Valli : Personal Journal of Valli Pillay, a Living Dead Pandemic Survivor

Entry 16

After I wrote the last entry I was sick. Physically. I had to take a few days off work. It was extremely difficult for me to write down the last moments I spent with Mom and Vani. Not a day, hour, minute, or second goes by that they're not on my mind.

As a teenager, I suppose I didn't pay much attention to family life. I was busier with other things, like Andy or clothes. It all seems so trivial now. Now, I remember the simple things we did as a family: Vani and I doing our homework at the kitchen table; Mom and Dad cooking; Dad sneaking chocolates and sweets to us; Mom catching him and telling him he's spoiling us; Dad hugging Mom, which usually cooled her off, although she always had the last word about us needing to eat right; Dad saying chocolate is the cornerstone of any nutritious meal and giving her a piece too; Mom never refusing.

I did not realize, at the time, how fortunate and happy we all were to be together. What's the point of having survived all of this just to suffer the loss of your loved ones? Suffering their loss makes it difficult to get by.

When I was trying to survive, I didn't think about it as much. How could I? I had to constantly forage for food, avoid the living dead and decide who was good or bad among the living. Even during moments of relative peace and calm, I wasn't sure what could happen next. Death, violent death, was always a possibility. It got to the point that when I finally reached Namibia, I had to figure out what being normal was like. I had to dig deep inside myself for the happy memories, the memories of my family and friends. This exercise, the writing, has helped a lot in bringing back the memories of my life before the outbreak. I suppose it's helping me put things into the right context.

During my last therapy session with Fergie I shared some of these thoughts with him. He felt it was encouraging.

"Don't stop now," Fergie said. "It will only get better."

Can it though?