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2023-07-19
COVID-19 Archive Story_H. Crowder
I have uploaded a personal story of how COVID-19 impacted my life; and how, in my mind, there is a before and after, two different sections of my life. I also observe the changes that were influenced by the Pandemic. -
2020-03-15
A Pause on Life
It was March 2020 when the world found out about this new virus called the corona virus (Covid19). This virus hit the news, and my parents began to worry. It was still the beginning doctors were beginning to learn about it, not many people knew the much about it. On March 15th I started my day like any ordinary day. I had a salad for lunch, while eating my salad I realized I couldn’t taste anything, but I didn’t think much about it. At this time the symptom of losing taste and smell was not a symptom for Covid 19 yet. I mentioned it to my mom about me not being able to taste and she answered by saying “that’s so strange dad can’t smell or taste either.” I still didn’t think much about it I thought we both have a cold, but I thought it was strange that me and my father can’t taste or smell. I soon realized that it was a symptom of Covid 19. After realizing I panicked and called a doctor to get tested and sure enough me and both my parents tested positive for Covid 19. I was in shock because it was so early and I didn’t think that I out of everyone in the world would catch the virus. And just like that the world paused, business closed, restaurants closed, you couldn’t be around your friends or extended families, and we all had to stay home. Unfortunately, the timing was not in my favor. I was planning on getting married on June 4th, however at the time I wasn’t worried, I kept thinking to myself this virus will go away there will be a vaccine and by the time June would come and I can have my dream wedding. As time passed, I realized my dream wedding would be crushed. It was a hard time, every day in quarantine my wedding plans were put on hold and I wasn’t allowed to see my fiancé. I cancelled my invitation order and altered it to 20 invitations instead of 700. I wasn’t allowed to get my dress altered because everything was closed. My father had to cancel the venue. After being let down I came to a conclusion that I still want to get married on that date with just my close family. And so, it happened. I replanned a wedding to my grandmothers’ backyard. I had my ceremony with only my close family and afterwards my friends joined. It wasn’t the wedding I was supposed to have but it was the best wedding I ever had. At the end of the day it taught me a lesson a lesson that life isn’t about the external objects or flamboyant events, but being surrounded by the people that love and care for you is all that matters. I was so happy and so appreciative that I was able to have the most perfect wedding. I believe Covid 19 was a wake-up call for the world. It allowed people to focus and work on themselves, realize what the true important things in life are, and to understand the significance of life. -
2020-01
The First Mask
This is the first mask my father gave me at the end of January 2020. We didn't think COVID-19 would be a big deal, and it was more of a precaution than anything else. When everything started shutting down, I got more masks, and lost track of this one while moving out of my college dorm. I found it in again in September of 2020, and it reminds me of just how much the world has changed. I've had two pandemic birthdays, caught COVID-19, and got my vaccines, all while trying to be a college student. Looking at this mask reminds me of how much everything has changed, and the good and bad that I've seen go along with it. -
2021-04-08
Covid19 and the Occult
The occult experience of Covid19, from my perspective as an adept occultist. -
2021-04-02
Why is this so hard?
Every week, write an entry in JOTPY. Seems like the easiest assignment ever. I thought so, too. But, I have really struggled. I have found myself behind in entries and I probably need to write 2-3 times a week for the rest of the semester to stay on track. I've always had trouble journaling and writing in diaries ever since I was a kid. I've always viewed those things as really personal thoughts and I like to keep mine in my head. I viewed writing my innermost thoughts and viewpoints would give others an advantage over me, a way to see my weaknesses. A super intimate view of myself through my own lens. I've read thousands of pages, researched for hours, written a dozen response papers, drafted a 25-page paper, and still, this write in JOTPY every week has been the hardest assignment all semester. Maybe it's because it forces me to think about COVID and how it has affected me, my family, and the rest of society. COVID has taken over my life for the past year and this assignment forces me to confront that fact and my feelings about it head-on. It forces me to publicly share these thoughts. At first, I wondered if it was even beneficial to assign students to write for a project like this. It's supposed to be shared experiences but how authentic are the entries really going to be when people are not writing on their own, but writing because their grade is dependent upon it? I cannot speak for other students, but I feel that this entry I am writing now is very authentic. Although I am scrambling and having to submit a few times a week, I am grateful for this assignment. It really helped me grow as a student and a person. I still have a ways to go, but I am becoming more comfortable with sharing my personal thoughts and opinions in writing. -
09/20/2020
Maria Simpson Oral History, 2020/09/20
This interview is conducted by a college freshman who interviews another college freshman about her experiences during lockdown. It covers how she dealt with isolation, how her high school experience had changed, and all the emotions and nuances that came with this strange new COVID-19 reality. -
2020-03-16
COVID-19 Extracts from Personal Journal
