Items

• 
  2020-07

  Someday his photo will be historic.

  Someday his photo will be historic. For now it’s just everyday reality. Front of bus blocked off for social distancing.
• 2022-04-29

  Life during a pandemic

  During the pandemic, I was away from home. Stuck in another country with no family or friends. Living life during a pandemic far away from my loved ones made me value every aspect of my life, the way I saw life and change the way I used to think.
• 
  2021-07-07

  Two Weeks

  "See y'all in two weeks!" we joked as my cousins left my house after a long game of Monopoly. There was talk in the news about some new virus and having to be on lockdown for two weeks. This was all still so new and unbelievable, literally. We never thought a quarantine would happen, especially since being isolated for two weeks felt like an eternity. A few days later when we realized we were going to be separated for two weeks, we could not imagine how we were going to get through these two weeks without seeing each other. Two weeks, that is it. Looking back, that sounds like nothing. Two weeks turned to three, weeks turned to months, and months turned into over a year. During this time, the things I missed the most were the little things. I missed watching my little cousin do cartwheels in our backyard. I missed hearing my older cousin's deep laugh as she tried to teach me how to dance. I missed stressing out over getting ready to go out. I missed arguing over the rules of Monopoly with my cousins. Fast forward 15 months, we are all vaccinated, and hopefully will return to rejoicing over a game of Monopoly soon.
• 
  2021-04-23

  Difficulty set to hard

  This is based on my personal experiences. I started off 2020 by having just separated from my wife, such that we were both looking for divorce. This can lead to many difficulties even in a normal setting, but it took the normal difficulty of the things I was going through and turned it up a few notches. I started the year off without a job, car, or place to live. I was able to move in with my mom and take care of the housing situation temporarily by living in her front room. I then had to start looking for jobs. I found a job through a temp agency to get me back on my feet. Eventually, it became time for my to find a more permanent job better suited to the path forward I wanted in life. My last day of work at the temp job was right before spring break. I had planned on taking care of life things during spring break, before looking for another job shortly thereafter. There were no jobs. So many businesses closed during and after spring break, that the number of people desperate to get money for rent and necessities, took all available jobs almost instantly. I spent nearly 2 months looking for another job. Eventually I was forced to cave, simply because what should have been adequate amounts of money while looking for a job, was used up in the wait. I not only had to take another temp job, but the only ones available were jobs with a high rate of people leaving them. So I worked at one of the worst jobs I have had the displeasure of working. In that process, there was an instance of covid starting to spread through the factory. So this factory with over 1000 workers, made a mandatory covid test for it's workers, and sent us all home for a week. Anyone who's test came back positive, had their id rejected at the turnstyle when we resumed work. Unfortunately my body couldn't take the hours required for this job. And so I was forced to leave it also. And in doing so, I was no longer able to stay with my mother. So for the second time in a year, I was jobless and homeless. And this time, the root cause was covid. I went to stay with my aunt. But my grandmother and grandfather are particularly elderly and vulnerable, so everyone there was on high alert and wary about covid. So I was quarantined for an entire week to one room so that I would be able to be monitored for any symptoms. Shortly thereafter I was back on the hunt for a job that would help me progress forward in life. But yet again, even in a completely different area of Oklahoma, there weren't any jobs to be had. I was only able to push myself like that for a month before I looked for another solution. I had a friend, who would lend me his couch even on a permanent basis if needed. So I took him up on that offer. And I moved from Oklahoma to California. That drive was more or less the most impactful part of covid to me. I had seen the roads get empty on my way to/from work as people had stopped non-essential travel. But Oklahoma didn't have an enforced mask mandate. We could still go to the store, or pay for gas for our car, without being required to wear a mask. Many businesses still had indoor dining even. But in that trip, the realization of the impact of covid, hit me. It was at the only gas station for 20 miles in either direction in the mojave. I walked up to the door to go in and pay for gas. And for the first time that year, I saw a sign saying masks were required to enter. After that, every other location I stopped at was the same. There were no more places I could go without a mask. Covid, was having a real and significant impact on other things in the world than just jobs, and people's financial struggles. After having made it to California, in a particularly populated area with plenty of jobs, I was still unable to find a job for two months, simply because of how the rest of the year had gone for me. Simply by requiring a stable work history, I was no longer able to apply for most jobs. Finally I did get a job. I got one in the food industry. And the impact of covid hit hard there too. After having finished my training, and worked for about a week, the state mandate came that closed both our indoor dining. A month later, outdoor dining followed suit. We weren't allowed to take drinks back to add things we may have forgotten, and instead had to remake them entirely, because of covid safety precautions. I've had my temperature taken every single work day since I started, which was unheard of in times before covid. Twice, we've shut down the store because a partner tested positive for covid, and everyone that worked with them was placed in a mandatory two week quarantine. The impact is so strong, that the company is even providing 2 hours paid time for both doses of the vaccine, as incentive to get vaccinated. It's clear to see, covid has had an incredibly strong impact on life, and turned the difficulty level of many peoples lives up beyond manageable levels.
• 
  2021-01-20

