Friday, May 29
America has had a dark week. Today, I originally had planned to blog about our cardinals fledging or going to the store for the first time since February because my mother and I needed to pick up something to unclog our sink. But with events that have unfolded, doing so and not acknowledging more pressing matters just wouldn’t be right.
On the news, one can see war zones in the streets of cities across America. Violent encounters and stand-offs alike from today will be ingrained in my memory for many years to come.
Yet the merit of these protests is a testament to the strength of the American way. Through this whole pandemic, people haven’t forgotten their first amendment rights. People are willing to put life on the line, through possible infection or otherwise, to gather and protest what they see as unjust.
2020 has certainly proven itself as a year for the books.
On the news, one can see war zones in the streets of cities across America. Violent encounters and stand-offs alike from today will be ingrained in my memory for many years to come.
Yet the merit of these protests is a testament to the strength of the American way. Through this whole pandemic, people haven’t forgotten their first amendment rights. People are willing to put life on the line, through possible infection or otherwise, to gather and protest what they see as unjust.
2020 has certainly proven itself as a year for the books.
ThUrsday, May 28
I almost didn’t blog today, as the day itself was pretty uneventful. But I learned that a modified, in-person graduation for July was confirmed and a date was set. Then I later also learned my brothers likely won’t be able to make it back, due to extended coronavirus restrictions in their state.
What more can be said, besides it’s sad? It’s so much bigger than that, but I think it’s bigger than words can express. Without ever putting too much thought to it, I always assumed it was a given my whole family could be back for my graduation. My family has always been spread out over the country, so it’s a special treat when we’re all together.
Now I have to find myself saying, with an odd mixture of pure, golden optimism and forced happiness, “Well, I guess there’s always my college graduation.”
And of course, I don’t blame my family—I don’t blame anyone. The universe just had other plans that we humans can never anticipate.
What more can be said, besides it’s sad? It’s so much bigger than that, but I think it’s bigger than words can express. Without ever putting too much thought to it, I always assumed it was a given my whole family could be back for my graduation. My family has always been spread out over the country, so it’s a special treat when we’re all together.
Now I have to find myself saying, with an odd mixture of pure, golden optimism and forced happiness, “Well, I guess there’s always my college graduation.”
And of course, I don’t blame my family—I don’t blame anyone. The universe just had other plans that we humans can never anticipate.
Wednesday, May 27
Today happened, almost without me. I woke up, and then it was the afternoon after about an hour.
I made myself a pizza and garlic bread, both on naan flatbread. I did laundry. I started to clean my room. Then my dad got home from work, and my parents and I hung out through most of the evening.
It was a good day, don’t get me wrong, but, by some measures, mundane. Perhaps that’s why it was good.
I made myself a pizza and garlic bread, both on naan flatbread. I did laundry. I started to clean my room. Then my dad got home from work, and my parents and I hung out through most of the evening.
It was a good day, don’t get me wrong, but, by some measures, mundane. Perhaps that’s why it was good.
Tuesday, May 26
I seem to have both nothing and everything to say about today.
Stuff happened, but I don’t quite have the words for it—yet.
I did check a few things off my to-do list. They were small things, but they were nice things to check off or get started on. I don’t have to be productive to feel productive, but when I have little else to do in existence, I must feel productive, even if it’s just through playing a game, it’s something I did with my time that wasn’t completely wasted away.
It’s amazing how something as simple as writing down what you did—even if they’re mundane things—makes you feel more productive.
Thank you for allowing me to do that all these many days.
I also just checked the total number of deaths related to coronavirus. We are over 100,000. Again, I can’t even really comprehend that. Part of me is grateful we didn’t reach that number sooner, and I am naturally grateful that the rate is slowing down nationwide. But that mustn’t take away from the fact that that’s 100,000 people dead. That’s 100,000 fewer smiles, “good morning”s, and lights turned on, and 100,000 more empty beds, weeping families, and filled burial plots. It’s morbid, yes, but so is this disease. Worse yet, it’s morbid and true.
The country is healing, yes, and by and large, I’m okay and the world will be okay; but in this moment, I refuse to accept my community is healing, with cases going up as they are, and I refuse to accept the lie that this--100,000 dead—is okay.
Stuff happened, but I don’t quite have the words for it—yet.
I did check a few things off my to-do list. They were small things, but they were nice things to check off or get started on. I don’t have to be productive to feel productive, but when I have little else to do in existence, I must feel productive, even if it’s just through playing a game, it’s something I did with my time that wasn’t completely wasted away.
