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Noshed on Diary of a Foreigner in Paris by Curzio Malaparte, one of the great bullshitters of the 20th century. Hell of a writer, but you don’t have to believe a word he says. The Italian author was a fascist who was later imprisoned by Mussolini. He says it was because he made fun of the dictator’s ties and/or was really anti-fascist. In fact one of his prison sentences was for embezzling public funds. He also did time for insulting a war hero—whose glowing biography he had written himself. The war hero didn’t like it, so he talked trash about the war hero.
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It turns out that I can live with less: no dining out, no shopping, no hanging out at the mall. A movie a day, three books a week, good writing materials, and cats, to paraphrase Truffaut. And food, of course (I read somewhere that Truffaut did not eat much), and cat supplies. Cleaning products. Skin care. I’m all set to live like a Bronte sister, but without the consumption. (True, if too many of us choose to become low-spending shut-ins for the rest of our lives, that will really hobble the economy, but then capitalism needs an overhaul after this catastrophe.)
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Otsu, whom I hadn’t seen since our supermarket run on the day lockdown was announced, dropped off ice cream, cheese, and hopia. Along with my friend’s Garfield-level lasagna and another friend’s mercy mission delivery of good wine, I am set for the week.

These days Otsu can only read medical journals, and she reports that the single best indicator of covid resistance and recovery is high levels of vitamin D. (Which is not to say that chewing ginger or drinking virgin coconut oil is useless, but there hasn’t been enough research there.)
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Portents
I wrote this in 1991, an apocalyptic time—the first Iraq War, the Baguio earthquake, the eruption of Mt Pinatubo, daily 12-hour power outages. Little did I know. The story won first prize at the Palanca Awards and got me a publishing deal with Anvil, which was then managed by Karina Bolasco. Karina is still my publisher, this time with Ateneo University Press.

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Listen to the beginning of The Adventuress, a new short story by Jessica Zafra.

Signed copies of zine#1: The Adventuress are available here, P250 each. Limited edition, 500 copies only. To order, email your full name, delivery address, and mobile number to saffron.safin@gmail.com. We’ll get back to you with the total cost including delivery charge. We accept payments by BDO deposit, PayPal and PayMaya.

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The Department of Health has announced that the Philippines is now in its second wave of coronavirus infections. This is news to me because I didn’t know that the first wave was over.
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New quarantine hobby: Listening to the death zaps of those blasted mosquitoes. I know my stats are accurate. Each color represents a different day.

There I was in front of my building, waiting for the Lalamove rider to pick up a package, soaking up some vitamin D while checking my messages. Five minutes later the rider arrived and I realized to my horror that while I had gloves on, I wasn’t wearing a mask! Of course the rider was wearing mask, helmet, and gloves. I passed him the package and slunk back to my apartment in shame. Had I contaminated anyone? Was it safe in that empty street? Had I inhaled aerosol particles carrying the virus? Would I catch the disease? And I had been so careful, I barely left the house in eight weeks. What if it gets so bad I’d have to be hospitalized? What if there are no ventilators left? What if, what if?
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