Heartbreak Math

It's February 2020. You're at your partner's mom place for lunch. His sister is there, too - along with other people, but she's the one who matters to this memory. Winter vacation, or sportlov, is coming up. She's excited to travel to the French Alps to go skiing. You tell her [[about this virus thing that's all over French news.->Intro 2]]

She really should reconsider. Hospitals in Eastern France are full. People are dying. Swedish news are covering things but not nearly in as much detail. After all, it hasn't reached Sweden yet. In France, though - where you're from, where your entire family lives - it's fast becoming a bloodbath. Traveling to an area with a major cluster seems ill-advised. We don't know how it spreads yet. [[It can't hurt to be careful.->Intro 3]]

It will later turn out that ski vacations were not how the virus reached Sweden. They compared the variants, the genetic markers in the virus itself. But you could not know that then. No one could. You just did the math with the information you had. [[You're still doing that five years later.->Title]]

[align center] # ~~Heartbreak math~~ Or: the illusion of choice in year 6 of an airborne pandemic [[Start->Paris Date]]

# Author's note This was written mostly out of frustration, over a couple days and with no feedback or serious editing. In what I feel is a decent part of the Twine tradition, I wanted to put digital pen to virtual paper and produce some raw nuggets of how fucking *miserable* those years have been. It is a series of vignettes for the same reason. Putting it all into a cohesive narrative, a compelling essay, requires a different mindset to the one I'm in. And if I am doing that, I'd rather create full-blown didactic resources. There is no exit or light at the end of the tunnel here because I currently cannot see one. While I deeply believe we will eventually win and get out of this, I also fear that it will be over a pile of bodies putting the average Elden Ring boss arena to shame. {back link, label: "Back"}

It's early 2025. A dear friend is celebrating their move into a new place. They apologize at length that it will not be covid-safe, because they don't feel that asking their friends to test or mask is feasible. As a result, they don't even invite you. [[You kind of want to scream.->Party 2]]

Where to even start? You want to ask what kind of "friends" those even are, that asking them to keep their "friend" safe would be a dealbreaker. And why are you being denied agency, kept off the guest list because you are doing what's right? [[It's not fair.->Party 3]]

Eventually the friend apologizes and invites you anyway. You go there and don't stay long - the reminder that nobody actually gives a fuck is too painful. > [[You could start shit, though. Right?->Party No 1]] > [[Oh well, who needs a social life anyway.->Party 4]]

It's March 2025. Your 33rd birthday has come and gone. You don't disclose your birth date online anymore. Nor do you advertise where you work - the job is very cool, full remote, as stable as it gets in the ever-collapsing game industry. It keeps you distracted. You're keenly aware of how fucking sad that sounds. You don't want to complain too much. You have money. Food. A roof over your head. [[It could be so much worse.->Status Quo 2]]

You can count your trustworthy friends on your fingers. The mere idea of a love/sex life seems laughable. It took you thirty goddamn years to figure out who you are and what you want and now you can't have any of it. You've tried to explain to your friend why the breach of trust hurt. You got an "explanation". This is why staying home and spinning yarn is easier. Your work has paid off, somewhat. A few events are safer now. But you routinely see the folks who attend fail to put the mask back on the subway ride back. [[Your faith in humanity's not doing great.->Status Quo 3]]

It's late 2024. You're the only one with a mask on your face at the immigration legal clinic again. It seems obvious - most of the people you're helping are undocumented, broke, struggling in a million ways. [[The least you can do is keep them a bit safer.->Volunteering 2]]

Except, that's not it, is it? You're primarily keeping *yourself* safe. Unlike most of those people, you're privileged enough to dodge exposure. The other volunteers, though. They should give a shit and yet they don't. They're well aware that the State is murderous. But they have stopped caring, stopped masking, stopped testing. They, too, are who you are keeping yourself safe from. You try to explain this to one of them, with minimal salt. She tells you it's a personal choice not to wear a mask. You try in vain to explain that in doing so, she's endangering you. She doubles down. > [[You yell at her and call her a hypocrite.->Volunteering No]] > [[You let it slide.->Volunteering 3]]

