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The COVID Chronicles is a Humanities Amped creative writing and journaling initiative designed to encourage our friends and the larger global community to document their lives during this COVID-19 pandemic. Through prompts generated by members of the Humanities Amped community, participants in COVID Chronicles will be able to respond in writing. Be it poetry or essay, journal entry or prose, it is our hope that we are able to encapsulate this history through real time accounts from those of us living in this moment. 

Prompts are posted three times a week on our social media. To participate, submit your work at the link below, or post with #C19Amped.
Submit Here

Three things I've learned during the Coronavirus crisis:
​

1)How to assemble a small piece of furniture following directions that have no words on them.
2) How to get spilled candle wax off of a wood surface (with a blow dryer and a wet rag! Thanks, YouTube.)
3) Even during a crisis, men will try to mack women in the street who are minding their own business, looking for toilet paper and Clorox wipes.

Ummi M.
58, Jersey City, NJ

How do I feel?

I am sad, frustrated, stressed but mainly… lost. I don’t even
 know what I am supposed to do right now.  When I said that I couldn’t wait for summer… It’s really not what I meant. I am thinking about this year since primary school. Why can’t I have my whole 10 months? People are telling you how fast this year is going…
 Imagine when you can’t even have it all. I wanted it all. The prom, the graduation and all the activities that the years before us had. I never thought I would say that but, I would’ve even taken the exams. Sadly, now, we have to face reality. We are not going
 to have any of these, or at least not “normally ”. 

Despite all that, I am still hopeful. That’s the only thing that
 keeps me from wanting to tear everything apart. That’s what you do when you are lost, you hope. Hope for the best. I know that there are good things that will come out of this. Class of 2020, we will probably never be the same. 

Because we will not truly live our last day of high school with
 all our friends by our side, we will live every moment with them to the fullest. Because we will not live our graduation, we will learn to enjoy the path, not just the finish line. Because we will not have our “gala of excellence”, we will learn to do the
 efforts without always having the recognition at the end. Because we will not have our prom, we will not wait anymore for big events to have fun, we will create funny moments every single day we live. Because of all that, we will learn to never take something
 for granted. We may be lacking a few notions in math, French and English but what life is teaching us right now is way more important than all of that. It’s with a tear on my cheek that I tell you: we will grow from this.

Laurence A.
16, Quebec, CA​

A Day in the Life of COVID-19

We watch birdfeeder finches from inside,
the window pane wide above breakfast

plates of eggs and watermelon.  We both
 stay home and I feel fine, but tested 

positive.  He tested negative but 
because of me, he is stuck here.  

He raises an empty plastic tub, from the 
Mediterranean dates, and asks, “could 

this work as a planter?”  
“What did you have in mind?” I ask.

He shrugs, “thoughts.”  Maybe he means
mint or lavender seeds, but I imagine this

bin sown with tiny thoughts in damp 
soil, sprouted concepts to be propagated, 

irrigated, incubated greenhoused into 
a feral future in which we easy-stride 

beneath branches of bluebirds and 
chickadees, and breezes kiss

our unmasked faces.

Patrice M. 
​58, Grand Coteau, LA

"We always have hope.
Hope does last."
But patience
always departs first.
And what good is hope
when it is in mourning?

Maybe.
That is precisely the problem. 
Works without faith.
It seems as if "hope"
is in hands that prey
on the meek.
If there is no Earth
then there is nothing  to inherit.

Who are we now?
Who have we been?
Who will we be
when we emerge?

Are we waiting for the outcome to decide?
Did we forget? We are the architects of outcomes.

Are we curious enough to thrive?
Courageous enough to demand?
Do we have the fortitude to stay?
Are we diligent enough to transform?

Yes.
"We always have hope."
Hope is the last to perish.
But hope
without conviction
is madness

Nayyir R.
27, Baton Rouge, LA

What I have missed the most 

is myself. & I was not aware of this before—the virus. Or maybe I was. I forgot about pieces of my younger self. I was searching for myself long before— before the virus slowed the spin of Earth—pressed a pillow over the face of my calendar. & this is selfish. But uncertainty is the most intense trauma. The only daily guarantee, now, is that I will check my temperature & wash my hands—constantly. 

But—I think I have found more of me, now, through this. Before I was living my dream in Germany, living in the moment, looking forward to the future, listening to more languages than I could learn in a lifetime. The cobblestone—silent now. 

I have spent social distancing digging my old self out. I seek to understand my current self better. 

I have spent time watching video clips of pro wrestling. I was a WWF kid—the Attitude era. The Rock was my favorite. I had the VHS tapes. During quarantine I have re-watched the matches & the promos I used to watch over & over again— rambunctious in my mother’s living room. I have watched documentaries about what happened to the wrestlers I watched at an age when we were all trying to figure this world out. Like we are all once again—there different age but same mind—trying to untangle the world. I do not think I knew myself then & I cannot say how pro wrestling influenced me— what the Attitude era did to me. 

I grew up with The Undertaker. The Ultimate Warrior. D-Generation X. Mick Foley. JR & Jerry. Monday Night Raw my time—escape—to sink into the theatrical storyline. Disappear into the millions & millions. I remember the action figures & kid-size championship belt. 

I don’t watch wrestling anymore—I haven’t since I was probably fifteen. But, since quarantine began, I have been reaching back—reigniting memories. 
​

During quarantine I have played video games I played when I was growing up. Games I used to beg my mom to buy me. Goldeneye. Wrestlemania 2000. Super Mario Bros 3. Warcraft II. They are all on the internet now— play them for free in browser. I would have dreamed of this access then. I guess dreams do come true—sometimes. 

