COVID Vaccines and Global Cooperation

In a world as interconnected socially, economically, and politically as our own, we've given direct pipelines for viruses to travel across the globe in an instant, compared to the isolation many viruses and bacteria experienced in previous decades and centuries. Stretching its roots deep into the past, the increase in globalization has been steadily marching along, and I have little doubt it will begin to slow down. In many ways, this globalization is a beneficial aspect of the world as we know it; in others, however, we must come to understand -- and quickly -- the dangers inherent in such a system. 

We should've learned from the Black Death, and then we should've learned from the epidemics Europeans brought to the natives of America. The various influenza pandemics should've set alarm bells screaming, and when that failed, it should've been the Ebola scare on American soil in 1989, or HIV/AIDS beginning that same decade. Or maybe it should've been SARS, or MERS, or Zika, or a million other moments and scares throughout history, almost every single one linked back to the global pipelines spreading across the world. We know the dangers -- or at least we say we do -- and yet not much changes. Precautions are taken in the moment, sure, but they rarely last once the virus slinks out of the spotlight. We return, like dogged lovers, to the same old habits that killed a portion of our population off before. After all, the vast majority of us are still alive, aren't we?

It's not difficult to see why many scientists have grown increasingly concerned about the potential prevalence such pandemics could take in our future lives. The slew of diseases that have caused scares -- or, in the case of a few, genuine pandemics -- goes on and on, and it seems that every year, we add something new to the list. Yet it comes as a fundamental problem in the way we handle ourselves. In an anthropocentric era, we treat nature as a lesser being, as a tool to be harnessed and used for our own good. We raze it, corral and breed species for our unnatural gain, and push back the fringes of the wilderness into neat, manageable rows. And in first-world countries, the result is even worse, with many governments and corporations seeing developing nations as expendable pawns for cheap labor and resources -- the same areas that usually discover some virus hidden in the woodwork and free it from its reservoir, all because humankind is greedy and materialistic. 

So often in science fiction stories do we hear of great civilizations creating the very thing that wiped them out. This will likely be our fate, as well, but the fiction got it wrong. Our technology won't undo us; our greedy natures, so adept at uncovering the hidden mines of viruses, will be our demise. We aren't cautious enough. And with the world growing ever more divided, we're failing to realize that cooperation is going to be the best tool we could ever have for fighting disease. The very idea of this prompt -- focusing on the ways in which cooperation will be necessary to create and distribute a vaccine -- is alarming, because tensions are so high between many countries. We were caught by COVID unprepared, and now we'd rather argue politics than save lives. 

It is assuredly possible to distribute a vaccine globally, but no country can do it alone. Manufacturing cannot be done at a small scale, by a single company, and distribution becomes even more complicated. Once a vaccine is developed, supplies are needed -- dry ice and cold-resistant glass vials, for example -- to even transport the doses to locations to administer them. Storage is required by shipping companies to keep them cold. Doctors and nurses need to understand the vaccine to the best of their ability, and patients need to understand any risks involved in the process. Likewise, doctors and nurses need to be available to administer the doses, and patients need to be able to get to the locations easily and affordably. We're told the U.S. military is going to assist with distribution of the vaccine, and that many schools and stores with pharmacies (such as Wal-Mart) will have the vaccine available, but they, too, have to have the storage for hundreds or thousands of doses, and the supply has to meet the demand. 

The global distribution of any vaccine is a monumental task, and it will require the entire world's efforts. One country may have the scientists who develop the most effective vaccine, but that's merely step one. Even the countries with the best infrastructure and manufacturing in the world cannot succeed at this alone. But it's genuinely difficult to imagine many countries working together effectively, and the idea that this rests on such an idea is terrifying. 

Thoughts, Patterns, Dilemmas

 I don't know what normal is; I don't think anyone does. There's a dictionary definition and a roomful of connotations, but what do they actually mean? What purpose does that word -- so often whispered behind hands and in morose circumstances -- actually serve? Normal. When you don't feel like you're it, the word seems to taste bitter, a slick of poison on the tongue. When you do feel like it describes you and your crowd, then you administer the poison, dolled out in pill-sized pieces of pain. But that's all melodramatic and dolled-up in pretty phrases. Really what I'm getting at is this: I'm not normal. I know that. In a lot of ways, deep in my genuine analyses of myself, I've always known that. So why does it sting so much now? 

COVID has given us all far too much time for reflection. For some people, perhaps that was a good thing. They could find new hobbies, discover their own feelings, and try new things. I've done the same thing, and in those ways, COVID has provided me with a lot of time to enjoy the small things in life. For that, I'm grateful. And yet, every coin has two sides. Flip this one over and you'll find that extended periods of time locked away inside, oftentimes with little interaction from others, has its adverse effects, especially on people who already struggle with mental health problems. 

You see, I never counted myself in that camp of people. I always assumed I was a generally happy person, and to an extent, I am. It really wasn't until last year that I realized that maybe my behaviors weren't entirely...well, normal. I'm a very thought- and emotion-driven person, enabled by my own feelings, intuition, and thinking. I push myself into things because of these feelings, and though they aren't always correct, I trust myself (maybe that's a fool's endeavor, but that's a topic for another time). In any case, my mindset of patterns drive this even further. I suppose thinking in patterns isn't a strictly uncommon way of looking at the world, but I back myself into corners with this mindset. If a loved one doesn't say something they usually do, I jump to the worst possible conclusion: they no longer care. On the opposite side of this, if I don't feel exactly the same feelings I did before in a similar circumstance, maybe I don't care anymore. It's a distressing and almost daily occurrence, because logically I know that emotions are constantly in flux and little changes rarely mean anything. However, sometimes I still get anxious and allow feelings to simply feel...wrong. Sometimes this leads me into days or weeks where I barely trust myself, and I get by, but it's difficult. Usually it's worse when I have too much time to dwell on things. 

