Is anybody going to help him?

We’re losing touch.

I’m in my car, driving to my parents. Getting through a one-way fast-road, a two-way street is visible.

I find myself screaming at the rearview mirror:

“Is anybody going to help him?”

A man is falling at the beginning of a zebra crossing. As my view of him vanishes, cars, bicycles, and people, they all keep on their way.

What is this pandemic doing to us? Are we so afraid of anything that could happen with a touch? How many helping hands will get lost in the process?

It’s like we’re in Saramago’s Blindness. We lost our senses. For people who are ill, it’s the smell. For everybody else, it’s touch.

I exited the road and turned back. It took me 5 minutes or so to get to the place.

The man wasn’t there anymore.

I would never know if he got up on its own or found someone who hasn’t been damaged in its soul by this damned pandemic.

Yet, there’s an awful truth. While sanitizing our hands, we’re not just washing away the virus.