KISAH Futures Anthology
“It’ll be over soon. Be patient. You’re helping millions of people by…” I let his voice drone off. This is the speech. I’ve heard it 27 times, and it is always the same. At first, I was hopeful. I was even proud that I had been chosen to be part of this programme, this strategy, that would bring the world back to pre-COVID-19 times. It was the luck of the draw, he told me when we first met. We both had face masks on, but that was the extent of our similarities. He was dressed in a full suit despite the heat; I was in a plain tee and knee-length shorts and sweating through every pore. He was calm and reassuring; I was nervous and excited. He was going to be my sponsor; I was one of the privileged few to be chosen from Kuala Lumpur to participate in SCS. One of ten, he told me precisely. I counted myself lucky then. I was out of work, out of food, out of cash. My landlord was kicking me out of the apartment, and my cat had run off. SCS would provide a sterile space for me to spend my days, where I would also get three meals a day, some snacks in between, all my daily necessities, and Netflix.
“Can I have a cat?” I had asked him. “No.” He was prudent with his words.
We shook hands at the end of that meeting, which was an odd thing to do. But I saw him wipe down with sanitiser as he left, so I guessed that he only offered his hand as a form of respect for the past. About ten minutes after he left, a black Proton Perdana with blacked-out windows stopped by the side of the road where I was waiting. Two people in full PPE greeted me, gave me a wristband to put on, and led me into the car.
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