COVID STORIES

When I wake up in the late morning, I reach for my phone on my nightstand and scroll through the newest notifications from news outlets. The headlines announce another historic landmark each day: the DOW plunges in the third highest point drop in one day, the unemployment rate soars, and the number of infected individuals worldwide reaches one million.

It’s apocalyptic, surreal. Outside, the azaelas still run full riot in the backyard as they do every spring, and the sun still simmers pink behind the Santa Monica mountains during sunset. Yet three miles away, UCLA nurses and doctors in flimsy gowns care for infected patients, as medical professionals worldwide lose their lives.

A week ago, my parents, both physicians, told me that a coronavirus-positive patient had been detected at their hospital. When they leave for work in the mornings, I’m afraid that the virus might slip into their bodies, that like the 245,000 infected in the U.S., their alveoli will harden and thicken: suffocation in a room full of air.

My mom disinfects door knobs, constantly reminds my dad and me to wash our hands, and wraps Saran Wrap around her phone when she goes grocery shopping. Our T.V. is on constantly, bathing the living room in electric blue.

While we’re eating dinner, a man says on national television, “A nurse’s job is literally to take care of people. Why’s everyone saying they’re brave?”

My mom turns to me. “Nurses didn’t sign up to put their own lives and the lives of their families in danger. It’s like making a soldier go to battle without armor, and then making them drag their families onto the battleground too.”

“The best thing people can do to help out is to stay home,” my dad says.

So I sit at home, making playlists, baking banana bread, and Zooming my friends, lulled into a sense of complacancy. I’m technically less stressed, and the nights which used to be devoted to late-night studying are now open for binge-watching Netflix. I’m disgusted with my own compliance, and yet the best I can do is isolate myself.

I try to talk to my friends everyday. They post on their Snapchat stories daily; some are baking, some are dyeing their hair, and yet others are ordering pizzas and driving to Malibu with their friends, racing down empty highways.

While it’s understandable to reach out to friends during a time of stress, it feels selfish to violate social distancing because you’re not only endangering your family, but also undermining the work that first responders have lost their lives fulfilling. You’re adding to the numbers on the T.V. that creep up everyday.

Coronavirus seems like a prolonged test: How will the healthcare system withstand the pressure it faces? How will our leaders respond to this crisis? Who will younger generations choose—their grandparents and parents, or their friends?

For now, the notifications will continue to accumulate on my phone each morning, and I wait in fear, for my grandparents and parents.

 

Dear Reader,

I’m Shan, a South African girl living in Saudi Arabia, stuck in London.

I never could have imagined this situation that haunts us all daily in these past few weeks and weeks to come. I’m not writing this to inform people about the dangers of not self-isolating, or what Covid19 is, by now we all have basic knowledge on the subject from our government and the wonderful NHS. This is me, a girl trying to make the most of her time being stuck 3,894.2 miles away from her home, which she might only see again in May.

Taking it back four weeks, I hopped on two different planes from Dammam, Saudi Arabia, leaving my husband and two cats, to fly to London Heathrow to visit my family. This was a trip booked two months before my departure and was meant to be a two-week vacation and weekend trip to Rome, Italy. We were checking daily for updates on the virus— if it was in Rome, only proceeding with the trip when we were sure it was not. Much to my husband’s dismay, we still went to Italy and it was a great family getaway since the last time we had one twelve years ago.

It was also very hard to hear about the impact the virus created on businesses, especially in the tourism industry. On the last day, we stopped by the Colosseum around seven am, stepped out of the metro into a ghost town. Not a soul was there beside the waiters and some other workers around. We stopped, got a coffee and pastry which cost next to nothing since they’re trying to make some cash. Many employees told us they were worried they would lose their jobs since many people cancelled their trips. We returned to London on Monday, and Tuesday Italy shut down its borders. I can’t imagine the mourning the entire country is feeling from the loss of work, family and friends. Yes, we did self-isolate for two weeks. None of us had any symptoms, besides the occasional sneeze – to which you would be consumed by worrying looks from family members.

If you’re wondering what life is currently like in a house with nine other people, here is a preview: four people are working from home, three are doing online school and I have just started my own business. This means daily fights for the best Wi-Fi connection, arguments over who keeps using all the hot water, and who keeps eating all the snacks! Lest we forget the amount of coffee we are going through since our-ever-so-loved coffee shop is no longer picking all the coins out our wallets for that delicious flat white. Deciding who will be the sacrificial lamb to find the essential groceries.

