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joy
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2020-08-01
The Pleasant Sounds of a Quiet Town
The photograph captures a moment of my family in Helen, Georgia. It marked our very first vacation as the pandemic began to subside, and society slowly started to reopen. Throughout the challenging year of 2020, I wrestled with numerous dark and trying circumstances. My engagement dissolved, my health deteriorated, and my battle with depression intensified. I often felt isolated, with nowhere to turn for human connection, as everything around us remained shuttered. The deserted streets and vacant stores seemed to echo the emptiness I felt inside. However, this trip to Helen breathed new life into me. For the first time in a year, I felt a spark of vitality. In Helen, I could once again frequent bustling restaurants, immerse myself in the sound of live music, and explore the welcoming shops. It marked the beginning of a remarkable turnaround in my life, which has since led to some of the most fulfilling years I've experienced. Today, I cherish even the smallest moments, such as a simple trip to buy groceries and the comforting presence of people in my life. -
2021-12-25
Immunocompromised at Christmas
The impact of COVID-19 on travel and tourism over the past three years has been significant, and in my experiences, travel for me in post-COVID era has been wildly different - as my mind swirls around a large concern that I could possibly do harm to my immunocompromised husband. He’d experienced major spinal and heart surgeries in the summer of 2020, and the following year a round of COVID left his nervous and immune systems permanently weakened. My parents had planned a large family trip in May 2021, and my thoughts continued to swirl around the potential for another round of COVID afflicting my husband. I had us cancel. Months later, my family finally convinced us to get on a plane for Christmas to Austin, Texas to see my sister’s new home. It would be our son’s first flight, too, which only added to my anxiety. It was December 2021, and most restrictions were still in place at airports at this time. I was grateful for the number of passengers on the flights, in the airports, and in public transportation hubs utilizing masks and maintaining distance from one another. I recalled seeing one family, completely maskless, at the airport. They seemed so out of place - and to be honest they looked very uncomfortable - too. Luckily, like us, my extended family was hesitant to explore the hustle of downtown Austin, so much of the trip was spent with everyone at my sister’s new home, cooking, reading, completing puzzles, and most importantly: getting her lawn familiarized with several dozen rounds of Bocce ball. It was the first time we were all able to come together after the start of the pandemic, and I felt grateful for the opportunity to be with my family in the same safe space. We got way too competitive, but the laughter during Bocce proved the most memorable part of the trip. I loved how happy my family looked in this moment, especially my sister (front in orange) and my husband (over her right shoulder). I am not sure what the future looks like for COVID and travel, but for me, I know that it already looks different - I will continue to mask, I will distance, and I will choose options that will do the least amount of harm to those I love and the people I may meet along the way. -
2023-03-30
Dancing In The Face Of Uncertainty
My family and I were shown immense grace as the world endured the heart wrenching sorrow of the COVID-19 pandemic. May those whose lives were stolen by the coronavirus live forever in memory, and rest in eternal peace. At the onset of my second Freshman semester, the chatter among friends included ignorant musings such as: "what would happen if we got it?”, and my favorite, “the virus would NEVER come to the island.” Before Costco lines evoked Walmart on Black Friday, and up-to-the-minute death tolls became the linchpin of our media diet, the Bayonne Bridge signified a seemingly impenetrable chasm safeguarding Staten Island from a quarantined cruise ship in February 2020; because obviously airborne particles don’t pay tolls, right? A strange sense of wonder and excitement overtook the CSI campus on March 11, 2020: the day Gov. Cuomo announced CUNY & SUNY schools would “pause” in-person instruction. I'll never forget hearing the announcement on radio before walking to class for the last time until September 20, 2021. As I drove down Loop Road, a group of students (presumably upperclassman) cheered while blasting music on the Great Lawn. If those students truly were upperclassman, their dancing in the face of uncertainty would spite the commencement celebration they would never receive. I suspect a webpage and some pre-recorded speeches is an inutile stand-in for sitting among thousands of graduates on that very lawn. In tandem with devastation, panic, and