Items

• 2022-07-06

  In the Future When All's Well

  The pandemic kept my mom, my stepdad, and I at home a lot longer than other families. My mom is immune-compromised so our vigilance was at an all-time high and our urge to resume a somewhat normal schedule was at an all time low. Though, as we became more familiarized with the pandemic’s nature, impact, and the possible consequences it could have on our livelihoods, we decided to branch out and seize the day for my mom’s birthday in July of 2022. Naturally, my mom and I share a love for a defunct British 80s band called The Smiths. The former lead singer and front man of The Smiths, Morrissey, was booked for a five night residency at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. We picked the third show of the residency, scheduled for July 6, 2022, since it was a mellow weekday and still part of my mom’s birthday week. In the end, our decision was made on spontaneity and the desire to see our favorite artist for the first time before it was too late. While Morrissey’s opinions are always up for debate, his resolute nature, willingness to always speak his mind, and his disregard for what others think of him, are venerable traits in my opinion. The ways in which The Smiths and Morrissey have defined, helped, and steered my life, and my mom's, forged a unique bond between us. These factors alone made our pilgrimage worth it. The usual processions before a concert took place; we bought the tickets in March, waited with bated breath, and on the day of the road trip, a new type of anticipation took hold. Concert going was one of my favorite personal pastimes in the pre-pandemic era, so missing many concerts during the first two years was a drag. Driving from Southern California to Las Vegas on the I-15 is a ritualistic occurrence for many Californians, but this time, it felt different. The feeling primarily stemmed, not from the concert, but from the fact that we were returning to the world in such a drastic way. Is there a better way to rip the Band-Aid off? We would not want it any other way. Immediately, we knew that this journey was a triumphant return into what is mistakenly called ‘real’ life. I have fond memories of this trip as it was a big step forward in terms of regaining our livelihoods and in terms of enjoying something that we both loved. Myself, along with my family, were strongly pro-mask during and shortly after the pandemic. I still agree today, that, if one is sick and needs to go out in public, that one should mask for everyone’s safety. Though, being in a family that is immune-compromised, the concern on my behalf was obviously much greater than average. The freedom and fear associated with traveling in such a grand fashion for our first big trip since the pandemic’s restrictions lifted definitely occupied our minds whilst traveling, but in the moment, when the destination was met, we felt relieved and our hearts felt free. In saying this, there were no COVID-19 restrictions in place when we went to the event and crossed the state line, rather, restrictions were lifted, both in our minds and spirits.
• 
  2022-06-22T19:17

  Covid-era Road Trip to Cahokia

  As the cloud of Covid-19 began to dissipate in 2022, we made our annual summer pilgrimage from Arizona to Michigan, where much of my extended family still resides (and we can escape the heat of the Southwest). Due to lingering concerns over crowds and close contacts, we decided we would drive and make stops in Albuquerque, Oklahoma City, and St. Louis, where we ventured to a place I, the dorky World History teacher, had eagerly selected: Cahokia Mounds, the "Largest Pre-Columbian Site North of Mexico". Approaching Cahokia, the scene might appear like a scatter plot of natural hills if they were not carefully mowed and kept generally free from trees and overgrowth. One can climb a staircase that ascends to the higher levels of Monk's Mound, the largest of several earthen pyramid-like structures in the area. I remember feeling conscious that it was the kind of climb that humans had made for several millennia, at Mesopotamian ziggurats, or similar Maya constructions at Chichen Itza, or the Acropolis at Athens-- up staircases, closer to the heavens, to honor deities or witness a royal wedding, or a coronation. I suppose my leashed golden doodle at my side and my chatterbox children following me injected distractions from the historical fantasies... Maybe I'm romanticizing this climb in my own memory. Yet, the view of urban St. Louis from the top of Monk's Mound is beautiful, and one feels the transience of human endeavors-- the rise and fall of cities and civilizations. This particular hill I stood atop was, one-thousand years prior, an epicenter of socioeconomics in North America. Tens of thousands of people resided in the area, and perhaps hundreds of thousands visited seasonally from as far afield as the Gulf Coast to the south and the Great Lakes to the north, to witness and partake in rituals, celebrations, and social and economic exchanges. These mounds, constructed entirely by humans without draft animals, once held up large structures and were heavily populated for special events. They are now mostly barren and lonely, an occasional visitor climbing the steps for physical exercise or an exercise in perspective. Though Cahokia's peak and decline as a site occurred well before the Columbian Exchange and arrival of Eurasian diseases, the barren hills and surrounding areas (and the isolating existence of the pandemic we were experiencing) made me think of the general decline and displacement of indigenous people. We were experiencing, in 2022, a pandemic that caused isolation, debilitation, distress, trauma, and occasionally death... Yet earlier epidemics were an absolute apocalypse for indigenous people throughout the Americas, often emptying entire regions of people well before the arrival of explorers, colonizers, and settlers. To stand atop Monk's Mound, and to survey the urban sprawl of St. Louis in the distance, is to experience, spatially, tremendous change over time. My single life will hopefully last a few decades longer, and making this climb with my own children gave me a joyful sense of legacy and time beyond my own existence. For a few quiet moments at the top, however, I felt alone and small, a tourist under the weight of the distant past.
• 2022-06-22