I think myself into stress, and I'm sure there's some sort of term out there for that, but "normal" isn't it. I don't have a lot of insight into this topic, despite dealing with for my entire life, and for anyone else dealing with it, I don't have a lot of coping mechanisms to offer up, either. It's just been something that's been on my mind a lot lately. Ordinarily, I try to keep my blog posts upbeat and on the positive side of things, stitching a little light into even the worst times. After all, there's a lot to delight in when it comes to life, even amidst a pandemic. But this last little bit has been hard, because my mind has made it hard. Those times will pass, though, and I keep that in mind when the room seems a little too small and cramped. It's all I can do. 

Until then, I thought I'd add in a poem I wrote for my Honors class and read aloud for an oral history project that was meant to focus on an aspect of our life. It's about this very same thing, and it's called Knots. 

 “What I meant was--” "I was trying to say--” “I don’t know why I feel that way--”

But I do.

I once heard a man on the radio or news
describe anxious thoughts and
OCD tendencies as corridors and rooms
and alleyways to drive down and
explore their offshoots.
But they’re not.
Not to me anyway,
as much as I once thought that
the man on the radio or news or
blues station or whatever was right,
as much as my own mind envisioned
these once dimly lit mental images.
They’re just not.

A fisherman from birth,
it was upon the banks
of the river I frequent,
my line tied in loops
and whorls that mirrored
my sun-bit hands, that it hit
me what my own thoughts were like:
knots.

A palomar knot tied around a granny
with a loop into a uni,
or a lazily wound arduous arbor
cinching into an improved clinch
where sections of searing line
burn into my brain as my
fingers work methodically to
untie their messy hair.

I see my girlfriend with a
grand dress on at prom,
her eyes as bright as the mirror
of my oft visited river,
and tie a butterfly loop around her,
hanging a loose halyard around the
exposed curve,
before pulling over a snatch
of something a friend said--
“I really didn’t mean to hurt you; I just meant…”--

and sliding a slip knot onto a uni-to-uni and
conjoining the two snippets of life like
sentimental talismans.
The two mingle and stew,
and I add a dash of the past with
a highwayman’s hitch
and get an itch in my mind
and a stitch in my side.

There’s names to analyze
and dates to remember
and classes to pass
and worries of weight
and blasts from the past
that make my head ache,
all with their own strand of
fickle fishing line.

And there’s my fingers,

dutifully untying the knots

one-by-one --

and bleeding.

COVID and Halloween

A selfie taken at 
Fariston's Haunted Forest.

As September gives way to October, and the trees blaze with new colors and shed their coats, the newfound nip in the air tells me one thing: Halloween is on the way. There's sugar cookies emblazoned with ghosts and pumpkins on the shelves at Target now; there's pumpkins piled in neat stacks, just waiting to be bought, carved, and set on someone's stoop; there's a rack filled with costumes at Walmart, and the seasonal Halloween stores have opened their doors once more. In my mind, it's a marvelous time, but one that is left up in the air due to COVID. 

Much to my surprise, however, my favorite haunted attraction local to my hometown was planning on opening during the last weekend of September -- the same weekend I would be visiting home. My girlfriend had never been to any haunted attraction before, but when we found this out, she wanted to go. Naturally, my love of spooky haunts took over, and I was ready to hit the forest trails and be scared as soon as it was mentioned, especially when I had assumed the attraction wouldn't be operating this season. 

The attraction wasn't so different than usual, and we've been dealing with the restrictions put in place for so long now that they didn't seem so out of place at this haunted forest. Just after sundown, we arrived at a darkened forest, where a woman dressed in a bloody nurse costume took our temperatures at the head of the trail and ushered us inside the maze of rope that led us to the ticket booth. We paid, and were instructed to keep our masks on throughout the entirety of the experience, despite being outdoors. If we took them off at any time, the actors weren't allowed to get close to us. Other than that, the only major alterations were having smaller group sizes and the actors not being permitted to touch any of the customers. It was honestly a little disconcerting to see so little change from the usual at this attraction I knew so well. 

On the other hand, my hometown has been considering cancelling their annual Trick-or-Treating held at the town square. It's another fantastic example of the strange middle ground we are finding ourselves within currently, with some events still falling short of normalcy and others attempting to return to the way they were, with a host of safety guidelines put into effect in order to allow for this return. It's very saddening to imagine a lot of children losing a year of Halloween that they'll never get back, but I can also understand why it may happen. In any case, I'm anxious to see how this particular aspect of the pandemic unfolds. I believe it will have major implications for the holidays to follow, a precursor to the larger seasons surrounding Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

Vaccines on Campus: An Overview

As we continue our lives among COVID-19, the promise of an imminent vaccine still looms on the horizon. No matter who you are -- fearful of such a vaccine or desperate for it -- I'm sure the thought of receiving the COVID-19 vaccination has been on your mind. It's impossible to ignore the presence of this virus in our lives, and with a vaccine being proclaimed as the end of this mess, it's no wonder many of us cannot wait to get in line, roll up our sleeves, and receive our armor. With that said, however, there is another portion of the population who will no doubt show some hesitancy in such a vaccination -- and others who will outright refuse it. 

Because of this, the distribution of any vaccination hinges first and foremost on trust and transparency. Healthcare likely should not be politicized, but due to the structure of our system, it has inevitably become so. Therefore, the solutions to our problems must come from learning from the root of the causes: our governmental failures. 

The current pandemic is a perfect case study on the failures of our governmental and healthcare institutions, a fantastic example of what not to do in order to have citizens comply with regulations and other mandates. In many ways, our institutions have been massively incompetent, and this will undoubtedly affect the rest of our experiences with this pandemic, as well, including the inevitable vaccine to come. We already know that there is a strong correlation between pandemics and conspiracy theories (this link leads to a fantastic piece by the New Yorker on this), with the height of Illuminati conspiracies coming during the Yellow Fever scare. And this is only a natural connection. What better time for individuals to fear the worst than the moments when the world seems to be falling apart, when an unseen contaminant is threatening us at every corner? 