uncertainty, the pandemic thrust society into a hard reset. So much of life is spent planning, yearning, and working towards the future - all of which are meaningless novelties to a hellacious virus. To survive the pandemic, besides evading COVID by way of masks, social distancing, and grace from above, each of us had to sift the remnants of our livelihoods to make out what our “new” present would look like. I thrived through the pandemic with music blasting, self-reflection, and a sense of liberation. Family bonds grew stronger, passion projects were completed, and for the first time in a decade, my life felt tranquil. I am repulsed by the fact that while millions took their final breath, businesses shuttered for good, and anxiety tormented the world, I found inner peace reminiscent of my childhood summers. Eerily, I vividly recall sitting in the basement of 2N during a 8am Geology class wishing for, “all this crap to end”, and lamenting, “why didn’t I go to SNHU or some college online?” I guess someone got their wish, and dragged humanity down with him. My father was the only non-essential worker in the house; he didn’t get that fancy paper from the state which supposedly let you free if cops pulled you over. We spent the first full day of lockdown scouring local stores for the coveted (and effective) N95 masks. At a time when the CDC told people to not wear masks so medical professionals had supplies, we were on a mission to guarantee we had protection for the long haul. My family recognized that the “pause” would not be a 1 to 2 month patty cake. My father was adamant his Window Cleaning & Power Washing business would collapse from the indefinite closures of his commercial clients. Our first purchase was the last 3-pack of Milwaukee N95s with those gaudy exterior respirators from homespun Garber’s Hardware. The ever-jovial gentlemen behind the counter adamantly said something to the effect of, “we’re gonna be here ’till they tell us to shut them doors.” 3 masks wouldn’t cut it, so we continued down the way to ye olde Sherwin Williams; where the employee had no suspicion we needed a 20-count box of 3M's finest for anything other than some recreational spray painting. Mask wearing wasn’t en vogue just yet. Those masks were needed when my Uncle could not get out of bed at 1:30pm the following Saturday. He worked the night prior, Friday the 13th, at his second job as a bouncer in Manhattan. On Saturdays he would saunter out of bed by 10:45 the latest; but here he was: frozen in bed, voice hoarse, and coughing like a smoker. I threw on the 95 and nitrile gloves just to speak to him from the hallway. That day was also the first time I ventured out in full biohazard regalia. I still remember the condescending scowls at my neighborhood’s second rate deli counter. The treatment advice the CDC hotline provided was to load up on Extra Strength Tylenol and guzzle water like there was no tomorrow. Thankfully my Uncle did see tomorrow and recovered in about 5 days. While my Dad and I kept our distance as my mother tended to the patient, we realized there must be a fruitful pastime besides burying our eyes in CNN coverage all day. My father, perpetually seeking the next project, came to the realization that, in plain english: we needed a pool table. When I was 6 years old, my father built a pool table out of wood when he was working for a contracting firm that operated in what is now Brooklyn’s Industry City. At 9 feet It conveniently sat atop our giant dinning room table. It was a gorgeous deep blue with every authentic accoutrement short of nicotine-reeking cloth. The table lasted about 8 months until my mom wanted her dining room back, fair enough. For a long time that table felt like a fever dream. After the it departure it was seldom mentioned; the balls and commemorative Coca-Cola cuestick sat dormant in the far reaches of our old home. The biggest hurdle to this project was space. The only feasible location was the unfurnished room in the back of our basement. The room experienced iterations as a screen-print emulsion lab, woodshop, actual chocolate factory, punching bag area, and video recording studio. After countless YouTube tutorials, including a Filipino gentleman building an unleveled table where all balls rolled to one side, we ventured to Lowe’s “Indoor Lumber Yard” to rekindle the magic of 2007. We sourced only the finest un-warped 2x4s and the purest synthetic wood crafted by the hands of man: Unfinished MDF Board. The 97 inch composite wouldn't fit down the basement stairwell, so we asked the one employee not running from us to cut it down the middle. Our makeshift table now presented two unique considerations: first, the board had to be precisely glued back together, and second, did you know commercial lumber dimensions are several inches off the actual product size? And in case you were not aware, “real” pool tables are made of slate. Breaking ground on March 19th, we used our decommissioned 