  The Two-Week Road Trip

  When COVID-19 shut everything down in March 2020, I was in the middle of student teaching and preparing to take my last teaching certification exam. My college graduation was moved to a PowerPoint presentation, and summer plans were canceled. The first year of my teaching career was hybrid. I had a small portion of my students in person, and a majority tuned into my world geography class via Zoom. In my second year of teaching, things were slowly returning to normal. Asynchronous and synchronous schooling was no more, and students had to attend in person while wearing masks and trying to maintain social distancing as much as possible in a high school. During this school year, my family planned a two-week road trip to explore historic sites in the United States on our journey from San Antonio, Texas, to Eau Clair, Michigan. On this road trip, we traveled through and stopped in eight states. In the Summer of 2022, I embarked on a two-week road trip from June 19th to July 2nd with my mom, my younger brother, and my grandma to visit family in Illinois and Michigan. It was chaotic and wonderful at the same time. We traveled through Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, and Missouri until returning to Texas. Travel restrictions at this point were lax or nonexistent in the states we traveled to, and many people we encountered acted as if COVID-19 had never happened. Masks were hardly worn, and social distancing was gone, although signs recommending the six-foot distance still lingered around different locations we stopped at. I, however, carried hand sanitizer with me religiously and had a mask with me in case it was needed. Because of how relaxed the COVID-19 safety restrictions were in the states we traveled through, my family and I were convinced we would get sick. Luckily, we did not, but whenever we returned to the car after a sightseeing excursion, we always said, “There’s no way we didn’t get COVID that time.” We were most convinced that we had come into contact with the virus in Chattanooga, Tennessee. While in Chattanooga, we went up Lookout Mountain and into Ruby Falls. Ruby Falls is a series of caverns that lead to the tallest and deepest underground waterfall in the United States. You must descend in an elevator to get down to the cavern entrance. There were no mandatory mask signs or social-distancing warnings to board the elevator, only a weight limit. So, my mother, younger brother, and I squeezed into an elevator with about twenty maskless people and descended into the cave. On the cave tour, we were still in close quarters but were able to spread out a bit more. We traveled into the depths of the caverns until we made it to the waterfall, took our pictures, and then road back up to civilization again, compacted into an elevator. We traveled and stopped in many different places, each with various rules and restrictions regarding how that establishment was handling COVID-19. Our elevator ride at Ruby Falls was the most surprising part of our trip. This elevator ride made me feel as if people had forgotten the entire COVID-19 epidemic had occurred. My surprise was mainly influenced by the precautions I had to take as a teacher, and going out into the “wild” opened my eyes to how different parts of the country were coping with the aftermath of the epidemic. I observed many people's attitude on our road trip: "Let's just get back to normal.”
• 2022-06-30