But in the modern day, the word "conspiracy" has become synonymous with "crazy," and thus our medical professionals and the like attacked the theories with anger and oftentimes hatred. These theorists -- who are more often simply afraid  more so than anything else -- were belittled, exacerbating the feeling of being backed into a corner. 

Likewise, the nature of a new virus presented issues with transparency, which in turn deepened the lack of trust that was already growing evident, especially in the United States. As new information bombarded the public, many ideas and findings seemed to contradict previous ones, which combined with the constant misinformation present on the Internet to create a dangerous cocktail of mistrust. As these contradictions occurred, many officials slandered those who refused to change their minds based on previous details, which continued to harshen these realities. 

This is the backdrop of societal issues that we will be introducing a supposedly life-saving vaccine into. I'll be the first to admit that I'm hesitant to receive the vaccine as soon as it hits the public. With a name like Operation Warp Speed, I grow concerned that potentially dangerous side-effects will be overlooked -- or worse, that the trials won't be enough to produce them. I know I will eventually receive the vaccine, but I also feel as if it is a valid concern. As far as the distribution of the vaccination will go on UK's campus, again, transparency and trust will be the major components of fostering a beneficial environment. Our universities should take a note from the failures of our government during the early stages of this pandemic and alter their approach to its later stages. 

Dorm Life Amid Disease

 

Key aspects of the current dorm life:
IDs, keys, and my wallet. 

I'll be the first to admit that I was terrified of dorm life. Sure, I had stayed away from home for a few days in the past, but a few days was a lot less than a few months. What would I eat every day? What if I couldn't find anything I liked to eat some days (after all, I'm a notoriously picky eater)? What if I got sick? What if, what if, what if? I chased this thought around for a long time over the summer, until I dreaded the moment when my head would hit the pillow and it would resurge. When the time came, I was extremely anxious, and after my parents left, I flopped down on my bed and cried. When the tears dried and I felt normal again, I set my room in order, hanging my posters and righting each wrong. Then I did it again, until I was satisfied. The next morning, I did it one more time. Then I gave up. 

All of that said, I'll also be the first to admit that I really don't know what to say on this topic. It's just life to me: weird and whimsical at times, but more often boring and hardly worth the effort of retelling than not. It's how I often feel with these blog posts. After all, I'm just another person, and not one with particularly powerful stories at that. I wake up, some days in the early morning for my classes and sometimes at noon when I'm free and need a good sleep to rejuvenate my energy. I walk five minutes up and around the block to Target at the beginning of each week to buy bread, lunch-meat, fruit, chips, and drinks. On Wednesdays and Fridays, I get Chick-Fil-A or Papa John's or McDonald's on my way in from class. The rest of the time I eat in my room. If I'm going home that weekend, I don't eat at all on Fridays, until whoever's picking me up arrives and we can grab a bite to eat together. 

Most of the time I take my laundry home with me, because I'm awkward doing it in my residence hall. I'm just as awkward taking my trash out at the end of the week. Sometimes I get brave and wave to people I know, but those are few and far between right now, and I'm usually more comfortable with AirPods in my ears and music swaddling me. When I get bored, I'll cart my laptop and my yellow legal pad outside and work on personal writing projects or homework until my back aches from the colorful chairs in the courtyard. Every now and then, friends will stop by and chat. I call home, and I call my girlfriend. I'm convinced this pandemic has driven up the number of drivers, because horns and sirens blare deep into the night. Other times, the quiet is constricting. 

All of that is to say...I'm living. I wear masks getting food and taking out trash and buying groceries; I sanitize when I get back in for the day; I spend a lot of time inside on Zoom calls; I have worries that my roommate could get COVID and throw us both into quarantine; and I only see the folks in my residence hall. Things are different, yes, but I guess I'm in a weird spot because I have nothing with which to compare my experience. I'm living, though. And I guess that has to be enough sometimes. 

A Scare

My family's COVID gear.

Living in a tiny county in Southeastern Kentucky, the threat of a pandemic didn't seem very real. Even as our schools closed, our events were cancelled, and our lives changed entirely for the foreseeable future, the threat didn't exactly seem relevant. Our case count was extremely low, the result of individuals returning from vacations and business trips, which were quickly contained by our health department and forgotten. There were a number of rumors flying around, but many cases couldn't be determined as testing wasn't available. Later on, many supposed cases turned up negative. Still, fear spread like wildlife, and with our county being rampant with diabetes and heart disease, it wasn't difficult to see why. 

In my own home, fear was less palpable, but the anxiety was still prevalent. In 2009, my dad had had a major heart attack, the effects of his heart disease still well-known to this day. And just last year, he developed diabetes, making his issues and possible complications with COVID two-fold. As such, my mother, sister, and I began wearing masks and sanitizing everything very well almost immediately, with little hesitation -- not so much for ourselves, but for my father and my grandmother, who often visited us, as well. By the time I left for college, all was well, and my father's fear was at a minimum. 

At the end of September, however, my family paid a visit to me in Lexington. We went to Fayette Mall, and then to an ice cream shop. This was on a Friday, and I passed the weekend lazily, reading snippets of my current book, playing Pokémon, and watching YouTube videos. On that Sunday night, I called home to wish everyone well for the night, and Mom told me she couldn't talk long. Odd. I asked her why, and from the background came the sound of retching. My sister and my father were both sick, with coughs, upset stomachs, and sore throats. They claimed to have felt very fatigued starting Saturday morning, and it worsened into Sunday. 

Instantly, my mind shifted to the worst case scenario: COVID. After all, what virus was more on our minds at the time than this respiratory bug? I went over our time in Lexington in my mind a million times, wondering when it could've been contracted. Images of little bottles of hand sanitizer danced in my mind, and I couldn't decipher when we had let our guards down. My dad isn't the best about wearing his mask at all times -- he claims it's frustrating to wear, especially after having done it for so many months -- and I wondered if he had taken it off at some point when we weren't paying attention. 