  Distant Relationships

  Throughout the whole COVID ordeal I have been seperated physically from my friends and family. To compensate the lack of physical interactions with other during this pandemic, we've used Discord an online voice group chat to keep ourselves social. Discord has helped us remember that we aren't alone during this pandemic. We're able to play games, watch videos, and talk to one another one this service. Discord I feel what I feel helped me currently get through this whole ordeal.
• 2020-10-26

  A change of lifestyle due to COVID-19

  Back in March, when schools were initially shut down due to the virus, my friends and I thought it would be a short break and we would be back by the time spring break ended. Little did we know that the pandemic would last for many more months than that and we wouldn’t return to school that year. Normally, I would go visit my dad once a month but the pandemic made it impossible. He lives out of the state, in Utah, so for the first few months of quarantine I couldn’t get on a plane to see him. I ended up not going to see him for 5 months. Even now, In October, my mom isn’t very fond of the idea of me going to see him because of the way the virus has been handled in Utah. The infection rates are increasing rapidly in Utah at the moment so we ended up having to cancel my trip there in the beginning of November to be safe. Life has definitely shifted since the pandemic began and things have become different in some aspect for almost every single person. On the other hand, because of having so much time to myself this year, I’m more proud of the person I have become than I have ever been.
• 
  2020-10-16

  Can't Wait

  I had been deployed for quite some time already and had not seen my family in a long time. When I found out that I would not be coming home when I was supposed to earlier this year (due to Covid-19), it just crushed me. My wife was devastated too because she had been alone taking care of our two daughters. My oldest did not quite understand why I had to stay longer and my youngest daughter was just a couple months old when I left. I was longing to see and hold my girls. Time away from them seemed ever ending but I knew that I would be home soon but soon was unknown. The thought of that was scary but I had my girls as determination. The why I do what I do. Once I came home to my girls it completed my journey and they would not let me go. The baby was a year old and my oldest was so talkative. She never talked before I left. They were so different but I also felt like I stepped into a different country with new rules. (Arizona State University, HST485).
• 
  2020-06-13

  Lovelace Hospital's Secret Coronavirus Policy

  Lovelace Women’s Hospital in Albuquerque, New Mexico implemented a secretive policy that racially profiled Native American mothers. As expecting mothers who “looked” Native were admitted into the hospital, staff would compare their area codes to a list of zip codes belonging to Native lands such as Reservations or Pueblos. After being identified as “a person under investigation for COVID-19”, mothers were often misled or were forced into signing a wavier that gave permission for hospital staff to remove the newborns from their parents after birth. The families were only reunited once the pending coronavirus test results came back negative. Test results took up to three days to come in, thus leaving the mothers in fear and uncertainty about the wellbeing of their child. Lovelace, Native American, mothers, healthcare, newborns, separation, New Mexico indepth, ProPublica, racial profiling, New Mexico
• 
  2020-03-18

