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Pineapple juice
Heat, especially in the middle of the day. Drink plenty of water. And the thermometer, disinfect it with alcohol every time I touch it so they can use it. At rare moments, leaving the room where I spent the quarantine, always with a mask and a bottle of bleach to disinfect everything. Feeling a weight on my chest, imagining it green and horned, and catching it in a jar. Relief in knowing that I haven't infected anyone, that we have done things right. Guilt for locking friends and family in preventive quarantine. Missing the skin-to-skin contact. I find it hard to breathe. I want it to stop.
At the beginning of August 2020 I was infected with Covid-19 and confined myself for a fortnight where I was living at the time, at my mother's house. I am emancipated for the first time after these two weeks and I remember that one of the reasons for leaving home was that I didn't want to put the family at risk.
Pineapple juice is the visual witness to my isolation. I speak of feeling accompanied at all times, of facing the days in an introspective way and taking the opportunity to close a stage. I say goodbye to the space that has seen me grow and to its special light. I am aware of the maternal and filial cures and I want to give them back. Now, confining myself and leaving have turned out to be the best way to take care of my loved ones. Even so, mother, I will never stop asking you if you want a pineapple juice.
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