20-year-old kitchen table as legs for our new creation. The board’s overhang allowed pockets to sit freely (no ball return system needed). On the days I had online class, my father intended to go downstairs “for about an hour” in the morning, before getting stuck in a jam by lunch, and working until dinner. I would assist in between classes, and when I was free, we’d get caught up in the room for hours on end. With Music Choice and MTV Classic the soundtrack of our toil, my Dad and I measured “tournament standard” dimensions - only to be slightly off, argued about what the heck a 142 degree cut really is, and savored the aromatics of wood glue and contact cement. The room was coated in sawdust, with scrap wood scattered neatly about. I was finally involved in my dad’s carpentry prowess after years of staring at his convoluted tools. Have you heard a Mitter saw in action? The grinding of the spiraling blades drown your ears with the screams of a motorcycle whizzing through a tunnel. I’d wince in fear that the time would come when the blade’s “SHING” would be followed by an agonized scream. My dad made mention of how woodshop teachers were always missing an appendage. He even shared horror stories like the time the blade guard failed to engage on a circular saw, skid free, peeled the side of his boot, cut through floor tiles, and sputtered wildly until it sliced the power cord. When I did schoolwork upstairs while listening to SiriusXM (another pandemic coping tool) I regularly heard my dad belt obscenities en español louder than both of our blaring radios. The table was declared playable at 8pm on Monday March 30th. I know this because the music on tv tuned to a channel recording CRADLE 2 THE GRAVE (I DVR’d many movies during lockdown). The table is not 100% complete, and has some quirks which challenge you to be a better player. We practiced and played on that table at least an hour a day everyday until in-person classes began to cloud my schedule. Under lockdown, my family spent days and nights hanging out in the backyard, barbecuing and laughing loudly, before we capped the night with rounds of pool. In homage to the California Spring Break shelved by the obvious, I burned a best of California Hip-Hop Mix CD to play on our old stereo that found new life in the pool room. As New York overcame the epicenter phase, the laid back qualities of spring carried into the summer and fall. Everyday felt like a celebration of life. People were out in parks and open spaces, roads were traffic free, and in my case, I was able to hold the people I love closer. I wish everyone could have experienced the “new normal” as I did - with their own sense of peace. Don’t get me wrong, I have loved ones who no longer walk this earth because of the pandemic, and myself and my entire family experienced onset and lingering side effects from both the vaccine and the coronavirus. I do not think I would have survived contracting COVID as I did in May 2022 if I was not vaccinated. I look back at my lockdown experience so fondly because I choose to focus on the joyous moments in the midst of global tragedy. Perspective is key. Perhaps I was forsaken the “true college experience”. I know for sure I was afraid of COVID. I only stoped wearing my N95s after having them for 12 hours straight while coughing phlegm from the virus. I feel a sense of sorrow and shame when people tell me the lockdown screwed them mentally; regardless of whether or not they lost someone. But what did I get out of the pandemic? A furnished room, an unbroken streak of Straight A’s, an endless summer with those close to me - and at what cost? I’m still the same shoddy pool player after three years of practice. What the lockdown gave me, more than anything, was the one thing that is unequivocally fleeting in this life: time. Maybe in hindsight, those revelers on the Great Lawn had the right idea. -
2020-04-12
Joy on the Pavement
During Melbourne’s first lockdown in 2020, movements to bring joy to the few remaining active public spaces were organised over social media and among local communities. One trend was pavement art that encouraged the walker to “laugh”, “pick up some rubbish” and “strike a pose” on their permitted hour of exercise. These minor artworks expressed an optimism in community strength at the early stages of the pandemic; they expressed, too, a resilience in Melbourne’s identity as a city of art and culture. By the second lockdown in August 2020 the chalk had been washed away and there was little to replace it. Creating community from inside our own homes, it turned out, was much harder to sustain than anyone had imagined. Submitted for University of Melbourne HIST30060, Semester 2 2021. -
2020-09-02
Pandemic Pets: Reader's Stories. The Seattle Times
In this heart-warming article. Readers share pictures of and blurbs about the pets they adopted during the pandemic. Dr. Fauci the cat with a bow tie is particularly apropos. -
2021-05-04
When will this dream come true?