As he worsened into Monday morning, he finally agreed to get tested. My sister declined for the moment, citing that she was feeling better. Maybe she was, but I tend to think she was afraid of the test more than anything. I texted them to keep me updated, and then logged onto class for the day. Later that morning, as the day marched onwards towards noon, I received a text from my mother: Negative. We couldn't be more relieved. My dad, being the stubborn man he is, declined any further tests or medicines and went back home to rest. By Tuesday afternoon, he was feeling better. 

This story sticks out to me because I never thought it was a worry my family would ever have. Disease has never been a prevalent thought to me, even as the pandemic worsened around me. I took basic precautions, but to say I feared it? Not really. Until the disease snaked its fingers into my life and tightened its hold. Until I realized that disease can touch anyone, at almost any time. 

Delights

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay.

In my Honors 101 class, we have a single required text, a work by Ross Gay called The Book of Delights. As someone who is enamored by the written word, the concept of such a work intrigued me from the beginning. The author gave himself the task of writing a short essay every day for a year on something that delighted him that day, and our assignment using these texts is to find and discuss essays pertaining to certain topics within our modules. Being an Honors class, the course is heavily discussion based, and today, after we had shared all of our chosen essays, we were tasked with discussing for a brief moment things that delighted us. 

I focused on things I missed that filled with me delight -- hiking in the mountains behind my home, tracking animals, and fishing the creeks -- and this led my group into talking about other things we missed. Again and again, mentions of life as it was "before" came up. People missed interactions; they missed hanging out with their friends without masks or social distancing; they missed having little worries of such concepts each time they left their homes or rooms; they missed being human. I left class inspired, but I also left class deeply saddened. How could things have changed so much? 

My class is about a twenty minute walk from my dorm, and on my way back, something kept coming to my mind. One of my classmates shared back a certain essay that I couldn't get out of my mind. It was titled "The High-Five from Strangers, Etc.", and it focused on the author getting a random high five in a café by a stranger. He reflected that this simple act of kindness, this random act of humanity, brightened his day, enough so that he devoted a chapter of his assignment to it. As I walked, the sounds of muted life occurring around me, swaddled in the cloth of masks imprinted with the UK insignia, the essay made me think about all those threads of interactions by strangers -- tiny nods, miniscule chit-chat, gentle smiles -- forming a massive web of delight. Sure, not everyone loves these interactions, but most of us very much do, even if we aren't entirely aware of it. 

And as I turned onto Avenue of Champions, I remembered all those interactions my classmates spoke of, all those little moments that had evaporated thanks to this pandemic. All that humanity, gone. I wish I could say I felt more connected to my classmates, but I don't. I wish I could say I felt more connected to the people at my college in general, but I don't. And I don't think I even realized why until now. The humanity is gone. Oh, we try to restore it; we try to communicate, and laugh together, and pretend it's all okay. For the most part, it is okay. But we've lost a part of ourselves. We're walking around with our ties undone, our shirts untucked, our buttons disheveled. We're not whole anymore. Try as we might, one cannot ignore the way a mask stifles our smiles and expressions as we pass one another on the street, or the way these regulations quiet our friendships and our ability to form them. 

I think that we sometimes forget that this pandemic hasn't simply assaulted us on the front of health. It has assaulted us on all fronts, including the most human front of all: interaction. The soul of our society has been dulled just a tab, a facet of our lives sanded down and eroded. And I think it does some good to realize that, to understand it and come to terms with it. Tonight, I'll be writing a list of delightful things that I miss, and when I'm done, I'll crumple it up and start over. Then I'm going to make a list of delightful things I can reach. 

The Return of High Schools

My sister being temperature checked before
school this year. 

With colleges roaring back to life and high schools beginning to awaken from their slumber, it certainly seemed that our time of pandemics and quarantine were coming to a close, at least for now. But with numbers skyrocketing in many areas, and with our own President ill with the virus, it appears that we were grossly misled. Adjustments are continually being made and adjusted as our time with COVID-19 marches along, and they will likely continue to be made and adjusted for a long time to come. 

I always find it interesting to compare the current climate to that at the beginning of the pandemic, and because I was a senior in high school when the quarantine stint began, I was on the front-lines of the experience, like so many others. Whispers of the virus appeared in the news and on social media; major universities began closing their doors; and then roughly a week later, we were issued a statement regarding a potential shutdown of in-person classes at our tiny school. It seemed so unbelievable; it was all occurring too quickly to understand, and many of my classmates -- myself included -- didn't believe it would really come to a lockdown. Spoiler alert: it did, and as the virus consumed what seemed to be the entire world, many of our traditional senior activities fell by the way-side, as well. Our graduation was threatened and then remodeled to include a small group of family members and a single student in our gym -- the location of our rudimentary graduations -- at a time. We took what we could get. After all, something was better than nothing at all. 

This summer, I took a part-time job at my former high school, doing odd jobs with the custodial staff, and it was then that it hit me how different the next school year would look like. The Class of 2020 had lost out on about half of their year; to the next classes, however, school wouldn't even look the same. As we sterilized and cleaned the entire school as much as possible and helped to track the movements of the limited staff allowed inside, I realized that we were on the brink of a new reality. The temperature checks before work should've tipped me off to this earlier, but I don't think it was until the superintendent sat us down and told us the plan that it really struck a chord. As we moved desks to be an acceptable distance apart, often revamping entire classrooms, I understood the life my sister would be stepping into very soon, as a freshman in high school. 

As my departure date for college neared, coupled with the end of my employment, rumors began to swirl about rises in cases in my home county, and the question that was on everybody's minds became, Will in-person classes happen at all this school year? I was in the No camp. As August began and I left to pursue my higher education, my sister wasn't starting her high school journey until later that month --and it was planned to be entirely virtual. At the same time, my cousin had just graduated college and had landed a job as an English teacher at a nearby school, where students were also slated to partake in a virtual education. 

