As the weeks stretched out, the decisions became more vital, and more intricate.

If the virus hit older people harder, was a cooped-up child’s morning walk worth the risk to the life of his grandmother?

By the time the lockdowns hit, in March, it was time for a different test. As some employers ceased all payment, and transport hubs shut down, migrant workers were forced to make their own way home. Domestic help were barred from entering housing societies. We watched helplessly as those trying to make it to distant homes endured chaos and neglect. We struggled with unfamiliar needs of our own, juggling school and childcare, cooking and cleaning, in the absence of those who had stoically held our homes and lives together.

Through the home, new chore charts took shape. Maps were redrawn to make room for work zones, unwind zones and escape-your-loved-ones-for-a-bit-zones. Furious decluttering made room for what we now needed (masks, gloves, sanitising stations by the door) by easing out what we could live without (hiking boots, handbags, cosmetics).

We held on to our clocks and calendars, but did we really need them, when every day was blursday?

New communities took shape, as old needs were met in new ways. Neighbours we’d only nodded at in passing dropped in to borrow the bullet blender and share a recipe for homemade pesto. Even with social distancing and time slots to buy groceries, we bonded more closely with the shopkeeper. “Is everyone well at home” took on new meaning.

We went on balcony dates, found support in Instagram friends we’d never met in real life, leaned on colleagues we would not have dreamed of bothering before. And we learnt to stay away from the friend who promised she was social-distancing, but then invited everyone over for chai.

The pandemic taught us how to connect, stay connected and disconnect on our terms.

Meanwhile, the virtual world opened up in new ways. Storytellers collaborated remotely; stand-up comics streamed specials out of their homes. Streamlife films featuring A-listers and gripping plots offered much-needed distraction.

We also turned into a birdwatchers and stargazers over those early, pollution-free months. We learnt a new skill: Doing nothing; and seeing it for the gift it can be.

We found, overwhelmingly, that the arts, so derided in higher education, were keeping humanity from falling apart. In Milan, tenor Andrea Bocelli performed to an empty Duomo on Easter Sunday (April 12, 2020), bringing the world to tears. (The video has 44 million views on YouTube). Museums stood empty but clips of zoo animals being guided through the galleries went viral online. (Who knew we’d be jealous of a penguin?)

Gaming companies opened up their catalogues for free, as did online libraries and archives. News websites disabled their paywalls, documentary sites streamed for free. Broadway’s Hamilton and the UK National Theatre’s Frankenstein were released on streaming platforms, both in 2020.

Virtual gigs made everyone feel like they had platinum-level seats (minus the backstage passes). David Guetta played a televised feel-good gig on an outdoor stage in Miami, with hundreds of people on the balconies of surrounding buildings for company. Post Malone’s Nirvana Tribute was surprisingly good – he performed in a dress, paying homage to Kurt Cobain’s gender-bending fashion.

In Australia, Keith Urban played a set in a warehouse for an audience of one: Wife Nicole Kidman. The 30-minute phone recording played live on Instagram – one guitar, no prep, no special effects – and showed us that we really were all in this together.

Five years since it began, and two years since the end of the pandemic, even those who didn’t contract the virus have some kind of “long-Covid”: lasting impacts that are still making themselves known. Are you still starting emails with “I hope you’re safe and well”? Are you happier staying in than going out? Are you still making up for those summer vacations you missed? Is there still a mask in your backpack?

It will be a while before we know the true extent of how those locked-in years have changed us. For now, studies on residual fear and stress among college students have reported that many are less likely, for instance, to enjoy events that involve large crowds. Young people in the workforce are championing hybrid, flexible jobs and drawing boundaries around their bandwidth.

For many of us, the most urgent need was to get back to it all: the commutes, buzz and packed social calendar.

Faint outlines of circles still haunt our footpaths. We step back from nearly full lifts, in what is now an old habit. We adapted and we’re adapting back. But some things won’t change.

What lingers most tellingly for you?

(rachel.lopez@htlive.com)