Covid took hold of the world in early Spring 2020. Lock downs were followed by violent protests. The main message on the news channels and social media was fear. A spirit/ghost/vibe of distrust started to settle in. While the virus stayed invisible, people began to disappear. Ambulances were driving through deserted streets and men and women covered head to toe in protective gear stormed houses to carry out the unfortunates. This story plays in Ireland, a couple of years after the global pandemic was declared.

It has been two years now. I look outside the window. The wind sweeps over the meadow, further ahead the waves are crashing onto the beach trying to reclaim the bit of land that is there and pushing the inhabitants further into the rocky mountains. Storms up here are always an interesting spectacle for the senses: It is loud, incredibly loud, but also monotone. The waves come, hit the beach with a thunder and retreat. Half a second of silence, during which the wind howls, and then the next wave. Below the trumpeting waves the rickety sound of the window blinds being shaken by the wind. Once in a while a loud and high sound breaks through: A branch breaking. If you would step outside, the sand would fly into your mouth leaving a gritty taste for hours. But you don’t step outside. The sky rapidly changes from black to dark gray to black and white. The big deep clouds are flying ahead, pushed relentlessly by the wind.

I’ll have to clean up all the trash that the storm is bringing, I thought. A non-natural sound breaks through my thoughts and brings me back to reality. “Oh shit, the activity timer. That’s going tobe another talk with Jeff about why I was absent.”. I glance at the blood red screen hovering right in front of me and select Step Outside and walk away from the computer, the small corner in this small house I call my queendom. Kids aren’t allowed to enter, my employer installed non-lethal laser beans to keep them out. For the greater good: My work.

My queendom is nothing more than a little standing table, books to the left and right of it, my kids' drawings plastering the wall, pictures of my parents and sisters and friends everywhere. I haven’t been able to feel their hug, their live bodies for years. Of course, we have hugged, but putting on the suit and appearing in my mum's living room is great, but I can't smell the coffee or taste her food. The health ministry would disagree. They have updated and improved the algorithms for taste and smell a lot. They announced the update on the news: We spent 2.3 millions Euros and hired the best scientists to make sure our European citizens spread across our wonderful European Union can still have real human-to-human contact with each other while we fight the virus. But, I know that what I taste and smell is an illusion and the comfort is wearing off quickly.

The house door opens and my kids tumble in. They went to get the groceries. The bus just dropped them off. Finn, only 16, waves from the driver’s seat. He took over from his dad, once the law passed.

That fucking law. I despise it. I hate it with every part of my body: No adults outside. Too dangerous. We are spreading the virus. Where possible, childhoods have been taken away, replaced with the burden of adulthood: Groceries, shop-keeping, bus driving, teaching is done by those deemed mature enough to bear the responsibility, but not frail enough to catch the virus. The messaging from the government was as clear as the winter air: It's a badge of honor. The kids beam with pride. "We keep the economy going," they say.

I help put everything away. We're still out of coffee. It's not an essential item. Mountains of coffee are stored somewhere in France waiting to be shipped to Ireland, but other items go first. Essential items, like potatoes. Oh, I can't stand that vegetable anymore. Why oh why does every dish have to be accompanied with potatoes? What about kohlrabi? Or squash? Even a different variety of potatoes would be a feast.

**Two years ago we moved from Galway city to this empty piece of land. I made the request to the government and it was swiftly granted. The goal was to get people outside of the city into the sparsely populated rural areas. We need to reduce population density to stop the virus, was the government’s message. It also broke up communities. All requests for friends and family to be relocated to the same area were automatically denied. But, of course, this was not reported or mentioned anywhere. **

I picked this patch as no one wants to live here. It’s remote. Even for Ireland it is remote. There is nothing here but rocks and some patchy green. First, the kids hated it. They thought they’ll never gonna meet other people. But soon they learned about the secret paths and meeting points, the caves away from the prying eyes of the government. Quickly they became fluent in a secret language of symbols and codes.

Here people look out for each other, there is a sense of community and trust. No matter what the government is doing, it has no effect in this remote area. Surrounded by nothingness and dealing every day with the forces of nature, the people living here, the new ones like me and those who have their roots here, know that we will perish if we don’t help each other.

We adults are still locked inside, who knows for how long. But there is something rural Ireland provides that you never would get in a city. Something that might also be missing on mainland Europe, where my sisters and parents are. There is magic in the air, something strange. A whistle that doesn’t come from the trees or bushes, but seems to emanate from within the earth. It comes alive in the twilight and gets stronger when the wind blows more aggressively. A force that tries to destroy everything and reorder the place. If only it could.

On some nights we adults meet on the beach, far away from the listening ears of the government and enjoy the wind and the sounds. Knowing too well that we have to go inside, that we are endangering the whole country with our selfish act of wanting to be human, to hug each other, to feel the earth with our naked feed, the icy water encircle our bodies and taking our breath for a second, the waves washing over our heads and the shivering cold once we are out again standing on the beach swiftly and silently getting dressed in warm clothes. Still in the pitch black darkness only the Irish wilderness can provide.

Fuck covid19 I think while walking back home.