I’m going to end this by saying my reality is what I create it, amidst all the panic and sadness that the world is feeling, I need to decide for myself. Am I going to sit in bed all day because I can (but still stay at home), or feel consumed by the world’s panic and fear or am I going to try to do something for myself and believe that my God is bigger than every fear and anxiety that I am feeling? In a time such as paranoia and pain, choose to be the blessing of God, spread His love and be considerate.

Stay safe, stay well,

Shan

 

I had a mini stress-meltdown almost every day during the first week of online schooling. Teachers suddenly were assigning more work than the usual and without their guidance, I was forced to teach myself the same material with the threat of failure from my lack of skills in this department still looming over my head. All of the “fun” parts of social distancing were nowhere to be found. An attendance email had to be sent each morning before a certain time so there was no sleeping in and work somehow took up all day, eliminating the hope that I could use this corona-cation to catch up on Bojack Horseman. Even though I was no longer in the physical building, the exhausting routine made the transfer into my home as well. There was something inexplicably mind-numbing about waking up early each morning, spending forty minutes in class for eight classes a day, then finally going to bed with the knowledge that I would do the same thing all over again the next morning. As days drifted by, my anxiety continued to escalate with no hope in sight for a cure. Then it hit me, maybe the school routine could be the key to reducing my anxiety and finding some normalcy during a time that could be described as anything but.

Starting the next morning, I awoke at the same time as I would for a normal school day, ate breakfast, changed out of my pajama pants and took a seat at my makeshift dresser-top desk. I set myself up on a timer, only forty minutes, no more no less, could be spent on a single subject each day. Not only did my stress levels drop, but there was plenty of time in the afternoon for bingeing Bojack Horseman.

The one thing I hated most about school wound up helping me to stay sane while social distancing. Not only that, I learned how my brain achieves its best productivity and how to work in unstructured time for as long as I must do it.

 

 

COVID-19 is many an ecologist’s dreams come true. A crude hyperbole perhaps, but given the size and depth of the hole the human species has dug itself, perhaps not so.

I can only speak for myself, coming from a place of privilege (haven’t been evicted, no one I know has the virus, more or less financially stable, etc.), but these are exciting times. Truly. Beyond this pandemic, being alive in the 21st Century is a unique and exciting time, an inflection point in history.

Right now supply chains, economies, healthcare, and countless other aspects of society are being exposed as fragile constructs, unable to cope with shocks to the system. Akin to taking The Matrix’s red pill, many individuals are being thrust into an unpleasant reality amidst these disruptive times. But from my stance, the current status quo or “reality” is much more unpleasant.

With COVID-19, there is a scramble to keep our GDP-driven world afloat through financial measures. But are these solutions novel? Or merely a move to maintain the status quo? If anything, with everything being turned upside down, now seems to be a great opportunity to rethink how our society is structured and REstructure ahead of future shocks. We all thought climate change was going to end us, but a global pandemic struck instead. What does this say about the future? What does it say about our understanding of the present?

At present, our world/economy runs on cheap fossil fuels. It powers transportation, manufacturing, political leverage: nearly everything is dependent on hydrocarbon energy. A barrel of oil is equivalent to 4.5 years of human labor. This should be common knowledge. Even renewable energy requires fossil fuels to build, so a more apt name is “rebuildables.” With travel bans, work/school from home, and trade restrictions, oil demand has plummeted, resulting in ridiculously low prices. A good pint of beer in Canada costs $5 — you can get a barrel of oil for less than that now.

So. With less demand for oil to power society, a recession impending due to stagnation from COVID-19, and a host of other existential issues, one is led to believe this nightmare will never end. Wrong! While this pandemic will pass, I believe the implications of it will stay for some time.

Ecologists often talk of the carrying capacity and natural disruptions to species. While I am no Malthusian, I think COVID-19 is a sort of primer for humans, a natural disruption, a wakeup call for us to realize our limits to growth.

While we might not change the world from our couches in quarantine, the circumstances do allow for some reflection on what society can look like and how it can function in radically different ways. You may call me a dreamer, as John Lennon would say in his iconic song “Imagine,” but these are the times to imagine a future with less pollution in the sky, widespread government aid, un-institutionalized education models, and more.

 

Friday, March 13^th, 2020 was the last normal day.