A photo my cousin sent me
of her empty classroom
during first period.

By early September, things had begun to evolve. My sister's school was making plans to split the students into two groups, who would attend classes on different days depending on their group. On their off days, they would attend class virtually. My cousin's school was planning a similar approach. And last week, the approaches were implemented, to various degrees of success. At my sister's school, a spike in cases appeared seemingly overnight, and as they prepare for their next steps to be announced in the coming week, rumors have once more begun to take shape. Many believe the school will return to a fully virtual approach after only a week-and-a-half of in-person classes. 

At my cousin's school, the story is even stranger. When they opened last week, offering students the chance to attend either virtually or in-person, my cousin had many classes that were entirely empty, the only interaction the faces on her computer screen logged into Zoom. She said it was an eerie feeling, especially for a first-time teacher, and I can only imagine the trials such new faces are experiencing right now. 

Truthfully, we are caught in a strange middle ground right now, stuck in the midst of re-openings and a potential new wave of shutdowns. I can't begin to guess what the answer will be, but I pray for everyone in our high schools right now -- and really, anyone in our education systems, teachers or otherwise. We're all simply doing our best. 

Pop and Internet Culture in the Time of COVID

Senior pictures my parents did of me,
in a parody of Friends shirt, made in
my hometown.

Like so many high school seniors now college-bound in this country, I had a unique graduation story and a unique final high school experience. In early March, we went entirely online, our proms and graduations cancelled until further notice. It was a strange time, and the more I think about it, the more I realize how surreal it was, at a time when we were sure the lockdowns would end soon, when our old lives were commingling with the new ones we would soon inhabit. I couldn't tell you where that shift occurred. It just happened, and we came out the other side different, changed. And there is perhaps no better example of this than pop and Internet culture. 

Instantly, there was a light-hearted nature on social media, at least in my hometown. As our graduation approached, people and businesses began selling masks and shirts with cute sayings and parodies of logos. My friends and I had shirts that were a parody of the Friends logo and referenced quarantine, and I had senior pictures done in it and a mask distributed by my high school. This was far from the only example, however, both nationwide and in my hometown. Mask-making became a popular trend, with images constantly appearing in the media and on social media sites like Facebook and Instagram. Even my mom got in on the trend, breaking out her sewing machine for the first time in years. Late night shows made jokes and exacerbated these trends. At one point, my sister did photos in her dance attire, holding wipes and disinfectant spray. It was all lighthearted fun in the frightening times we had entered.

On other sites, such as Reddit and news-sites, conspiracies began to abound, with individuals claiming

A photo from an early quarantine dance photoshoot
of my sister.

that the virus was fake, or produced in labs in Wuhan, or simply a conspiracy for governments to gain more control of their citizens. Misinformation flooded the online ground, and with new updates occurring constantly to contradict previous ones, unease and unrest only continued to rise, with some refusing to wear masks or change their habits. Social media sites began posting bulletins for the most up-to-date information and taking down false claims. The results in the beginning were two-fold, a stark juxtaposition that has carried over to into the modern-day and continued to unfold. 

But as one month became two and two became three, the fun of quarantine had started to falter. The sentiment both online and off was one of exhaustion, wondering when these mandates would come to end. Arguments ensued about how to handle graduations, how to reopen schools in the following academic year, and how to keep people in work. Conspiracies continued to unwind, and protests soon followed. I ended up staying off of social media for as long as possible in the worst moments of it, because in a time when we should've been banding together, we were tearing each other apart. Everything online was either hate, a conspiracy, or both. Maybe I was simply following the wrong people and pages, but it seemed like there was no relief from the virus. Even as celebrities continued to post about wearing masks, complete with pictures of them donning their own, the fun of those lighthearted moments had disappeared. 

My dad testing out a mask
made by my mother.

The era of Friends and The Office, of contemporary music artists, and of other comedic and cheery entertainment had departed. As of May, trends began to swing in the opposite direction, with heavier dramas like The Handmaid's Tale and Contagion taking the predominate spots on television and film streaming services; classical music listenership increased by around 13%; mystery, crime, and political books became the preferred reading material. These trends show the more introspective side of humankind during this pandemic. With so much time to think, deeper questions are being asked and explored, and our entertainment reflects this change. At the beginning of the lockdowns, we could believe the end was near, but at this point, we've accepted our predicament and settled down for the long haul. 

To check out more statistics and trends from this pandemic, I've provided the link here to the work I used in this piece. It's a very interesting read, though I highlighted the meat of it in this post. For other trends not highlighted here, however, you can go here for trends in religion or here for a great look into the history of conspiracy theories and pandemics. 

Family and COVID

My family donning masks in a store on their way 
to visit me at UK two weeks ago.

We live in turbulent times, our lives a wash of ever-evolving restrictions, and the no-visitors policy currently enacted in the University of Kentucky's residence halls perhaps illustrates this evolution better than anything. I knew college life would be different, difficult, and at times, a seemingly endless struggle; it was my longest trek away from home, and though I would be less than a two hour drive away, it was still a frightening prospect. One that was mitigated ever so slightly, however, by the illusion that my family would be able to visit regularly. After all, with them being so close by, and Lexington being a trip we had taken together often, surely this change wouldn't be too major. Right? I was very wrong. 

Instead, the pandemic has forced us to alter our plans. Originally, my dad spoke of grand times together in Lexington, exploring some of the famous sites that I hadn't had the chance to visit previously, going to book signings and comic cons like we did together before, and finding new places to eat. But right out of the gate, things took a turn. Before I moved in, we learned that only my parents could come with me, due to the restriction placed on the number of individuals allowed to accompany students. That left my younger sister and my grandmother to stay behind, despite their plans of joining us. It seems like a small thing to be upset about, but it was my first move-in day of college; of course they wanted to come. The day went smoothly, and pictures sufficed for those who couldn't come, but it was still a let-down. Even worse, however, was the fact that my parents couldn't stay long, due to another restriction placed on the amount of time they could spend in the residence hall. 

