It is not only about physically surviving the pandemic. People miss people, and places, sometimes desperately. And they die, when separated. We are bombarded by briefings and numbers. We are scared into submission by horrifying medical stories, by shocking images, and then, simultaneously, by predictions of economic and social downfall. Day and night, day and night. But somehow, so often during this so-called coronavirus emergency, we tend to forget that people are people, not numbers, and that bare survival is far from everything. For decades we were told: “You are living in a globalized world. Borders have become redundant.” Some reluctantly, others happily, accepted. Rich Westerners invaded all corners of the world with their yachts, villas and third and fourth homes. Poor Philippine and Indonesian maids and hotel employees have migrated to the Gulf, in search of decently paid jobs.