In the short time between waking up and getting out of bed, one could think that everything is as usual. The dawn's light enters through the closed window, and the familiar sound of the tram rolling down the street fills the room.
But everything isn't as it was a few short weeks ago. I am writing this from Milan, Italy. My country is suffering with the most active cases of coronavirus, COVID-19, in the world.
In February, there were about a dozen positive cases in a couple of small towns about 30 miles from Milan. Now the number is in the tens of thousands and the containment measures have become progressively more restrictive but to no avail. I'm not much of a socialite, so the recommendation of social distancing hasn't been that much of a burden; at least it wasn't in the beginning.
No one is allowed to go outside except for necessary reasons related to certain jobs, buying groceries, or going to the doctor. Vacations or any outdoor activities are prohibited. Even with one of the valid reasons to leave the house, you must carry a document to prove the necessity at possible police checks. All schools and universities are closed and will probably stay shut for the foreseeable future.
Needing to buy groceries, I am also very curious about what it's like outside. I decide to take a stroll around the city's center. As I step outside, what I see is not exactly a ghost town, but it's definitely a different place. There certainly is far less traffic, and of the few pedestrians passing by, nearly half are wearing various facemasks.
But there's also something new about the way people approach each other. As two pedestrians are about to pass each other, instead of exchanging a friendly "good morning," or just walking past each other, both make eye contact from a distance of at least 10 yards. Then, depending on the width of the sidewalk, the two people walk toward each other and pass as if an invisible roundabout is in place to keep a constant distance.
I notice that all the city's outdoor advertisements are now about the virus: 1) keep distance, 2) wash your hands, 3) wear a facemask, 4) stay at home (whoever reads this one has already lost the game), and 5) keep your grandparents at home.
In front of the Milan Cathedral, the pigeons, for once, outnumber the people. I can't go inside, everything is sealed off. Mass is not even being held in the world's largest gothic-style cathedral. I also notice shops nearby are closed, and eating establishments can only provide takeaway.
I take the tram. Here, too, radical measures are taken. Like other public transport, the driver is separated from the passengers, the first row of seats covered in security tape like a red-and-white spider web. And between every stop, speakers broadcast the latest measures taken by the government.
As the tram drives by a playground, there are many children with their families. Should this be regarded as an illegal gathering? Kindergartens and schools have been closed. It's certainly not the children's fault and, as often, there is a certain divide between what's right and what's practical.
Finally, I arrive at the grocery store. In front of the glass door, there is now a bouncer-like figure deciding when I can go in to buy canned goods and produce. At least the coronavirus has created this new job, I think. While I choose my "survival rations," I hear nearby conversations about the current situation. Everyone sounds shocked and yet resigned. One says, "All this will be told to future generations." Good or bad, one thing is clear: the scare of the virus is more poisonous than the disease itself.
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ABOUT THE WRITER
Leo Binelli is an iGeneration Youth reporter living in Milan, Italy. Read more stories at igenerationyouth.com.