My sister in a grocery store
during the pandemic, helping
pick out groceries for
my family and I.

Despite this, my introduction to college went as easily as one might expect. My mom cried, my dad wished me well, and I found myself alone, putting my room together as efficiently as a newcomer could. I had almost two weeks before my classes started, and so my family decided to visit me after a few days of settling in. I didn't bring my car for my first semester, so they took me out to eat, bought me some groceries, and then we said our farewells once more. Unfortunately, thanks to the pandemic, many restaurants and stores are closing earlier than usual, cutting their visits shorter than we all would often like. 

And each return trip has gone this same way, with little fanfare, exploration, or journeys to events. When I visit home, which has been several times, the same is true there. We carry our masks with us and try to avoid stores as much as possible, as the mask mandate is more lax in small towns, and I have little desire to be quarantined on my campus. Though are lives have begun to return to normal, they are far from returning wholly. One has to wonder if they ever will. I have little hope for that, but I can't say for sure that it's a bad or good thing. Perhaps it just is. 

As far as my familial relationships go, some have grown stronger while others have been shaken. With my parents, sister, and grandparents, my relationships have gotten better. I value them more than I did when I had them around constantly, and I find myself genuinely enjoying talking to them on the phone and in person. We're closer than we used to be. With my first cousins, aunts, and uncles that I used to be close to, however...I've barely seen or talked to them since my move to college. Some I haven't even talked to at all. It's an interesting dichotomy, and a saddening one, too. Time seems to get away from us all sometimes. It doesn't seem like there's ever enough of it anymore. Even when I visit home, I'm stressed trying to get to see and spend time with everyone. It's a weird time, and while the pandemic isn't the main cause of it, it's certainly a stressor on top of everything else.  

What Now?: Life at the University of Kentucky

My girlfriend and I donning masks
amid the COVID-19 pandemic.

Where do we go with our world, our society, from here? Since around March, our lives as we knew them have been remolded, and though we have made great strides for change, with the number of cases of COVID-19 still soaring on campus, it begs the question: what's next? 

It will likely be many, many years before we come to understand this pandemic and the differing ways in which it was shaped, for better or worse. Some countries have fared well, and some have not. Some states have fared well, and some have not. Some universities have fared well, and some have not. These things land on a certain spectrum, and oftentimes, our locales fall into the center of it. Sure, we understand that there exist certain correlations between income, sex, age, and more, with COVID-19 deaths and infections. This is natural and makes sense; the current evidence seems to support this. But at a time when cases are increasing steadily, it should force us to reanalyze our knowledge and decisions. This is not to say that the knowledge we have is bad; it is merely to suggest that, in order to understand where we are going, we must analyze the decisions we have previously made. 

Already on the University of Kentucky campus, things are evolving rapidly. Within two weeks of arriving on campus, we were required to be tested. This post isn't about the test, but I'll be the first to admit that it did hurt. Not immensely so, but it did hurt. Luckily, I came back negative, and my college adventure began. Right away, we were told that only UK students were allowed in our dorms. This was a bummer, but it was expected. We were also immediately informed that we must wear masks in any public space while on campus. A bummer, as well, but this was even more expected. And most expected of all, the majority of our classes are online this semester. It was safe to say that my introduction to college was a strange one. 

Still, things weren't bad. Frustrating at times, but more than manageable. And then...things began to change. In week two, one of the guys in my group in an Honors class mentioned that a friend of his had been taken into quarantine. Whispers of hazmat suits -- expected, yes, but still a little eerie -- became the buzz before and after class. Then UK announced that they would begin re-testing students, specifically in Greek Life, where the numbers were soaring disproportionately. That same week, a girl in my only in-person class was quarantined. Texts began to come through each weekend, warning us to be safe, wear our masks, and apply social distancing standards. Now, we are barred from entering any other resident hall save for our own and our wastewater will soon be tested. All of this in about four weeks. One has to wonder: what now?

I don't know. Honestly, I'm not sure what to expect anymore. I strongly feel as if visitors to our rooms will be barred completely. That trend, more than any other, seems very obvious. Beyond that, I'm not sure. Will we stay the full semester, or be shut down once more? How much more limited will our already limited menus become if this pandemic continues to grow worse? Will even the few in-person classes become online, too? Will events be canceled? 

I think there's a strong possibility of everything, in every direction, and I think it will depend on how much our administrators are willing to risk. I don't have the answers; I'm not sure they do, either. But I do know this: we're all going to keep doing what we can, and we'll face everything as it comes. That's all we've been doing for this entire year. And as disheartening as it may be to realize it, we aren't out of the woods just yet. 

Classes Among Corona: Zoom

In so many ways, our lives have been drastically changed by COVID-19, and this is perhaps exemplified best in my life by education. My high school closed all the way back in March -- we lost our prom, baccalaureate, graduation, and so much more. All of that is to say, I've been partaking in Zoom classes for a while now. But I wasn't prepared for the difference between high school and college classes, even on the same platform. Really, I wasn't prepared for the reality of classes in college amidst a pandemic, and in a lot of ways, I don't believe any of us -- professors included -- were.

I have five classes this semester, which is fairly typical, and only one of those is in-person, which is less 

Each class has a designated link for 
Zoom in Canvas.

typical. One of them is a hybrid class, so every other week, I have two in-person classes, but I know many individuals -- my roommate included -- who do not have any in-person classes. And this isn't specific to the University of Kentucky. My girlfriend attends Middle Tennessee State University, and she, too, has no in-person classes. It's a strange dynamic and one that has drastically altered my approach to my education. I never expected to be planning around so much technology; I certainly never expected to log onto Canvas and see a specified link for Zoom on each of my classes -- including one for office hours to even discuss topics with my professors. 

