二零二零年三月十一日 Luiza's spoon and open doors

The school finally issued the COVID-19 statement, although I didn't deal with it in the calm I had expected from me. Instead, I panicked, talked with my boyfriend, argued with my parents, talked with my roommate, threw furious voice messages at my parents, and couldn't get myself to focus on my work. I tossed and turned at night, thinking about my fledgling research project, safety, destination and all that. I realized that it was finally my turn. It is my turn to feel the tangible panic, to feel jittery, uncertain, unpredictable, disoriented and confused. The sword of Damocles has never been so striking, hanging there, the uncertainty of its falling down only grows. Every decision bears its pros and cons. Every con, at its worst, unbearable.

Jeannie sent messages in the Slack group, reassuring everyone that the coordinators would discuss with the school and see how things go, and promising constant support and love as always. Under her long message I saw Luiza's message. She wrote, with the brackets and endorsement: "In less important news, did I leave my spoon in the ears room?" I laughed the very moment I saw that message, partly because contrast gives birth to the best humor, partly because I've personally left my lunchbox around the room and Hannah her wireless mouse, but mostly because the spoon anchored me down among the chaos. To put it in a lame joke, it scooped me out from my unstable emotions. I thanked Luiza in the message thread, paying homage to the endorsement by phrasing my laughter as "even less important news," which was refuted by Jeannie who adamantly advocated for the importance of my laughter. But that spoon. It reminded me to take the microscopic view which I was not always encouraged to take as I've always been told to look at "the bigger picture" and to make "future plans." But when the bigger picture and the long road ahead lose their traces of certainty in the mist of the unknown, it is nice to have something that anchors me down, dragging me back to my quotidian everyday life. Amid all the planning ahead, my mundane everyday life is still worth being lived and experienced down to the very last seconds.

Today I was talking with my boyfriend about what if my internship at labs gets canceled. He said then just find something back at home. Then it struck me. I may spend a summer at home, back in the country we talked about how much we wanted to spend the rest of our life back. We had talked so much about how we could go around his city, visit his old schools and houses he used to live in, eat street food, walk on the autumn leaves covering the pavement. Once I've taken the right answer out of the game, the world seems to open up in front of me. All the things that I thought of doing but refrain from doing because they were too risky and "not right" suddenly gain legitimacy. It's ironic that as many doors as this pandemic has closed for me, it promises me some alternative doors that I never get to consider because I have, in my mind, "more important things to do." When your last choice becomes your possible only choice, there isn't much you can do but to actually embrace it. This may not be a bad thing when your last choice is placed at the last not because of your reluctance or aversion but quite the contrary, because of your love and timidity. You place it there because you know an extra branch won't guarantee you anything in your fixed paths, but that doesn't mean you don't love it. Actually you want it. The pandemic tells you that. You really want it.

If I didn't spend the extra year at home before college, I would be the 2020 batch, graduating among disappointment, hectic arrangement, and lack of acknowledgment. That being said, I still wish I had the chance to stay in Ithaca for the summer. My hometown has no spring and autumn, and Ithaca has, oddly too much winter, but no summer.