I
I remember it vividly, in mid to late March, my dad was very sick, sick as a dog, always lying in bed and coughing up a storm. I have never seen him so sick. Before this, even when he was sick, he would go to work and suck it up cause he was too tough to call out, plus he wanted to save PTO special occasions. His muscles were weak, his throat was sore, and it hurt just to breathe. He and my mom were always on the phone with doctors, trying to find a solution. I remember hearing in late 2019 that there was some virus going around the whole world, with fingers pointed at Wuhan, China. Some people called it COVID-19, and some others called it the coronavirus. I remember hearing horror stories about how many people were dying in my mom’s country of Italy and seeing pictures of all the piazzas in the major cities completely empty, like a ghost town in the desert. Milan had looked abandoned. A couple of days later - on March 23rd, 2020 - the NYCDOE announced that all public schools in the system will move to remote learning. The first thing I thought to myself was, “God, what a mess this is gonna be,” and boy was I right.II
Remote learning for an arts school, especially being in the instrumental department, might have been the biggest mess in the world. Being in a house with my dad calling clients both domestically and internationally, my mom being in Zoom classes as a teaching assistant for students with learning disabilities, my brother taking Mechoptronics Lab I & II, and my sister and I singing and playing instruments in front of computers, respectively, I don’t know how we functioned. Till this day, I’m actually impressed by ourselves. Thankfully, my siblings and I were organized enough to coordinate and “book reservations” of who gets to use our tight basement for classes.
The next school year, we went back to fully in-person but were still mandated to wear masks. This was very hard to succeed in, especially as a music school. For those that played percussion and string instruments, it was easy: the students simply wore a mask and played as if it was pre-COVID 2019. The brass instrumentalists wore masks with a slit and flap so that they could put their mouthpiece against their lips, with a bell cover. The woodwind instrumentalists, like brass, use special masks and bell covers. Here is the problem: woodwind instruments have many openings on the sides of the instrument. I remember talking with my conductors, friends, and family about how it was pointless for the mask and the bell cover if air is still leaving the instrument. It worked for brass because if you close all the keys, a note will still be played; however, if you close every key on a clarinet, saxophone, or oboe, you're just going to try to push air into it with your lips slipping off the mouthpiece. It was useless. I couldn’t comprehend it, but not just this: everything. All of life for everyone that year filled upside-down.
The next school year, we went back to fully in-person but were still mandated to wear masks. This was very hard to succeed in, especially as a music school. For those that played percussion and string instruments, it was easy: the students simply wore a mask and played as if it was pre-COVID 2019. The brass instrumentalists wore masks with a slit and flap so that they could put their mouthpiece against their lips, with a bell cover. The woodwind instrumentalists, like brass, use special masks and bell covers. Here is the problem: woodwind instruments have many openings on the sides of the instrument. I remember talking with my conductors, friends, and family about how it was pointless for the mask and the bell cover if air is still leaving the instrument. It worked for brass because if you close all the keys, a note will still be played; however, if you close every key on a clarinet, saxophone, or oboe, you're just going to try to push air into it with your lips slipping off the mouthpiece. It was useless. I couldn’t comprehend it, but not just this: everything. All of life for everyone that year filled upside-down.
III
It was mid to late July when the city started to give everyone the “ok” to go outside, go to parks, and more or less start to go back to a world similar to normal. Pre-season for my soccer league started up, which I was so excited for. Prior to this, I went to play with a couple of friends and other people there with a mask, and it was torturous because it was so hard to breathe. It was like playing a full-field 11v11 game in the mountains of La Paz when - in actuality - we were playing on half a field and only 50 feet above sea level. That pickup game was the most unenjoyable game of my life. Even after playing an awful game, I never went home regretting going to play before this day. It is my passion, my love, but the masks made it unbearable.
My team was warming up for our second pre-season game. I remember it was insanely hot, and everyone was not conditioned to play a 90-minute game in this heat. We were doing 1v1 drills against our goalie in warmups to practice our finishing. On my second go, I decided to chip the goalie, but he came out of the net too much to pressure me. He ended up tripping me and (later found out) dislocated one of my toes. My coach (who was also my dad) was pissed that I took too long on the shot and missed: “What the hell was that!? Get the ball and get back in line!” Little did he know something didn’t feel right. I sat on the turf behind the net and took off my cleat, noticing that the imprint of my foot in my sock looked different. I limped over to the bench with my right cleat in my hand, and my mom asked if I was ok. I told her that I think I dislocated my toe, but old-school fresh-off-the-boat parents just tell you to suck it up and that it's nothing… until I took off my sock.
Dislocating my toe, though it did hurt, was not even the worst part. Since this was on a Sunday, and we were not back to “normal,” all the orthopedics and doctors were either closed or didn’t want to take on the risk and responsibility of relocating my toe in fear of damaging the ligaments. Knowing that I would have to get it put back in place, I was curiously on YouTube watching the process in preparation. I didn’t seem that bad. I had some sleepless nights in my life, but this was by far the most uncomfortable. The next day, we went to Downstate Hospital. Before the doctor put my toe back into place, he offered me lidocaine. I said, “No, thank you,” not knowing how bad it would be… relocating was definitely more painful than dislocating. Funny enough, I asked my mom for a Motrin right after as I was walking out the door on crutches with my foot out all taped up.
My team was warming up for our second pre-season game. I remember it was insanely hot, and everyone was not conditioned to play a 90-minute game in this heat. We were doing 1v1 drills against our goalie in warmups to practice our finishing. On my second go, I decided to chip the goalie, but he came out of the net too much to pressure me. He ended up tripping me and (later found out) dislocated one of my toes. My coach (who was also my dad) was pissed that I took too long on the shot and missed: “What the hell was that!? Get the ball and get back in line!” Little did he know something didn’t feel right. I sat on the turf behind the net and took off my cleat, noticing that the imprint of my foot in my sock looked different. I limped over to the bench with my right cleat in my hand, and my mom asked if I was ok. I told her that I think I dislocated my toe, but old-school fresh-off-the-boat parents just tell you to suck it up and that it's nothing… until I took off my sock.
Dislocating my toe, though it did hurt, was not even the worst part. Since this was on a Sunday, and we were not back to “normal,” all the orthopedics and doctors were either closed or didn’t want to take on the risk and responsibility of relocating my toe in fear of damaging the ligaments. Knowing that I would have to get it put back in place, I was curiously on YouTube watching the process in preparation. I didn’t seem that bad. I had some sleepless nights in my life, but this was by far the most uncomfortable. The next day, we went to Downstate Hospital. Before the doctor put my toe back into place, he offered me lidocaine. I said, “No, thank you,” not knowing how bad it would be… relocating was definitely more painful than dislocating. Funny enough, I asked my mom for a Motrin right after as I was walking out the door on crutches with my foot out all taped up.
In The White Album , Joan Didion writes in a unique style, highlighting her distinct personal experiences and events that others may have experienced during the same time period. I chose to write about some of my experiences during the COVID-19 pandemic (early 2020 to mid 2021) which, although unique, may be very relatable to others in similar situations during this time period. I chose to mimic Didion’s way of writing by creating a collection of vignettes, highlighting three of my distinct personal experiences that can also connect to the experiences of others during this period of uncertainty, absurdity, and discord.
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