Mid-March. Thinking about all the things that have previously worried me this year that now seem mild and hilarious: moving alone to Tasmania; starting my PhD at a new university and finally meeting my supervisors; turning 28 (haha, actually). Now: Global pandemic; getting really sick; my loved ones getting really sick; state borders closing and being unable to return home even if I want to; my loved ones getting sick and not being able to travel to see them; the economy is destroyed, again. Late-March. It is what it is. What a rollercoaster this year has been, and we're not yet three months in. I've been staying home in self-quarantine for a few weeks now. The days are distinct for twenty-four hours; in the mornings I can recall the previous mornings; the afternoons, the afternoons. Every day I wake around 10am, at some point I paint, make food, drink coffee, stand on the balcony and gaze at the view. At the dining table J plays Catan ("it's your turn"; maniacal laughter; the sound of sawing) while I read. B set up the gym in the spare room and is continually showing me exercises effortlessly, while I struggle on a single push up. We stack wood in the woodshed, B and I come up with names for movies replacing words with toilet paper in one of a million Facebook challenges to bubble up during a time when all we have is time, and after weeks of watching the PM’s announcements as a house, we have all gradually stopped paying attention to the news. What is happening in Tasmania? That's all we care about anymore. I call home and [my parents] are cheery, full of house-plans and routine amidst the uncertainty. Recently J and I were discussing how we have different word associations - prior to all this I saw virus as being inherently technological, a computer term; he saw it as a verb, something penetrating and spreading. He said he felt concerned that we all use the same term but we might all be meaning different things, so how can anyone authentically communicate? I feel that inherently at the moment. I have a wonderful Zoom call with D and D and they are jovial, laughing, but also patient and understanding with my PhD fog. (Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am doing one at all, and it zips back into consciousness with surprise: wait, you're doing it? Now? All you do is sit in your house.) University is at least some kind of consistency. I write to M and A, I paint zealous red gouache flowers on the envelopes, I run to the post box and hold my hand out in the air after touching the handle as though drenched with invisible miasma. J and I collect pine cones at the Domain. When strangers approach from a distance every part of me screams stay away! They seem to walk directly towards us, magnetised, a collision course, and it is always our job to duck and weave to avoid crashing. Crashing means ‘breathing near’. Mid-April. I ask J how many weeks it has been not leaving the house. "I don't know", he says."Four? Five?" We count backwards. I was free on my birthday; the last time I went out for anything was a week after that, Me Wah. J remembers. "At least you got to sit in a restaurant", he says. He remembers mine and B's conversation to the word. I sense his mind is doing backflips in the emptiness, while mine is hazy and soft, a kaleidoscope of dreaming and staring into the flickering flames of our fire, looking at the soft Ghibli rain over the city, staring into never-ending mugs of steaming tea. There’s no need to ever be fully awake. We watch movies B picks out on Netflix (Psychokinesis; A Quiet Place), sip homemade cherry liqueur. We share treats. Occasionally we leave the house in an anxious flurry. People either look nervously as we pass them in the aisle, or not at all; oblivious, they bang into other people, walk aggressively, lean too close. J is frustrated and rattled. "I'm really grumpy", he says, roaring his car into the street. B and I silently look for teddy bears in the windows of people's houses. In our neighbour’s window is a brightly painted sign, ‘Thank you health care workers!’ One particularly cagey afternoon (of golden sun licking the garden in early April, flecked summer shadows, all a warm 20 degrees) I walk. I walk around the Domain and lip sync to repetitive pop songs and take photos of the trees and a fat rainbow parrot, and I move into the dirt to avoid people, always watching, mapping trajectories and walking speed in space. I get home sunburnt and make a fluffy coffee, drink it in the sun on the deck while J pulls up our kale and spinach and gives it to me to munch, pops the heads of tiny caterpillars with his thumbnail. He leaves one for me to do and when I squish it green blood splashes like a poorly made film crime scene pool, obnoxiously overflowing. There are many places I could be during all this that would be worse than here. Mid-May. This is new. The pressure has completely released. I don’t feel on-edge for a millisecond, instead deeply slow and content and watchful. Given-up and exhausted. When I was deeply drunk I looked around my room tearfully (a clear theme these days) and touched my hand to the wall and thanked the spirits of this old house, whether they were listening or not, the echoes and shadows and fingerprints and DNA of those who came before, for having me, and for their care during this time. After the months I have spent within this house I can’t not anthropomorphize the walls. It was a wider gratitude - for the dappled sunlight on the plants on the ledge in the kitchen, for the depths of the crackling fire, watching it lick and munch at the dry logs, for the deep sea breeze coming up our street, for the view of the houses and the stone church and the pines and the mountain drifting beyond the clouds, for the thick fat roses persevering deep into the late autumn, for the brass-golden sun burning my skin lightly in the late afternoon, for everything delicate and rare and wonderful I have been contained with on this property. While coronavirus is rapidly disappearing in Tasmania (knock on wood, we say, tapping our knuckles on the table, and then on our own heads) the rest of the world is gripped in it. Domestic travel is looking possible by July, at the earliest - international not until 2023, so likely after my PhD is concluded. For now, the directive is clear: stay put and stay healthy and don’t spread. Inspired by the frontliners M is considering doing a two-year intensive nursing degree, so by the time we’re both finished perhaps the world will be opened and we can move around and see it. Who knows what the future will bring - and this year, more than any other, the year the word ‘unprecedented’ was thrown around frantically, this holds true. Late-May. Today was nice. I walked aimlessly around the city, bought a coffee from Two Folks and waited eagerly in the alley for it to be ready since only one person could stand in front of the register on the X-marked tape at any given time (the childish thrill of in-person commerce); bought soap from Lush and laughed with the girl with sky-blue ombre hair behind the plexiglass - “Thank you for keeping me in a job!”, she said. People on the street seemed ready to smile at the slightest glance. There is a relieved, selfish joy in the air. At night I drank a bottle of wine and watched It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and as I always have laughed at every dark moment, and things felt preciously safe in this tiny pocket of the world. -
2020-04-27
A Postcard From a Friend
Sent to me by a friend who lives less than half an hour from me, this is an example of how the world has reverted in some ways during the pandemic. Written letters and postcards are largely objects of the past, yet this was an effort at analog connection in the digital world, one that required thought and care to produce.