The shift: a college student’s perspective
Tomorrow instead of sitting at the conference-sized desk in the common area of the Marketing and Public Relations Office at the University of Mobile, battling my writer’s block centered on crafting an attention-grabbing lead, I will be getting coffee with a friends.
Two years ago, I was sitting in the only classroom of Saints Bible Institute in Italy. While our professor spoke about art and made The Decameron come to life, the idyllic pace of Italy was merely a few steps away.
Today, I am at home and have already predicted what will happen in the Hallmark movie that I use as my white noise.
Last Thursday, I was in a van with other students, coming home from Tennessee. Sleep deprivation mixed with the potholes of Alabama sang us to sleep. We woke up and found out the college decided what they would do about the coronavirus.
No official statement was made, so whatever they decided was unknown.
The unknown is a humbling reminder that I was not God—no matter how much I want to believe I am in control.
For the remainder of the van ride, I coped by reading the introduction of The Decameron while listening to The Band CAMINO. Some people were avoiding everyone, and some people were partying. I understood the parallels more than two years ago; we too were avoiding or partying—trying to figure out how to best cope by doing whatever made sense.
When we got back to school, I took a real nap; I woke up to the email that announced spring break had been extended and implied the potential of classes being moved online.
To respond, I did what I always did when I could not control things; I focused on what I could control and on what I did know. I made dinner plans for that night and coffee plans for the next day.
What I knew was I did not expect my senior year to look like this. I was not supposed to have an extended spring break. I was not supposed to see friends and not know when I was going to see them again. I was not supposed to pack my things without knowing when I would go back to school.
Friday the 13th, I kept “World Goes On” by Mōzi on repeat and read Levi the Poet’s poem on toilet paper.
I am processing grief over the time I thought I would have, a college student facing more unknown. The only thing I am certain of is that I will keep having assumptions that do not necessarily foretell the future. What a senior year, right?
As much as I’ve written about myself, it is not just me in the world.
The ordinary act of getting on social media is a reminder of the coronavirus in the form of memes and various posts. Some people continue their lives as normal because it’s the media’s fault for the panic. Others choose to recluse because it’s everyone’s responsibility to stop the spread of the coronavirus.
Events and schools are being canceled for the cause of social distancing. Various stores have altered their hours and sent out emails ensuring their customers that they are hygienic.
Many people are living in fear. Some are panic buying all the toilet paper because they have a fear of the shortage. Many people are living in apathy. Some are unconcerned because it doesn’t impact them.
Although our days look like a dystopian novel, it does not mean we are in one. Although panic and chaos flood stores and social media, do not become dehumanized and desensitized.
Remember your humanity. Not everyone is motivated by fear and greed. Quarantined people are singing from balconies. Others are helping elderly people shop. Four days ago, despite the looming unknown of the near future, I saw people help with tornado relief.
You can be preventative and not panic. You can educate others without shaming the actions of others. You can be a salve and reflect hope to others.
When I packed, I took home a quote that was typed on a piece of cardstock.
“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” -Nelson Mandela
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