Wednesday, January 16, 2019 // The Statement
7B
Friday, March 27, 2020 // The Statement
T
he first time I read about COVID-19 was over
Winter Break. It was early January, and I was in
Florida with my family on vacation. Iranian Gen-
eral Qasem Soleimani was just killed, and I was mentally
preparing for war. My thoughts were running in a million
different directions. Social media wasn’t helping. Twit-
ter, Instagram, Facebook and even my group chats were
flooded with topical memes. I couldn’t concentrate or focus
without theorizing about what was to come and yet, amid
the possible World War III madness, there came another
chilling report:
A new, highly contagious virus was identified in China.
Nope. Not today. I shut off my phone, took a deep breath
and pretended as if I didn’t just read that.
At the time, that was a sufficient coping mechanism.
The report was posted on Instagram by a meme account
that issued out any content for clickbait. If @todayyearsold
was willing to post baseless news claims
only to delete them after a few hours, how
could I trust this report? It seemed almost
obvious to dismiss it and move on.
The weeks to follow seemed to calm
down in their own ways. While tragedies
were still occurring around the world,
my everyday life seemed to once again be
filled with trivial pursuits upon return-
ing to school. There, I settled into what I
thought was an unbreakable routine. My
roommate and I would wake up at the
same time every morning, snoozing nearly
five alarms before starting the day. I went
to classes Monday through Friday, with
club meetings on Monday and Tuesday
evenings. On a night in, my friends and I
would attempt to stop working around 11
p.m. and watch “The Bachelor” or “Sex
and the City” until we couldn’t keep our
eyes open. On other occasions, we would
find ourselves out, house party hopping
until it was time to debrief over bagels in
the kitchen. This schedule was a solidified
pattern, only to be broken by cramming
for an exam or a trip out of town.
I was no longer wrapped up in what
doom was filling the world on a greater
scale. I no longer had the time to ruminate over the “what-
if” society scenarios, so they quietly left my mind. There
wasn’t room for me to be consumed by international poli-
tics — I was consumed by the world directly in front of me.
The second semester of my sophomore year was supposed
to be the best term yet, and a few weeks into the semes-
ter, I felt that prophecy coming into fruition. The year was
scheduled to pick up around the first weekend of February
with my parents flying in to visit. After that, my friends and
I could name what was on tap for every weekend to come:
Mom’s Weekend, Winterfest, Spring Break, date parties,
the Michigan Fashion Media Summit, a Toronto trip, birth-
days, Hash Bash, a possible Windsor outing and then finals.
Wine Tuesdays, new restaurants, random late night excur-
sions to Target. Nights spent at parties wreaking of stale
beer and sweat, in bars we could barely get into, in libraries
more social than academic, in meetings taken as seriously
as class, in bedrooms plastered with polaroids, in my best
friend’s car for hours on end.
Distraction after distraction. Moment after moment.
Talk around our house was therefore focused on the
exciting times to come, as if they were promised. What time
do we wake up for Winterfest? How much are you packing
for Spring Break? Did you get a dress for date party yet? Did
you find a date? How many exams do you have this week?
Are you going out tonight?
The next set of COVID-19 related news seemed to change
the course of conversation only marginally. Some study
abroad programs were being cut short, and in turn, some
Spring Break trips to Europe were canceled. Instagram
pictures from Florence abroad turned to Snapchat stories
of plane rides back homes, but the virus had yet to hit the
United States. While people sympathized with those affect-
ed, life continued as normal. After all, the Spring Break trip
I planned with my friends was still on, and we had yet to
establish who was packing what.
After the aforementioned vacation, I went home for part
of Spring Break. At my first dinner back, the reality of the
world crept back into my vision, invited to the table by my
mother. She had warned me that the Michigan Fashion
Media Summit, an organization I was a part of, was going
to have to cancel its yearly summit. Typically, the event con-
sisted of 15 or more fashion industry professionals, offering
students a chance to learn and network with top names in
retail. The summit took a year to plan, with a team of over
50 students dedicated to our efforts. I wouldn’t let myself
believe her, calling her crazy and paranoid while tear-
ing up at dinner. I refused to listen — we worked too hard
for a virus to stop us. Yet the Monday I returned back, the
MFMS’ Presidents announced that news exactly. Fourteen
out of 19 speakers had pulled out, as they were put on trav-
el quarantines. We could not put on an in-person summit
without them.
Everything after that night seemed to pick up very quick-
ly.
On the Tuesday night that followed, I was nursing a
glass of wine, sprawled across my friend Andrew’s couch.
Him, my friend Natalie and I were indulging in a Michigan
Democratic primary watch party, channeling our energy
into political mania. While we were half watching the votes
come in and half making TikToks, we were interrupted by
inevitable news:
Michigan declared a state of emergency. There were two
cases in the state. The University canceled any event that
was scheduled to have over 100 people in attendance.
By that Wednesday, it seemed like every university around
the country was going online. Since we were at a large pub-
lic university, we guessed it was unlikely the dorms would
close due to the amount of students that relied on them for
food and shelter. As sophomores in off-campus housing,
we were not yet forced out of our house nor were we wor-
ried that we would be. The others around us weren’t either.
Because of this, we gave into our optimism and assumed the
rest of the semester would continue as semi-usual.
We were hopeful and naive, never having experienced a
pandemic in our lifetimes. In our minds, it almost seemed
like a utopia: Everyone would stay at
school, taking online classes with minimal
schoolwork, spending endless amounts
of time with friends, going out whenever
seemed fit, twiddling our thumbs to fig-
ure out what new adventure we should
take on the day with. Looking back now, it
seems irresponsible that we even thought
this way, but we were tucked away in our
personal bubbles of college and youth.
Of course, this unrealistic mindset
changed almost instantaneously. More
drastic news was being released on an
hourly basis. On Friday morning, classes
were moved to online platforms, all com-
mencement ceremonies were canceled
and all students were strongly encour-
aged to go home as soon as possible. On
Monday, dorms were closing for all but
those who relied on them. On Monday
night, we learned that we had to be out of
our house by Thursday afternoon. Within
a matter of days, it became evident that
our previous plans did not mirror reality.
Mixed emotions were everywhere.
People were crying during meals, while
on the phone with their families or in the
middle of a gathering. Conversations were
dominated by how much we would miss life in Ann Arbor,
reminiscing on all of the times we’ve had thus far. Snapchat
stories were all centered around the last endeavors of the
year. Some would break down at the mention of when oth-
ers planned to leave, seniors especially and reasonably so
— they were promised a sense of closure, a final semester
filled with bittersweet last hoorahs. Everything they had
imagined was now blurred and distorted.
Everyone felt a little cheated. I myself did. I didn’t want
to go home. I had work to do for classes, pieces to write for
the MFMS, interviews to prepare for. I had my friends that I
wanted to do nothing and everything with. I had met people
this semester that I expected even just a few months more
of time with. All of that was melting away.
Yet as much as this stung, and as much as it still does, I
know I am one of the lucky ones.
7B
What now?
BY ANDIE HOROWITZ, STATEMENT CONTRIBUTOR
ILLUSTRATION BY ERIN RUARK
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com