And while many students may prefer this method (after all, so long as your professor doesn't require you to turn your camera on, you can take class in bed, in your pajamas, while eating snacks), it does come with its own problems. For instance, with so many students relying on the WiFi on campus in order to attend and complete their classes, when the WiFi does fail, it can be more than disastrous. I've already missed one class this semester due to this issue, and another class due to issues with Zoom itself. Which brings us to another point: Zoom can fail, and it isn't simply students relying on the program to work properly at every necessary moment. In many cases, businesses and many other essential services are relying on the video communication program, as well. And while Zoom isn't the only program being used (my sister's high school is instead utilizing Google's video communication services), Zoom is the one most associated with the current pandemic and the one most commonly employed.

In some classes, breakout rooms 
aren't even used. Discussion occurs 
mostly through chats.

Beyond technological malfunctions, issues with communication and certain class styles arise. My hybrid Honors class has certainly given me a good baseline of comparison for this. I specify Honors classes because they are more likely to induce a discussion-based class style, although this style isn't specific to Honors classes. Oftentimes, it's much harder to form connections to classmates and professors alike when the only time one is seeing them is through a computer screen, and even some of my professors have highlighted their regret in these regards. I, for one, find that discussion in class feels much more natural and human than over break-out rooms in Zoom. During the first week of my hybrid class, which was online, I didn't feel like I was connecting to my peers in any real way, but after a week in-person, I felt as if I were forming genuine bonds with the people in my group. It was a strange realization, but this more than anything has opened my eyes to one of the most prominent issues of hosting classes in this way.

In my second Honors class, though it is in-person completely, group work is often done over Zoom, as there are few places to congregate and complete such work. Last week, we were assigned small groups to research and create a presentation over different ecosystems in Kentucky. My group was assigned streams, and though I feel we did well when we presented on Monday, it created an odd energy. All of the work was completed over Zoom, and we each had different areas of research to comb through and put together in digestible pieces for the presentation in Google Slides. Then, we joined back together on Zoom to run through it together. Although this solved any issues and helped us complete the work successfully, again it felt less like we were making human connections and more like we were simply going about our business together in a very forcible way.

Lastly, the very structure of certain classes makes teaching via Zoom very difficult. One of my

My first guitar assignment
uploaded privately to YouTube.

requirements for living in the Creative Arts LLP is taking an arts course, and so I decided to try an Intro to Guitar class. I'm very grateful for how patient the instructor is with us, as I'm certainly a beginner, but the constraints of Zoom are often frustrating in such a class. Though we break into smaller groups for our Guitar Labs later in the week, even demonstrating our playing in a small group is difficult. Many times, microphone quality can be poor and camera quality too insufficient to allow him to see and hear our playing well enough to give feedback and correct us. He does his best, and this is very well in many regards, but other times it's simply an aggravating situation. Likewise, our assignments are videos of us playing certain snippets of songs, and thus must be recorded and uploaded privately to YouTube -- just another example of how technologically skilled we must be in order to succeed in our newfound educational environment. 

Education as it stands is a strange new world, and we are just beginning to explore this uncharted territory. For many, the new style puts them at a disadvantage, and for others, it can be as simple as a minor annoyance -- but one that inhibits their ability to learn. In any case, however, we are striving to meet the demands of this pandemic and the restrictions it has placed upon us. And we are succeeding in so many ways. This is merely one more test of our own resolve. 

A Study on Resilience

 It seems to me that the worst times in human history are the times when it becomes clear how resilient we truly are, the times when we learn more about ourselves than at any other. Sometimes I think it takes tragedy -- or the threat of one -- to wake us up from the sleeper state of reality we too often entrench ourselves within. And no matter how you slice it, COVID is one of these times. 

Fear is a word that has hung unspoken on so many tongues as of late; it has driven people indoors and into an isolation we've never experienced before. It's hovered on the air every time we've stepped into our local grocery stores, into our work-spaces, into our real-world lives. In a very real way, humanity has been under attack. Our schools shut down; non-essential work ground to a halt; the world seemed to pause. But the question becomes one of this: was that pause the stop of its heartbeat, or a mere breath before returning stronger? 

In a time of fear, humanity has shown resilience. Life hasn't stopped, though oftentimes it may feel that way. And although many things have become more challenging and frustrating, we are resilient. In the midst of a pandemic, our schools opened back up and challenged their students to protect themselves and each other through social distancing and the use of masks. Jobs for so many have returned full-force, with similar difficult guidelines. The shelves of stores are generally full. Concerts and other events are making slow comebacks. The streets hum with throngs of people, masks donned, returning to face life -- in new ways, sure, but stronger than ever. 

We have looked into the eyes of tragedy and held our ground. Many of us have been affected personally by this virus, and many more have seen people they love struggle, fear, or grow sick. There can be no doubt that we will feel the ripple effects of this pandemic far into the future. And though it may have spared some more than others, it has crept its touch into every walk of life, across the globe. And yet here we are. On campus at the University of Kentucky. Attending classes. Socializing the best we can. Learning. That's all this has been: an experience to learn, to grow, to show ourselves as resilient in the face of a travesty. 

My heart goes out to all those who lost loved ones, jobs, and livelihoods. My heart goes out to the struggling, the sick, and the hurt. My heart goes out to so many, and the stories from so many during these trying times are endlessly powerful. We can withstand anything; we are human. And that means picking up the pieces and trying to return to business as usual, even when we don't feel like trying. Often I struggle with these posts, because I haven't experienced anything major due to this pandemic. Some disappointments, yes, but nothing heartbreaking or particularly trying. I grumble about the state of the world; I dislike wearing a mask; Zoom can be annoying and aggravating most days. But these are minor complaints.

And as I look around campus every day, at every single person who has sacrificed and continues to sacrifice to be here, I realize how minor they are. Though these times can be disheartening, they are also times of empowerment.