It’s amazing how something as simple as writing down what you did—even if they’re mundane things—makes you feel more productive.
Thank you for allowing me to do that all these many days.
I also just checked the total number of deaths related to coronavirus. We are over 100,000. Again, I can’t even really comprehend that. Part of me is grateful we didn’t reach that number sooner, and I am naturally grateful that the rate is slowing down nationwide. But that mustn’t take away from the fact that that’s 100,000 people dead. That’s 100,000 fewer smiles, “good morning”s, and lights turned on, and 100,000 more empty beds, weeping families, and filled burial plots. It’s morbid, yes, but so is this disease. Worse yet, it’s morbid and true.
The country is healing, yes, and by and large, I’m okay and the world will be okay; but in this moment, I refuse to accept my community is healing, with cases going up as they are, and I refuse to accept the lie that this--100,000 dead—is okay.
Monday, May 25
This weekend was quite wonderful.
We celebrated my dad’s birthday, for one. That was very nice.
We watched church through YouTube, again, as well. I miss taking communion. There’s something very special about communion at my church. I don’t necessarily mean communion itself, either, or what it symbolizes, although that is important to me, too. Rather, I miss the wait and walk up to the table, chatting with people along the way. In some alternate universe, I can’t help but believe there’s a version of me graduating, and experiencing all the normal things. In this alternate universe, I’d be a high school graduate, and I‘d have been waiting in line for communion, and I’m sure I would’ve laughed and chatted with people, those behind me and in front of me, and they would’ve asked how it went and congratulated me, and asked about the yearbook and how it looks.
I can’t help but feel jealous of that alternate universe me.
But I can’t dwell on that. What could’ve been, simply wasn’t. I also can’t dwell on how long this might last. In fact, that was kind of the message I took away from church this week: Don’t dwell in the past or the future or what could’ve been the present; dwell in the actual present and focus on what puts you at ease and makes you happy. Experience your little piece of Heaven on Earth as much as you can.
I saw four young children on my street doing just that over the weekend, too. I couldn’t tell if they were wearing masks, but honestly, I didn’t care. They were living their bliss, three young boys that had to be less than 10 years of age, and one of their younger sisters. The boys were skating and the girl was running along with them. I wondered whether they really had a grasp of what was going on. They say ignorance is bliss, but does that apply? Do they know why things are different? Do they even care? Or were they just glad to be skating with their friends?
I don’t know when this whole pandemic will end. I therefore don’t know when this plot will resolve; it could (possibly) be a month from now, or a year from now. Both possibilities are terrifying in their own ways.
I don’t think I’ll go skating with my friends and become a “skater boi”, but I do think I’ll find my little bit of Heaven on Earth, and focus on what makes me happy. It’s still summer after all, and I’ve had plans in the works for months.
We celebrated my dad’s birthday, for one. That was very nice.
We watched church through YouTube, again, as well. I miss taking communion. There’s something very special about communion at my church. I don’t necessarily mean communion itself, either, or what it symbolizes, although that is important to me, too. Rather, I miss the wait and walk up to the table, chatting with people along the way. In some alternate universe, I can’t help but believe there’s a version of me graduating, and experiencing all the normal things. In this alternate universe, I’d be a high school graduate, and I‘d have been waiting in line for communion, and I’m sure I would’ve laughed and chatted with people, those behind me and in front of me, and they would’ve asked how it went and congratulated me, and asked about the yearbook and how it looks.
I can’t help but feel jealous of that alternate universe me.
But I can’t dwell on that. What could’ve been, simply wasn’t. I also can’t dwell on how long this might last. In fact, that was kind of the message I took away from church this week: Don’t dwell in the past or the future or what could’ve been the present; dwell in the actual present and focus on what puts you at ease and makes you happy. Experience your little piece of Heaven on Earth as much as you can.
I saw four young children on my street doing just that over the weekend, too. I couldn’t tell if they were wearing masks, but honestly, I didn’t care. They were living their bliss, three young boys that had to be less than 10 years of age, and one of their younger sisters. The boys were skating and the girl was running along with them. I wondered whether they really had a grasp of what was going on. They say ignorance is bliss, but does that apply? Do they know why things are different? Do they even care? Or were they just glad to be skating with their friends?
I don’t know when this whole pandemic will end. I therefore don’t know when this plot will resolve; it could (possibly) be a month from now, or a year from now. Both possibilities are terrifying in their own ways.
I don’t think I’ll go skating with my friends and become a “skater boi”, but I do think I’ll find my little bit of Heaven on Earth, and focus on what makes me happy. It’s still summer after all, and I’ve had plans in the works for months.