You're haunted by an article from July 2020, about a guy in Södertälje called Nuri Kino, [[who had lost 33 people over four months->https://www.svt.se/nyheter/inrikes/han-har-forlorat-33-personer-i-sviterna-av-covid-19]]. He denounced the blatant racism in failing to reach out to people who can't work remotely or live alone. That's damn near everyone you're welcoming here. You remain baffled that this isn't self-evident to the others. [[But you can't fight all the fights at once, especially not alone.->Party Date]]

She's an insult to the very work you're doing here. But of course you don't yell at her. It would feel good, it would feel GREAT, but it would lead nowhere. She's only just joined. You're always short on people. You're doing important work. You can't burn that bridge. And besides, most people never actually care about your needs or your pain so it's not even a good argument. The math is simple: {back link, label: 'keep the peace'}.

[[It's late 2024.->Volunteering 1]]

[[It's early 2025.->Party 1]]

And ruin your friend's party? That'd be rude. You don't mind making enemies, hell knows you've probably alienated about 90% of the local queer *milieu* by now, but this is not the place for that. {back link, label: "You vaguely explain why you even have a mask on and sit awkwardly in the corner."}

[[It's February 2020.->Intro 1]]

[[It's October 2022.->Paris 1]]

It's October 2022. You've been back in France for a year. It became impossible to stay in Sweden. Too much pandemic denial, too many roadblocks to your projects. You've just settled into a mediocre studio in fucking Paris to study glassblowing for a year. You absolutely do not want to be in this town but here we are. You're terrified of being in a classroom. But at least the setup is near-only practice hours and when it comes to ventilation, a modern glassblowing workshop is hard to beat. [[Otherwise carbon monoxide will get you long before covid does.->Paris 2]]

The year is long and difficult. The training is hard, the teachers and your classmates profoundly ableist. Being in a school setting means you can't really stop thinking about [[how the Swedish state epidemiologist explicitely wrote that infecting kids was a great idea.->https://emanuelkarlsten.se/tegnell-mejlen-sa-fick-flockimmuniteten-faste-hos-folkhalsomyndigheten/]] Back then pretty much everyone outside of Sweden agreed this was monstrous. How the turn tables, etc. You're learning cool things, though. It's worth it. But the place is a high school, and outside of your weird room it's pretty crowded with unmasked teenagers. > [[Sure would be nice to eat indoors.->Paris No 1]] > [[No matter the weather, lunch is outside only.->Paris 3]]

Hell no. The school mess hall was always a nightmare for you even without an airborne pathogen in the mix. Your two adult classmates pretend to get it but obviously do not change a thing about their own behavior. {back link, label: "And remember, you're a bad person if you bring it up."}

At least the school is close to a park, it makes for a greenery break. And there's a spot where you can shelter from the rain - not that there is nearly as much of that as there was when you were a teenager. Paris is also where nearly all the queer stuff happen. [[That could be nice.->Paris 4]]

Except, it's not, is it? Queer communities have dropped the ball like everyone else. It's especially jarring when it comes from Act Up in particular. You thought protecting people from viruses the State has decided to let rip was kind of their whole thing. Rinse and repeat: there's a cool event. If the announcement says anything about accessibility, it's probably to apologize that there's a staircase preventing wheelchair users from joining. > [[That means zero safety, but you're aching for community.->Paris No 2]] > [[You tweet something snarky and go spin some yarn.->Festival Date]]

It's not worth it. At best, you'll once again be the only one in a mask, and that only makes you feel more alone. Staying away is easier because it does not constantly force reminders on you. Reminders that nobody cares, that nobody in our joke of a community is honoring our legacy, that you are surrounded by hypocrites who claim to care about accessibility and harm reduction but who speak of covid in the past tense. {back link, label: "The good part of a betrayal that large is that it's not personal, at least."}

It's June 2023. You get to go to exacty one conference-esque event, days before leaving Paris, because that one mandated masks. You run into someone you know from Lille and he goes to great pains to explain why this is overkill because the room is big. > [[Look, violence never solves anything, but...->Festival No]] > [[You explain that this is not how airborne transmission works.->Festival 2]]

