Cars and trucks honked endlessly to celebrate the end of the paro, with the government withdrawing its Decree to stop gas subsidies. It was October 13, 2019, 11 days since everyone had been confined within their communities. While life appeared to return to normal, throughout the rest of the year, there had always been tense whispers of another one tomorrow. This Sunday. Next week. But I’m used to certainty. The constant maybe buzzed too loudly, until one day, it became background noise. Because nothing will ever be certain until it has happened. Besides, where’s the fun if everything was certain?