  Plague Journal, Day 5: Drawing WiffWaffles

  As the reality of the pandemic begins to dawn across the country, I walk through Prospect Park, hear strangers express anxiety, and interact with The Kid via text and on a walk in north Flatbush.
• 
  2020-05-15

  Melisa Perez, Dougherty Family College, HIST 115

  A friend of mine studied a broad here in MN, I had the privilege to get to know her during her senior year as a college student. With the whole pandemic, she wasn’t able to go back to her home country it was unknown when she will be able to return back. A week ago, she found out that today will be her chance to leave. Although we are both happy that she is able to go back home, it was sad to know that we wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to each other due COVID-19. Although it seems like she is just going back to visit her family, it studently hits me that we are actually living in a time like this. I really wish I was able to send her off and give her one last hug since we don’t know when we will see each other again. It’s not a goodbye, it’s a see you soon.
• 
  2020-04-16

  India hospital segregates Muslim and Hindu coronavirus patients

• 
  2020-04-09

  During coronavirus crisis, Congress’s first caucus for nonreligious belief seeks a larger role in promoting science

  "The nation is growing increasingly nonreligious. Last year, the Pew Research Center reported that 26 percent of Americans now say they are not affiliated with any religious tradition, compared with 17 percent in 2009. Many of those unaffiliated Americans still believe in God and incorporate spiritual practices into their lives. But the share of atheists has doubled, from 2 percent of Americans in 2009 to 4 percent in 2019. An additional 5 percent now call themselves agnostics, compared with 3 percent a decade earlier."
• 
  2020-04-19

  My First TikTok Dance

  It had been exactly 39 days since the last time I saw my partner. At the beginning of March, I made the decision to move in with my Mother in Tucson, where I had resolved to stay with her until the crisis was over. I needed to move out of my Tempe home by April 30th, so I made the trek from my parents’ house in Tucson back up to Tempe and enlisted my partner’s help in moving the last of my possessions. It felt dangerous, and even though it was essential travel and we’ve both been strict with social distancing since March, I must have asked at least ten times if she was sure it was safe. She assured me it was. I told her I was not sure if I could hug her. She told me it was okay. Before this whole crisis began, we had just started a conversation about moving in together. The 39 days apart provided some clarity: We wanted to take that leap as soon as it was safe to do so. As we looked at the stacks of boxes on my kitchen floor, we decided that some could be stored in her apartment. It was strange, because when 2020 began I had this vision of us packing up my stuff and moving in together. Here it was happening, but it wasn’t this joyous event, it just felt solemn. She cleared out space in her guestroom and we hauled boxes up three flights of stairs before we sat, winded, in her living room. It was so bittersweet—the hope of imagining this future together and the reality of our current separation. My favorite thing about our relationship is that it’s been defined by laughter. We’re always on some type of adventure, working on some new inside joke, and always pranking the other. But in isolation, it’s been hard for us to keep up the playful parts of our relationship. We can’t go on adventures, we can’t prank one another, and sometimes everything feels too serious to joke at all. Somedays, we’re too tired and sad to even talk much. As we moved things from my apartment to hers, she tried her best to cheer me up. She checked in with frequent are-you-okays and trotted out her best comedic material to elicit laughs. She’s become quite the TikTok aficionado in quarantine, and many of our jokes right now are shaped by the absurdist videos on the internet. Sure enough, each time we placed a new box in the car, she loudly yelled “CAROLE BASKIN”, a reference to the TikTok Tiger King inspired dance. Soon, throughout the afternoon, we’d both break out in the TikTok Song. CAROLE BASKIN! Killed her husband, WHACKED HIM. Can’t convince me that it didn’t HAPPEN Fed him to tigers THEY SNACKIN CAROLE BASKIN! As we sat in her apartment on Sunday evening, I got an idea. I walked to the front of the couch like I was presenting at a conference. “Play the music!” “What music?” “Play the Carole Basking song!” It took me a few times before I began to freestyle some moves. “You have to use your hips more!” she directed. “What? No, I don’t!” She pulled up another video for reference. “All the good TikTok dancers use their hips!” I tried again, this time bouncing my hips in ridiculous fashion. CAROLE BASKIN! (I shook my hands above my head) Killed her (I drew my thumb across my throat) husband (I pointed to my ring finger) WHACKED HIM (I mimicked an axe movement) Can’t convince me that it didn’t (I wagged my fingers and made an X across my chest with my arms) HAPPEN (I tapped my arms by my side) Fed him to tigers (I gestured from my chest out) THEY SNACKIN (My outward arms made the alligator chomp twice on beat, before I drew my arms up to claws) CAROLE BASKIN! (I bounced on my hip and flared my tiger claws outward with a rawr expression) By the time the dance was over, my partner was howling with laughter and I was too. It was the hardest we had laughed together in weeks. Before this pandemic started, I thought TikTok was silly. I still have no plans to join TikTok and I sincerely hope my TikTok dances never end up on the internet. I’ve also never seen Tiger King and I have no plans to and I keep hearing about Joe Exotic with no idea who that is. But honestly it doesn’t matter what I think about TikTok or Tiger King, because I know they make my partner laugh. They bring her joy during this terrible time. I know that a lot of other people feel that way right now too. So here I am, documenting my first TikTok dance; Or, as I like to think of it, a strange act of love in the midst of this pandemic.
• 
  2020-04-18