This was an assignment in Paula Flynn's 5th grade class at Franklin Elementary School in Santa Monica, CA. People hugging having a good time without a care in the world.No masks close together. Like before. A beautiful ray of sun beating down on there faces. Sharing it’s warmth with them.Casting shadows of them. The shadows black against the colorful world. I hear laughter, joy and relief, almost everyone is happy. Leaves are rustling in the wind as if dancing to a beat. Happiness, Laughter, Grateful When will this dream come true. When can we live like this again. Joy Joy Joy -
2021-05-04
Hugs, Laughter and Love
Hugs, Laughter and Love I see my cousin running with me in the fields i don’t feel ashamed of what i am doing and neither are they The sounds of our feet crushing the grass with a smile just because we are finally together I taste the great food melting in my mouth Happiness, Joy and fun Joy, Joy, Joy -
2020-11-07
The People's Dancers Dance Troupe (@thepeoplesdancers) is DC-based group that uses dance as a nonviolent response technique.
I love the bodily expression and freedom of dance. Even when choreographed, it creates space to break free from the rigid and often constraining way we're taught to move our bodies. The People's Dancers Dance Troupe (@thepeoplesdancers) is DC-based group that uses dance as a nonviolent response technique. They aim to bring joy to dark spaces with creative movement and healing. -
2021-02-02
The Dog Days of the Pandemic
Teleworking due to the pandemic has resulted in a closer bond between me and my dog, who seems to be thrilled that I'm home all day to pay attention to him and has shared his joy with me to help me get through these dark days. -
2020-06
June of 2020: a quarantine journal
This past June, for the first time in my life, I began keeping a daily journal—composed in formally identical declarative sentences—as a record, not only the events of the world that were on and affecting my mind, but also my domestic observations of home, of family, the creatures in my yard, the blooms erupting throughout the garden. In a season of isolation and upheaval, it in many ways helped to keep my brain from total dissolution into quaking depression. Once this month-long record was complete, I launched a Kickstarter campaign in support of the limited publication of *June of 2020: a quarantine journal*, with all profits being donated to Black Girl in Maine, a social-justice blog founded by writer, educator, and activist Shay Stewart-Bouley. While my skill has always been the construction of narratives that allow the reader to feel what it’s like to experience the characters’ experiences, Shay’s talent lies in taking the complex abstractions of social justice and explaining them in a way that is not only immediate and concrete, but also grounded in the experiences of both herself and her audience (in other words, she takes the cultural phenomenon at large and makes it directly relevant to you and your life). She has an ability that I lack. So I’m using my abilities to help support her and her work. -
2020-09-24
Adopting Nugget the Pug
This is my housemate’s dog, Nugget aka Nug. Despite my housemate wanting a dog before the pandemic began, she realised that between working and being a fulltime student that she wouldn’t have the time to train a puppy. However, due to the pandemic we have spent more time at home than we ever have before, meaning we could train Nug without worrying about leaving him alone while we were at university or work. Nug has brought joy to our household, providing lots of laughs and endless cuddles. He has also made being at home every day far more bearable. HIST30060 -
2020-09-20
Rosha Hashanah in the time of covid
Our Neighbours offered to blow the shofar for the street. A few Jewish families live on our street in Balaclava. We all gathered in the street, All still and all connected by the mitzvah of hearing the shofar. It was a very special feeling. I felt the need to document this extraordinary event, this moment in history. In this time when so many of us are disconnected this moment of togetherness felt precious.