"Write about an unexpected event."
In the winter of 2019, an intrepid guy in the Chinese city of Wuhan ate a bat's soup, and the world changed—yes, this is how the story begins.
"A new virus emerges in China. Should we be worried?" read The Hindu, a popular Indian newspaper. "Wei Guixian, a 57-year-old woman, has died of it; his relatives and close friends are under investigation." Two days later, the same press added to the main text: "Only 41 of the 59 suspected cases marked positive. Seven have a severe illness."
As a guy who lived in Mexico City, close to the country's worst and unhealthy local businesses, I immediately understood what had happened in the Huanan Seafood Market when I first heard the news.
While those numbers—fifty-nine cases—did not seem a great deal, this miniature-highly-aggressive disease started its way to a global scale. From planes to boats, from kids to grown-ups.
My constant addiction to reading the international press helped me to realize, in February this year, that the epidemic could soon arrive in my country. And it did.
In March 2020, the Global Health Organization (WHO) surprised the world by declaring the novel pandemic. The current essay is an overview of what happened from a Mexican point of view.
There are moments in our lives when we summon the courage to make choices against our will and common sense and go out to discover the world, like exploring a new country, applying for a new job, or even catching up with friends.
There are other times when we receive an order from the government and stick to it to keep ourselves alive. No matter if we believe them or not.
Our arrogance makes us—the species in general—refuse to believe something microscopic and invisible to the human eye is killing dozens of people throughout each continent—until we experience it. COVID-19 showed us how dehumanized we were starting this year.
The pandemic forced us to connect and interact in another way.
The virus does not discriminate color, race, or ethnicity when attacking; nonetheless, it hit harder on places where its citizens look at disinformation as something good. (For instance, the American continent.) Consequently, those who were once numbers in the news become dead family members or personalities we respected. Dead is inevitable when humans do not follow scientists and health experts' advice.
A month after the WHO presented the discouraging news, I walked in my room thoughtfully and nervous when I finally asked myself. Who says humans are the most intelligent species on earth? Who gave us that title? The answer to both questions was daunting and depressive, we, humans. It does not matter that we have not even been able to communicate with chimpanzees. We consider ourselves as "bright."
The previous comment came up because pride has clouded our sight. Our inexistent empathy for others caused a faster spread of the virus. Opinions like, "I won't accept someone unknown to give me orders. Who wants to come over?" or "That thing is not going to kill me, I don't need to put a face mask on," were regular on social media.
The final message I pretend you to remember is that we are a society. And society is a synonym of community—all of us together. Do not let fake news and false governments take your eyes off where it matters.
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