Today marks exactly one month since I have been in self-isolation. Exactly 31 days since I last went out for brunch. 31 days since I sat inside a cute restaurant and ate avocado toast with poached eggs. 31 days since I went to a coffee shop and sat outside in a sun-warmed chair, sipping my cappuccino with the pretty foam art. 31 days since I last browsed in a bookstore and bought yet another cute journal to add to my burgeoning collection. It has also been 31 days since I last saw anyone I know.
We’re living in rather surreal times these days. The COVID-19 pandemic makes every day feel like a horrifying new episode in a dystopian TV show, where reality and rules shift rapidly. Most of us are cooped up indoors, terrified of this invisible virus that is wreaking havoc around the world. It feels like a zombie movie, except the zombies are too tiny to actually see. I know this situation has been around for a while, but a part of me still can’t believe that this is actually happening. It’s surreal that we’re living through a true global pandemic, with different countries and states implementing quarantines to varying degrees – from total lockdown in India to New York’s PAUSE. I almost feel like Anne Frank, scribbling away and recording all my mundane happenings in the midst of a petrifying period that will go down in history.
I don’t know about you all, but I am vacillating between two very different mindsets here. There have been a lot of changes in my life in the last three months – I graduated and left Weill Cornell, moved out of my beloved Manhattan, applied for jobs, got a job, started a job, got a new apartment in New Jersey, and promptly started working remotely, after a mere two weeks of working in my new office. With the onset of the pandemic, every choice I have made feels weightier, has more severe consequences.
First, my choice of job ensures the ability to work remotely, as opposed to my PhD, in which physical presence in lab was mandatory for any work to get done. The job also ensures that I have an external fixed schedule, with meetings and deadlines – all of which are very helpful in setting up a daily routine (my innate discipline is nowhere up to such a monumental task). Second, my choice of apartment was serendipitous – it happens to be outside New York City, outside the immediate epicenter in the US. My final choice has been to live alone for the very first time in my life. I have spent the last eleven and half years living with roommates, some of whom I’ve loved, and some not so much. I was eager to strike out and live on my own. And now due to the virus, I am all alone in my apartment every single day. These choices have led to a much different lifestyle than I’m used to, and a confusing duality.
One side of my quarantine life is shrouded in fear. I am constantly worried and panicked about what might happen. I am terrified to go to the grocery store. I am too afraid to go for walks, because viruses aside, this is also an unfamiliar neighborhood with no helpful Manhattan-like street grid for navigation. I don’t go anywhere and stay indoors at all times. I am constantly worried about my family and friends, none of whom are immune. I desperately want to keep all my people safe but there’s nothing I can really do, which makes me feel tiny and helpless. I wish I could put everyone in insulated bubbles, safe from the world. Though I guess that’s essentially what we are doing by staying in our homes.
I am also a little worried about the perils of living alone. Sure, it is an empowering sign of independence, but also means that at the end of the day, I need to handle everything on my own. If anything ever happens, nobody else is close enough to help me here. It’s not student housing, so I don’t have my friends living in the same building anymore. Here, I live in an unfamiliar building in an unfamiliar state. I also have new health insurance, new doctors whom I’ve never actually met, in medical centers I have never entered. So all I can do is make sure I stay safe to the best of my abilities. This has led me to wash my hands for so long and so frequently that they are constantly dry and cracking. No amount of hand cream seems to make up for it. I have to mostly fend for myself, food-wise, and that’s not something I enjoy or care to do. I don’t know when I’ll get to see my family. We had plans to meet next month for my PhD convocation, and that is out of the question now. I am worried about the flailing economy and what that could mean for me, now that I have an industry job. And the worst part of all this is the sheer uncertainty. Nobody knows when this will end. When it will go back to normal. If normal is even possible after this. As an obsessive planner, the uncertainty bothers me the most. If I knew that we’d stay in limbo for exactly 3, 6, or even 12 months, I could work with that. I could plan my life around it. But we now live in times where we can make no plans, and the future stretches out in front of us, a gray, bleak cloud with no end in sight.
And yet. Once I take a breath and look for the silver linings, there are plenty to be seen. When I take stock of the situation, I am grateful for everything I have – I know I am privileged in so many ways. Because on the other side of this strange new life, well, living alone for the first time has been pretty incredible. I love having a place that’s just mine. I can furnish it the way I like, organize my things the way I like, and my apartment is exactly as clean or as messy as I like -everything is according to my standards. Nobody else is leaving dirty dishes in my sink, nobody else needs to shower exactly when I want to take a long bath. I can play loud music in the living room while I’m cooking myself dinner. I can talk out loud to myself, put on the silliest karaoke performances, have impromptu dance parties, and once this pandemic is over, have guests over without worrying about inconveniencing any roommates. I have pulled out all my journals and art supplies to start flexing that creative muscle again and am happily binge-watching new movies and shows. I can do as many loads of laundry as I want (having an in-unit washer/dryer feels like the heights of luxury). The lack of commute allows me to sleep in longer (thank goodness, ‘coz mornings are my nemesis). I can use the entire fridge for my food, instead of cramming everything on allocated shelves. I can eat what I want, wear what I want, do what I want, when I want, and there’s nobody to stop me. Living alone is so liberating! I didn’t get enough waking hours in my apartment after I moved in, but now the pandemic has gifted me time to truly enjoy my place. I have an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and I get to see miles and miles of land around me. I get to watch the sunsets, which look a little different every evening. I get to watch all the lights turn on in NYC in the east. I see the clouds scuttling across the skies, rain and storm and sun passing me by. I get to see the ever-changing interplay of shadow and light, and I am wonder-struck at the beauty of the world.
This pandemic is also making me marvel over the power of human connection. I am in awe of how much beauty there is, the strength and resilience of mankind in the face of crisis. You can see it in the little things, of people reaching out to their neighbors, of clapping together, singing together, finding creative ways to reach out and survive this new reality. From old-school phone calls, to video calls, to Zoom happy hours, to Netflix Parties and House Parties -we are finding newer and different ways to connect. There is such beauty in all the ways we cope and talk and laugh, in all the glorious arts we are consuming and creating, in the collective human spirit which is shining so brightly through the darkness and fear.
Having said all that, I am aware that I am one of the lucky ones. There are millions of people who are worse off and can’t stay isolated at home. I am in awe of everyone who is out there, on the front lines, fighting the battle for us all and ensuring that we remain safe. If you are essential personnel, I commend you and thank you – you are our heroes. The rest of us – please let’s all stay inside, stay safe, and stay connected with each other. We’re going to get through this. Take care!
Sunlit Prism 