You are very short and your arms are noodles. As satisfying as it is to fantasize about putting this clown and his ilk through a wall, it's not going to work. You also always remind yourself that doing the work is what matters. Punches are not teaching aids when it comes to public health. {back link, label: "Needing to always pretend you don't feel anything is getting old, though."}

You try not to sound annoyed. Or cold. Or snarky. Or very, very pissed off. You probably fail hard. There are many worst parts, but the constantly simmering anger is a big one. Every fucker you meet is always really keen to remind you of how traumatic the lockdowns were. You try to respect that but you're starting to feel like the proverbial *dindon de la farce*. Do they think this is fun for you? Do they think you're not carrying any trauma, that being shut out by your own people like this isn't traumatic in itself? [[Do they think you actually have a choice?->Festival 3]]

[[It's May 2024.->Event 1]]

[[It's June 2023.->Festival 1]]

The event itself is great, at least. But it ends with a party and you can tell folks will stop being careful then - because they are already not being careful in the too-tight outdoors area. [[Good thing that queer social life isn't mostly parties and bars, right?->Event Date]]

It's May 2024. Because you've got a bad case of Engineer Brain, you've been working towards solving problems instead of just lecturing people about them. In this case, it means that you've built a bunch of DIY air purifiers and agreed to put them in place to make an event a bit more secure. [[You show up for installation and no one is wearing masks.->Event 2]]

So do they care or not? It's hard to tell and very sad, because they are otherwise people you would likely get along with. A lot of bad thinkpieces have been written about masks acting as a wall, and it is somewhat true, you reflect - because your own mask turns you into a walking Memento Mori. It's much easier to file you away as a weirdo instead. The program for the evening sounds really neat. But you know that the place is too small, badly ventilated, and the air purifiers nowhere near enough to make this safe. > [[You'd really like to stay.->Event No]] > [[You finish setting up and leave, heart aching even more than usual.->Event 3]]

The basement goes up to 9000ppm of CO2 during a concert. A friend you entrusted with an Aranet sensor measured it. It doesn't matter how well-fitting your mask is, it doesn't matter that there are two bulky air purifiers there, it's not safe. You can't afford long covid. You've tested brain fog before: if you get it again, then you can't work, then you can't be financially independent, and by now you know fairly well that you cannot actually trust anyone to keep you alive. {back link, label: 'No fun evening is worth that risk.'}

You're well aware you probably look like a paranoid weirdo who doesn't want anyone to have fun. You're fairly certain that everyone thinks you don't have social needs. You wonder why the hell you make an effort so others can have slightly-less-unsafe fun while they do not ever make room for you. [[The depressive spiral lasts two weeks.->Volunteering Date]]

Your friend, luckily, puts on a second moving-in party. They say this time it'll be a smaller audience, that they'll have the conversations ahead of time and this one will be safer. You're incredibly relieved. A safe-ish social event where you'll be able to relax and just have a normal time? For pretty much the first time in five years? When you show up, it's just as crowded as the first one and no one is masking. > [[Start shit this time.->Party No 2]] > [[Nope. Not worth it.->Party 5]]

It would still be rude. You're not mad at this point, just disappointed and sad. Actions speak louder than words. {back link, label: "You'll just know not to trust this friend about that one topic."}

The salt does spill out a bit. You never were a good liar, even by omission. A mutual friend shows up, immediately puts on a mask. You exchange one of those Looks. You end up chatting for a bit, petting the cat and leaving early together. On the way back to your place, you bond over how you were both worried this would happen. How you still wouldn't want to be mean, because at least your host still masks in some situations. It's better than most. [[It's nowhere near enough.->Status Quo Date]]

HIV is easy, by comparison. At least you can breathe in the same room before starting to even talk about the risks. You're pretty much angry all the time. You vent into the void of Not-Twitter: it makes it easier to sound almost not murderous when explaining the same basic shit to people for the hundredth time. You're pretty much sad all the time. That you talk about less, because it feels like admitting weakness. You dry off your tears and get back to work. # Not-the-end [[Author's Note]]

[[It's March 2025.->Status Quo 1]]