  The Road Trip 2022

  Road Trip During the heat of covid, the spring of 2020 through the fall of 2022 I worked for our local school district in Arizona. My family and I did not do a lot of traveling beyond the necessary during the mandated restrictions. After the bulk of the restrictions were lifted and vaccines were widely available I participated in a work trip to San Diego to attend a convention. My partner and I decided to springboard off this and turned the summer into a west coast road trip to visit with friends and family. We started in San Diego and the highlights of this trip were Portland, Oregan, Seattle, Washington, and San Jose, California. On our jaunt along the coast there were still precautions being taken. Many people still wore masks out and were positioned with more space in public. Of the people we visited and stayed with on our journey, some were still social distancing, and taking precautions when going out. Our adventure was a good way to reconnect with the people we hadn’t been able to see during the lockdown. My partner and I were able to visit some important places from my childhood and have some epic picnics. There is a lake and small national park near my Grandparents’ home that is open to the public. The tree cover and water line is cut with an easy hiking path. We got to traverse about a mile of it. Taking in the beauty that could easily have been featured in a fairy tail description of an ancient forest. It was a great way to break the isolation and share some of the past with my partner.
• 
  2021-07-10

  Manzanar

  As a historian, US History teacher, and mother of two Asian-American children, I make a point to expose my children to all aspects of America’s history: good, bad, and ugly. Thanks to COVID, we had the opportunity to show the kids one of the country’s ugliest moments - Japanese internment. The desolate desert in the middle of our home state is an area I had never driven through before COVID, despite having lived in CA my entire life and being (supposedly) 8th or 9th generation Californian on my dad’s side. However, there is no way I’m putting my family on an airplane during a pandemic, which limits vacation options. So into the car for an eight hour drive to Tahoe. A drive that goes right past Manzanar, the Japanese American World War II concentration camp. Unlike last year, when we made the same drive for the first time in my life, the exhibits, buildings, and visitor center were open with masks and social distancing. As we stood in the barrack in the 106 degree temperature, I told my kids to never forget how uncomfortable they felt and to consider the fact that they were feeling awful from the heat as tourists. I told them to imagine living in this heat as a prisoner though you committed no crime except having ancestors from Japan. They may be young, but they are old enough to understand human rights. Visiting Manzanar was overwhelming. I am not a very emotional person, but I was taken aback by the fact that this history is so recent. My best friend’s dad was born in Tule Lake, where Japanese-Americans who refused to take the forced loyalty oath were sent. That is only one generation before mine. Seeing and experiencing second hand through family and friends the hatred directed toward Asian-Americans during this pandemic made the experience in Manzanar extra raw. Though I refuse to thank COVID for anything because I think that’s a bit tone deaf for all who have lost and suffered during this pandemic, I am grateful that the circumstances that led us to drive to Tahoe instead of fly led us also to a place of reflection on prejudice and race, especially in the climate of today.
• 
  2021-03-29

  From California to Pennsylvania over 2020-2021 New Years

  This is a 40-minute video that documents, in an entertaining manner, a couple and their cat going on a road trip across the United States during the pandemic (New Years 2020-2021). They began their journey from their house in Los Angeles, California towards their destination of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in a matter of 6 days (3000 miles). They shared their experience going state to state, along with the precautions they took while doing so. As the title of the video suggests, “We Moved Across The Country,” they did end up moving to North Carolina. So this video covers what road travel was like as well as moving during the pandemic.
• 
  2021-02

  California mom who vanished during 'pandemic road trip' 8 months ago found dead in desert

  It broke my heart to hear that she was found dead. Single mom from San Francisco who just wanted to get out for an adventure on a "pandemic" road trip, went missing several months ago.
• 
  2020-08-06

  A New Passenger Seat Rider

  This August I prepared myself to drive almost 48 hours from my home to attend and work at St. Mary's University. As one may imagine there were many hoops to jump through as an international student coming to the United States during a pandemic. One of the most important aspects of my travels was to stay safe. Before leaving my family helped me put together my passenger. A box I kept in my passenger seat to be easily accessible in my fully packed hatchback. In this box, I kept sanitizing spray, hand sanitizer, a spray bottle to clean my hotel room surfaces, gloves and masks. By using the contents within the box and respecting CDC guidelines I successfully made my trip from the Great White North safely.
• 
  2020-06-26

  Road Tripping in the Summer

  I had numerous plans to fly this summer. As a business traveler, I had saved my frequent flyer miles and was planning on changing jobs before the season began. I was then going to cash in the miles throughout July and August in order to take many trips across the country while I was in between jobs. Sort of a planned two month sabbatical. Unfortunately because of the pandemic all my plans were cancelled and I was left to figure out how to spend my off time. Taking road trips from southern California was my only alternative.