Under the Pressure of Lockdown, the Back of my Hands are Cracking.

Wednesday 1 April 2020

It might be April Fool’s Day, but today is no joke. Yesterday, France recorded its largest number of deaths from COVID-19. The number of cases continues to rise, and I don’t know when we’ll reach the peak. The only consolation lies in the thought that the peak can’t be far away now.

It’s another beautiful day — perhaps the most beautiful yet. There’s no denying the impact that the confinement has had on the environment. Not a single trace of smog can be seen in the sky, which is a pristine shade of blue unlike any I’ve known. It’s strange to think, then, that the moment the confinement ends, the sky will revert to its usual smoggy self — as if pollution were a sign of business as usual. It’s a shame that modern life is inimical to clean air, and that by having one we have to forgo the other.

Today was another early start. For the first time ever, I opened my eyes and for a moment believed I was back home. Then, when I looked around the room, which was still mostly dark, my eyes gradually began to make out the clothes sitting on my shelves and I came to the realisation that I was still in France, under lockdown.

By the time I lunch came by, I had to retire to my bed. Never has fatigue been such a fixture in my life that I cannot do…