  Diary in the Time of Corona

  I woke up this morning and decided to write. Why today? What’s different about today than yesterday, or the day before? I have no answers to these questions. It’s Day 25 of the quarantine. The sky is dull gray and it’s raining, my windows streaked with wet wavy lines that make them look like etched glass. Today is not so different from yesterday, except yesterday it wasn’t raining. And yesterday we went to the supermarket. That place fills me with terror. The aisles are not wide enough to keep the required six feet social distance. In the produce section it’s inevitable that two or more people will end up inspecting the bananas or the lettuce at the same time. When that happens we move apart as far as we can but we don’t walk away, as if the lettuce or the bananas or whatever are a territory we refuse to surrender. We do avert our eyes, ashamed to look our adversaries in the face. Upstairs in my bedroom I hear the rain against the roof, a soft, steady patter. The marsh is enveloped in a fine mist with ochre and green grasses and a few trees yielding small mauve flowers. I’m waiting for phone calls from the dead: my father, who passed away nineteen years ago and my mother, who passed away three years ago. Why do we want what we cannot have? Or is this the nature of grief, that after the sharp stabbing pains of loss a knot of slow sadness begins to form and 2 wind itself around our hearts, once in a while tugging so hard we’re reminded sharply once again of those who are gone? Maybe that’s what writing is for: not the documentation of what we have but the recovery of what we’ve lost. I’m reading a book by Lydia Davis called The End of the Story. It’s a novel about a woman writing a novel about a brief but intense love affair that ended thirteen years earlier. She can’t finish the novel because she can’t find the right way to end it, or so she says. But we know she can’t finish the novel because finishing it will end her connection to her lost lover, and she doesn’t want to experience such pain and grief all over again. The rain has stopped and the sky has shifted to a softer gray. The yellow and dark greens of the leaves are startling and bright in the thin light. Lydia Davis is a descriptive writer. She paints vivid pictures of the natural world: sound of ocean waves, piquant scent of eucalyptus, aggressive jade plants. But in her obsessions and delusions and isolation from friends she is not the best companion for me right now. ** Day 26. I am a witness to the pandemic. Everyone is a witness. But I’m not risking my life like the nurses and doctors and other workers on the front lines. I feel like a coward. 3 Today is sunny, with a cloudless sky of soft, washed blue. When you are quarantined weather becomes very important, like a prophecy or a sign of progress, or stagnation. On fine days I could go outside for a walk but usually I don’t want to. On the days I’ve gone for walks there’s an unspoken tug-of-war on the sidewalk when others approach: who will be first to step out of the way. My husband and I are always first to move. We agree we tend to give a wide berth earlier than necessary. Still, each time we veer into the street so walkers can pass I feel we’ve offered a consideration that was not reciprocated. This gives me a feeling of victimization that makes me even more irritable than I already am. On a recent walk I couldn’t help noticing that everything in my neighborhood reminded me of the virus. Small shrubs with crimson buds. A mask in the middle of the asphalt, awaiting asphyxiation. Street signs that say Dead End. I never realized there were so many dead ends where I live. When I’m overcome with anxiousness I prepare a meal. Before the time of corona I was a reluctant cook, and we often ate dinners at the local trattoria. But of course that’s no longer possible. I don’t have