Pre-covid-19 days, the usual example of a zombie around was an aimlessly walking thin man, glassy eyed, with long and dirty entangled hair, staring but not really looking or seeing, who never took a bath for weeks if not months, with clothes sticky with dirt. . . you could just imagine how he smelled. His brain cells were already fried beyond redemption. Thanks to cheap crack, locally known as shabu, always just a text message away.
There are now masses of almost zombie-like people all over the world. Jobless, their savings had already been gone months ago, they are clueless where to get the next meal. Locked down in their localities, any creativity left in them to get some food and other needs could not find any chance to be applied or expressed to assure comfortable survival in the near future.
Call somebody? Chances are, acquaintances are in the same boat. Bills are piling up, whatever are in the cupboards are just good for a day or two. Credits could not be called or collected for how can blood be squeezed from turips?
Well, a lot of us in the provinces can still survive in a little more time with whatever plants that could be harvested around one’s residence or from what used to be flower pots, or from what we can beg or borrow from neighbors, friends and relatives. But survival does not mean for a day or two, or even a month or two.
What happens next after such time? The situation could deteriorate in a spiral downhill—geometrically. The covid-19 virus is not about to get defeated. It is instead mutating everywhere, becoming more vicious each time. With its multiplying number of victims, becoming closer and closer to home, so many doubters that it was all just a racket are now convinced it is real. The accounts of survivors who are personally known to us were the most convincing.
Wherever we go now, new victims are being heard, some already got cremated, others are still in the hospital.
Who are we gonna call who or whose extended family remain unscathed? Who are we gonna call who is sure business will still be OK when the smoke finally clears up?
Sure, a vast majority will say we will survive, but everyone is not really sure. We might survive but in what form?
With a dazed unkempt look, aimlessly moving around with a blank stare, like the brain dead addicts who are already too far gone?
The ultimate sign everything can still turn out Ok is if the government employees are still being paid. Any government payroll not met would mean that social unrest or chaos has already resulted. Everyone would then be on his own.**