Do You Need a Mask?
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: The Korean National Youth Facility, outside of Seoul, South Korea
Do You Need a Mask?
Several days ago, walking out the door of our Tokyo apartment, we had one of those seemingly-quotidian moments that slide across the surface of a day, unnoticed, but burrow into my head and subtly shift my experience of a place.
There were half a dozen apartments in our building, each with its own entrance (my primary requirement in these days of virus avoidance). We hadn’t yet put on our masks, because our little alley was pretty consistently empty and silent, but that day, a neighbor happened to be leaving at the same time. She saw us, nodded, hesitated, then asked if we needed masks—she had some extras.
Of course, we immediately pulled ours out and put them on, thanking her, then went on our way.
It was such an inconsequential exchange, but in the middle of a global pandemic, it was everything. I have no idea what she intended, in asking us if we needed masks, but we chose to see her offer as a gesture of generosity and community: it was as if she had asked if we were okay, if we needed anything. Neighbor helping neighbor, or even better, stranger helping stranger.
Tokyo can feel like a hard nut to crack: it’s a huge city and the cultural vibe is more restrained than exuberant. There’s little-to-no touching, but a great deal of bowing and formality. At the moment, almost everyone is wearing a mask. The government’s increasingly strident warnings about physical distancing don’t exactly increase the approachability vibe.
But by asking us if we needed masks, that young woman was including us in her community, and acknowledging our shared interest in keeping each other safe and healthy—our responsibility for each other. It was only a passing moment, but it added a warm fuzzy layer to our time in Tokyo.
It made me wonder—when was the last time I asked a stranger if I could help? Not recently enough, I think.
*****
Yesterday we flew to South Korea. Beforehand, I was worried that our arrival would be frowned upon, but we were met with nothing but kindness and welcome (and mildly apologetic explanations that we were going to have to spend two full weeks at a government quarantine facility).
We had done our research, so we knew what we were getting into (I brought ALL the snacks), but I didn’t really expect everyone to be so nice about it all. Everyone is quite clear about the rules, but in a way that makes you feel like they really just want to say, “Sorry about this—we’ll make it as pleasant as we can.”
When we arrived at the facility at midnight, we were greeted by the director and three staff members, all covered head to toe in PPE. They looked a bit like astronauts. All I could see was their eyes, behind clear plastic face shields, but they still managed to make us feel welcome. As we were being escorted to the door, my feet got mixed up with my suitcase, and in a typical Lisa move, I went sprawling across the pavement. All four of our astronaut-escorts came running to my rescue. I was mortified, of course, but again, they couldn’t have been nicer (and I’m fine, except for a sore knee—maybe it’s for the best that I have to sit still for a few days).
We’re in a basic-but-functional dorm situation; we’re required to stay in our room for 14 nights/15 days. Food is left outside our door three times a day. Theoretically, someone will check our temperature every day (hasn’t happened yet today). The only real surprise was that we were given the option of staying in the same room—we had expected to be separated, so the fact that we’re able to be together is a huge relief to me.
At this point, most of the new Coronavirus cases in South Korea are coming from abroad, so we could’ve encountered a very different attitude. I could easily be curled up in a corner, freaking out. Instead, those nice astronaut-rescuers with their welcoming eyes, and the very kind soldiers and police officers who were directing passengers and managing the screenings at the airport, all went out of their way to put us at ease. I’m relatively content (albeit way more sedentary than I’m used to), and optimistic about getting some writing done while we wait out the days.
No one here has offered us a mask (yet), but we definitely feel as if we’ve been offered a safe place to stay. So Lee and I will be here, keeping each other company, stringing words into sentences, and eating our way through the snacks. Be well, friends, and be kind.
Take care,
Lisa
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