I knew the world was coming to a stop when I got to my editorial class. Editorial was a fourth-year capstone course for the journalism program and the closest thing to a real newsroom I had experienced. We were twelve students – twelve new friends – who pitched, wrote, shot and created content for the Calgary Journal under the guidance of our professor, Sean.

The atmosphere that day was nothing like the high-energy newsroom I had grown to love. The long table where we did our planning was half-empty. Easy-going Isaiah was wearing a protective mask. Calm and collected Daniel was furiously rearranging the whiteboard. Always put-together Sarah had traded her cardigans and lipstick for a plain hoodie. But most concerning was Sean, along with several other classmates, participating from the screen of a laptop.

Days earlier, Sean had been in contact with someone who had been exposed to COVID-19. He was now self-isolating. Several other classmates had either been exposed or were experiencing symptoms. Nobody had to say it; I knew immediately that even though our issue wasn’t set to be released until May, this would be the last time our group would ever meet.

“Here is what I am proposing,” said Sean. “We’re gonna need to do the layout and make all the cuts today. We have to fast-track this and prepare for worst-case scenario.”

We all nodded in agreement. Layout for the last issue took an hour-and-a-half, and cutting stories felt severe when we were supposed to have another week to work on them, but the world was not the same as it was when we created the last issue.

“My story will need three pages.”

“The school board hasn’t called me back yet, so you can cut mine.”

“Let’s open with the society section.”

“Laura, are you cool with being the closer?”
It couldn’t have taken more than thirty minutes to slap together what would wind up being the May/June issue of the Calgary Journal. No one was particularly pleased with the result, but no one was disappointed, either. We were not privy to the luxury of disappointment.

When it was all said and done, Sean gave us one last farewell. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we would never see him again.

We were free to go, but we were in no rush. The seven of us who had made it to class simply sat in a circle, reflecting on how far we had come, acknowledging that this class was not what we had in mind. “This feels like the ending to some stupid teen movie,” Andrea said, and we all laughed.

But under that laughter lurked fear. Fear of losing our jobs, our internships. Fear that commencement would be cancelled, that grad school would be off the table. Fear of being the first person to leave our circle.

Fear that Friday, March 13^th, 2020, would be the last normal day.

We were right about all of it.

 

We got the announcement in the car. Two hours into our twelve-hour trip from Georgia to Arkansas to spend the weekend with her family.

We started our spring break early—7 a.m. Thursday. We swallowed a road trip breakfast—greasy hash browns, a chicken biscuit, instant oatmeal with prepackaged raisins and apples. We stopped to fill the tank and our snack supply. We called our moms to let them know the trip was going smoothly.

Once the sun rose, we rose with it. Now fully awake, we screamed the lyrics to 2000s pop classics and scream-mumbled nonsense to songs in Korean, sure to give our all to the one English lyric in the choruses.

My phone vibrated. A text from my university. She turned the music down. I read the text out loud. Spring quarter would be completely online. Check email for details.

I opened the email. I read the details out loud. My voice felt like it was sitting in the backseat, saying words I didn’t know how to comprehend. Online classes. Consolidation of dorms. Housing refund. Move out. Go home. They needed our decision by Sunday.

I needed to decide if I would stay or leave. I needed to decide if I would pack everything to be moved to another dorm or if I would pack everything to send 865.6 miles home, from Georgia to Illinois. I needed to decide if I wanted to keep the life I’d created or return to the life I’d grown out of. I needed to decide if I wanted to be with my family or the friends I loved like family. I needed to decide all of this in four days.

My phone buzzed again. My job wanted to know by that night.

She called her family, friends, explaining over and over and over again what had happened.

All I heard were muffled noises, like a scene rendered in chalk. I watched the gray road roll endless beyond us. My eyes burned on the highway like the sun on our backs. I gripped the door handle but there was nowhere I could go. I could do nothing but sit and think and fight not wanting to think.

This demanded to be thought about. An issue I thought of as too far to matter was now directly in front of me, mattering more than ever. A problem I thought was someone else’s to handle was now mine to handle too.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I blinked away my daze, realizing her last phone call had ended minutes ago. “Yeah,”

“Are you sure? Because you don’t look it.”

“Just…processing.”

I didn’t want to admit that I’d already processed everything. I already knew what the most logical decision was. I was desperately seeking alternatives where I didn’t have to leave everything and everyone I loved.

She watched the road and I watched her. I realized what would be hardest to leave and cried.