting. I moved some debris out of my balcony and loosen the soil in a few pots. Somehow I found 3 seeds from a small jar from years ago. And I planted them all in one of the big pots. I don’t know what kind of plants they are.
The balcony overlooks a few backyards on my block. In this part of Astoria, most of the houses were 2 or 3 storied structures built years ago, with a yard in the back. My downstairs neighbor George’s garden is right beneath my balcony. A few pine trees I helped to plant years ago are still thriving; dandelions are blossoming quietly in a corner----though sadly the garden is not under good care. The yard next to his garden was left in complete wildness for a long time, but in the past few days new tenants trimmed the grass neatly. A young man was playing in the yard for a while, alone. And stopped. An old couple, whose garden is always the best attended in this little backyard world, are busy doing some gardening already. I envy their two beautiful trees blossoming with white flowers, and another one full of pink buds. Birds, all kinds, are busy chirping and yelling. I heard a loud chirp in one of the bushes and was completely absorbed for a moment, trying to find the source.
I remember many afternoons of spring and summer are exactly like this: quiet, peaceful, nothing is really happening but life is around.
Except for the occasional distant ambulance serien, which almost certainly is for someone critical with COVID-19. Now the weird thing is, as I enjoyed the moment, I was at the same time guilty: not too far from my house, in the Elmhurst Hospital, people were dying in hundreds; doctors working without enough protection were desperate. How can I allow myself sitting in the sun, sipping a glass of beer, and feeling tranquil?
We are now all social distancing at home. The world is changing. And I wonder, how long will this little calm and peaceful backyard world last?
Regardless, that was a living moment during COVID-19, and now I have a proof.
Astoria, New York
4/4/2020