the patience or creativity to be a decent home cook. But now I find comfort in assembling a dish or two. I experience a sense of accomplishment in completing what feels like a meaningful activity. Food is no longer readily or easily available. If I’m missing an ingredient I won’t run to the supermarket wearing with my mask and disposable gloves. With every trip to the market comes the risk of 4 additional exposure. Grocery shopping demands enormous amounts of energy. So I try to plan ahead, which isn’t easy when you’re anxious all the time. Today’s side dish is quinoa tabbouleh with scallions, tomatoes, feta, and fresh lemon. Even writing the word “fresh” refreshes my depleted spirits. Before preparing the tabbouleh I looked out the window, my gateway, my connection to the world outside my home. My attention was drawn to a single orange-breasted robin stepping across the grass. I watched for a while, since now I have time for such contemplative activity. The robin began to peck at the ground, circling and wandering, circling and pecking. I had the idea he was searching for food and not finding any. I turned away. Things I never noticed before. The whiskered tips on the scallions, like a man’s white-gray beard. The amount of plastic and paper towels I waste even though I claim to be pro-environment. I think of my mother growing up during the Great Depression with barely enough food and not enough money. I have coats in the closet, sweaters in the drawers, a stocked refrigerator. Was I really so clueless and ungrateful? ** Day 27. Be mindful, stay in the present. I am trying to be present but the news on the morning radio announced 40,000 Americans are dead from the virus. How is this possible? The future has become our dystopian present. 5 Last night we visited with our kids on Zoom. Such interactions are one of the challenges of this particular moment, the physical separation from loved ones. These meetings in cyberspace reinforce the sense of enforced isolation: my adult children isolated in their homes within an hour or so of mine. I miss them. They might as well be living on the moon. I’ve heard stories of doctors and nurses sleeping in their garages so as not expose their families. This is worse than my experience, much worse, because their lives are in imminent danger. Nonetheless, their experience does not erase the pain I feel as a mother and new grandmother who can’t touch or hug my children. In my home state of New Jersey, 40 percent of more than 4,200 coronavirus deaths have been linked to long-term care facilities. My mother was a dementia patient in one such facility for six years. I thank heaven I do not have to worry about the virus killing my mother in a nursing home. The past seeps into the present. The present is the future, for the time-being. I’m reminded of the words of T.S. Eliot: “Time present and time past/ are both perhaps present in time future/ And time future contained in time past.” Perhaps our sense of separation between past, present, and future was always illusory. My brother contracted the virus a few weeks ago and was ill with a fever that spiked as high as 102.8. Mercifully he is recovering well. Past, present, and future, they are merged into the nightmare of the virus. I just read about a 25-year-old woman, a Latino grad student studying marriage and family therapy, who died of complications from the virus which she 6 likely contracted while working at a clinic for Latinos in one of the corona hotspots in Queens. I am overcome. I can’t write anymore.
• 
  2020-04-09

  Goodbye

  the sadness of not being able to be in the same room with someone as they are claimed by this virus
• 
  2020-03-22

  Maya Peralta, age 5, talks through the fence to her neighbor and classmate from Scales Technology Academy about Coronavirus.

  Five year old talks to neighbor through fence about Coronavirus.