 Any time you feel down due to the current circumstances, I encourage you to seek out one shining moment that highlights resilience in these times. Below, I've embedded the video that inspired this post. I hope it will inspire you, too.

We are resilient.

Food Allergies Amid a Pandemic

 My girlfriend and I have been in a long distance relationship for over nine months now. She lives in

Checking ingredients is always an important
first step.

Murfreesboro, Tennessee, on the outskirts of Nashville, and attends Middle Tennessee State University, where she studies Music Business and Agribusiness. I couldn't be more proud of her. Since my enrollment at UK, she's tried to make time to visit as much as possible, and so last week, we found ourselves at a Mongolian restaurant a short drive from campus. She assured me she'd been there before and that they did, in fact, have food she could eat. See, she has Celiac disease, which is a food allergy to gluten, a protein found in wheat, rye, and barley. Therefore, she often has limited options for food, especially when we go back to my home, which is a small town in southeastern Kentucky, and because her reactions to it are often fairly severe, we're both extremely careful about where we choose to eat. 

Of course, living in the time of a pandemic tends to complicate things a bit. With many restaurants having limited menus and no dine-in option, we usually opt for the easier route of buying groceries we can be sure are gluten-free and cooking at a family member's house. But being in Lexington, several hours away from any of these locations, we were forced to eat out somewhere. This wasn't exactly an issue, and naturally we looked forward to having some time together. We donned our masks and entered the low-capacity innards of the building. In this restaurant, each customer is given a bowl, and they choose what their meal consists of in the likes of meats, vegetables, and sauces. It's a really unique set-up, and I was loving it just as much as she had assured me I would. 

But the problem is, masks complicate speaking, especially in environments that are already a little chaotic (with folks eating, TVs blaring, food sizzling as its cooked nearby). And though she tried to ensure she didn't receive any of the gluten-containing items, in the end, she failed. The rest of the time wasn't quite as pleasant as the beginning of our time together. 

And this experience made me realize how much this pandemic complicates already complicated scenarios. Food allergies are a very serious issue for a very large number of people. According to worldallergy.org, "It is generally accepted that food allergy (sic) affects approximately 2.5% of the general population, but the spread of prevalence data is wide, ranging from 1% to 10%" (Fiocchi and Fierro). While many simply have upset stomachs, like my girlfriend, some can have much more serious and life-threatening reactions. I don't personally suffer from any of these allergies, but my proximity to a loved one who does makes this issue far more grounded in reality...and quite honestly, far more frightening. 

I've never been someone who is against masks, and I don't plan on changing that stance any time soon. But it cannot be denied that, for many, masks complicate the search for safe and edible food. For example, for those who already struggle with sight issues, masks can make wearing glasses even more difficult, leading to an inability to properly read ingredient labels. Then there's the issue of finding such food to begin with, as the pandemic makes certain markets and supplies dwindle or grind to a halt.

Sometimes, it seems that ordinary struggles for many people are seemingly forgotten. And in a world ravaged by a pandemic, in a time of uncertainty and fear, sometimes it's ordinary people that need to be seen the most. 

Masks on a College Campus

A mask hanging on the door-handle of my dorm. 

 

Every day is the same. Get up, mask up, go to class. It's a routine I should be used to by now, but I'm not; it's a routine the world should be used to by now, but I don't think that's happened yet either. Maybe it never will. Maybe calling this our "new normal" is just us kidding ourselves. 

Honestly, I'm not sure anymore. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever truly end. You know, they always talk about lights at the end of tunnels, but I don't think that light is always sunlight. That makes me sound depressed, but the political environment of the world at large right now is difficult not to get depressed over. Still, in my regular life, I'm generally happy.

There's a key separation between our regular selves and the self that is connected to the rest of the world. My connected self is usually upset, often perplexed, and occasionally amazed in the best of ways. The world isn't all bad; that's just what our media chooses to focus on. Humankind is strange sometimes. 

In any case, my days are generally the same. I wake up and throw on my mask of the day. I go and grab some breakfast before the sun decides it wants to warm the day to be extra hot (per usual), then attend some on-line courses via Zoom. After that, I hop in the shower, make sure I grab my mask of the day again, and head to my in-person class (or depending on the week, classes). At night, I do homework, and before bed, I pick out a new mask and balance it gently on my door-handle lest I forget it the next day. The dirty mask goes in a little net baggie for the washer. 

My bag of masks, washed and prepared for a new week.

It wasn't always like this, though. At the start of my senior year for high school, worries of remembering masks and ensuring they are safe in hungry washers and dryers were never possibilities in my mind. Before, the only time I had worn masks were in hospitals, visiting sick or dying relatives.I remember the way those masks had scared me as a child being wheeled into a operating room for surgery to repair the growth plate in my wrist, right before they stuck an IV in my arm and sleep took me away. Before this year, these were my only experiences with masks. Now, they're an everyday part of life.

For the most part, every man, woman, and child I see has one on if they are outside of their homes or rooms, and I can't count the number of times I've been incredibly surprised at how someone looks without a mask on, when I've seen them later through Zoom or other on-line sources. It's a very weird feeling, even now. It's funny how the world changes and how phenomenons simply pop up out of seemingly nowhere. I think we've all (again for the most part) realized that this is just a new part of life for the foreseeable future. I think we're all mostly okay with that. But it's weird, isn't it? Even to this day, I walk out of my dorm and forget my mask. One day, I got outside without it on and sheepishly made my way back to my room, knowing I'd be late to class but understanding I couldn't not have a mask.

It's not a bad reality, despite how cloying and uncomfortable masks can be in the heat, in classes back-to-back, in stores carrying groceries and goodies. It's not bad, and I understand that masks are good preventative measures. But it's weird, meeting people for the first time without being able to really see them, having to worry about these little face coverings so much and so often, seeing pages like this on our school webpage.

Maybe I'm just behind on the times, old-fashioned, unwilling to adapt. Maybe this truly is our "new normal." I suppose only time will tell.