Hands that smell like bleach

I’m writing this on the third Saturday of community quarantine in Metro Manila. And it’s after doing what I’d normally do on a Saturday morning: clean me and my older sister’s dormitory room.

Fact is, I considered it a chore. My sister would always be out on Saturdays and it’s not like I want us to live in a pig sty. I also feel like it’s something I’m better at than her. LOLz.

Other than being a chore, I find it rather fun to sweep up the dust and hairs, soak my clothes in powder detergent then fabric conditioner, and scrub the bathroom floor with a water and bleach solution. If I mixed in too much bleach, it would sting my eyes while I scrub the floor; and if I mixed in less then I wouldn’t have the clean bathroom floor that I want. It’s like my own weekly science experiment.

Every day after Saturday felt the same. My schedules revolved getting up, working, socializing, and resting. Though I’ll admit that I’m not able to do all four depending on which day. That all changed when the country, or the world rather, went on a full stop. All because of an invisible enemy.

It’s been crazy. People becoming paranoid, being misinformed, misinforming others, and doing some of the stupidest things. (I’m looking at you, naked TikTok account holders.)

I secretly worry for family and friends in different parts of the country. The scenarios I make up in my mind give me headaches and tire me out enough to sleep. I’m doing myself dirty by spacing out at the most random moments and stopping my breathing.

I sleep only to wake up at 2am, then again at 6am, then at 8am; something that I thought I would never experience again after settling into a new occupation.

I wake up fearing that I’ll be sleeping to bad news. I can talk to others about it and we’d have insightful conversations about it. But I have to tell myself to step away from it all before it consumes me and I won’t be able to think of anything else to say other than “ugh,” “oh well,” and “*big sigh*”.

Which is why I’m thankful that some things didn’t have to change; how my Saturdays remain the same as before with its mundane and boring routine.

I’m thankful that this hasn’t stopped me from stubbing my pinky toes, sweating from how hot the room is when I turn off the electric fan to sweep the floor, sneezing when the dust enters my nose, getting cuts and wounds from hitting my hands at the exposed pipes, and seeing the skin of my hands and feet peel off from being exposed to bleach for too long.

I’m thankful that I still have a roof above my head, that I’m able to eat at least one meal per day, and that the neighbors are also finding things to do to keep living.

For now, while the world is fighting a common enemy and the Philippine is in not-so-good terms with its government, I’ll be in my room, hoping that the smell of bleach doesn’t wear off from my hands and that they stay pruny a little while longer.

You know, so I don’t lose my shit and break down in front of a friend again.