Bret Hart. Macho Man Randy Savage. Sting. The Dudley Boyz. The Road Warriors. Wrestling—to me—is what Dante read before he wrote The Divine Comedy. 

What I have missed the most are the parts of me I forgot about— the lost concrete buried. 
I have spent this time digging myself up. Oh my—the rock pile—oh how have I changed & how much more I find I need to change about myself. 

I am picking up the pieces of me— during quarantine—& figuring out there is still more changing I need to do. & maybe the world needs to change too. & I should stop resisting. & we too. 

Maybe I should stop consuming so much news & quit checking my temperature. Maybe I should stop thinking about my unadaptable original plans & start making new ones. Maybe I should adapt instead of forcing what I expected—& now what I still want to expect. The truth is I hate this virus. I hate what it is doing to the world. A younger me would say that it was mine—the world. Me—now— it is not so simple. It took me since 

mid-March to realize change is inevitable. 

How I adapt to change is all I can control. Who I am now is always more than who I was. If you are alone— find your former self. Watch WWF matches again. Listen to the audience burst when the glass shatters the speakers before Stone Cold Steve Austin emerges from behind the curtain. Jump up & down in your mom’s living room again. Remember your heartbeat—your body administering excitement.
 

I am not interested in watching new pro wrestling. It is not for the new me. I see pro wrestling only through the lens of nostalgia. It leads me to myself through the uncertain future—the retrospect. New wrestling is not the same but neither is this world. 

& I can be angry about it & that is okay. & I can cry. & I can watch the world fall apart around me. & I do this. & that is okay. This is the world sideways. 

This is my calendar burning. 

But there is something inside of me. Call it idealism. Call it religious optimism. 

I have always heard my heartbeat in a piano— cellos make me cry. Cry & fall apart—that is okay. 
Watch old videos, play old games. Waste my time. Hit rock bottom. Find my—old—self to learn more about my current— see my ocean in the sky. 

I am a combination of what I was, what I have learned, & what I want to be. I tell myself in the mirror—unshaven— black circles around my eyes: Plan a future in which you find 

yourself or whatever you want— 

to find just stay home 

for a while—stay with yourself for a while. Stay alive for a while. Hold on. Please. Hold on with me. 

The year I was born was the year of Wrestlemania 2. Hulk Hogan vs. King Kong Bundy. It was—you can watch it by staying home for a while. 
​

Hold on. one—two— three.

William S.
​33, heidelberg, Germany

For the Last Responders
​

They receive the zippered black bags
the shrouded remains
of bus drivers
nurses
cops
sanitation workers
train operators
doctors
mothers
fathers
brothers
sisters
children
friends
not the frontline-
they are the last line
accustomed to giving a hug, holding a hand
now they must stand 6 feet away
while one of us, alone, hovers over what used to be
what could have been
not the first responders
no 7pm clapping or banging pots for them
they are the last responders
When all that could be done has been
they come forward to receive what's left.

Ummi M.
​58, Jersey City, NJ

Feeling unsettled 
Like being on a bike with no pedals

Everybody rode their own bikes 
All of which were separated by two meters 
And they all felt the same inner agitation 
They all were feeling this tension 

They all stayed calmly in their homes
And read books
And watched TV…. a lot of TV

Some felt lonelyAlmost all of them did 
But even when loneliness is shared 
The feeling can get you scared 
​
And so they all became philosophers 
All of them were thinking and giving meaning to all of this mess they now lived in 
And slowly, the ones who needed to, healed

Some cried 
A lot 
Some laughed
But in the end, they all were feeling better 

They had bettered themselves alone, in the comfort of their homes 
But no one had thought about the future that was close to becoming their present;
What would happen when they all got back together?

After months of loneliness
Months of being with themselves 
Months of thinking 
Months of fixing, whether it was their minds or their sinks
After all the reading, the watching, the sleeping, the taking 

After this crisis 
This panic 

What would the world become once it all got back to what they called normal? 

...
And so they sat at home, some rode their broken bikes
All alone
And nobody was ready 
But they all felt steady 
Their bikes were no longer scary​

Sacha "Satchet" B.
​15, Quebec, Canada

Third week of confinement

During the first days of this pandemic, when Netflix was my only hope of entertainment, the impression of missing something kept growing in me. Because being in quarantine at the end of high school is not easy. Not being able to see our friends, thinking about memories that will never be created... It breaks the idea of what we had in mind for the end of this adventure. Even if we wanted more than anything to leave, leaving without an appropriate goodbye would be hard.

After a few days of feeling useless and having watched Netflix long enough that my sofa had a pit in the middle, I realised that never will we have had so much time just to live as now. To live complete moments like waiting for your bread to come out of the toaster without the usual thousands of thoughts shattering your mind. Or start a book and read until late without worrying about time. The schools and stores that are closing should not keep us from being able to grow. In fact, this lockdown is a huge opportunity to heal because it is forcing us to face ourselves. So, I decided to live my quarantine fully, to take advantage of the free time that life, or rather COVID 19, offers me. To read, listen, rest, exercise, create art, watch many sunsets, run, dance, play games, learn the guitar, again, listen more deeply, meditate, learn new ways of being...Isn’t it what life is really about ? Without forgetting to drink and get some sunlight because we are basically house plants with more complicated emotions.

Of course, sometimes it hits me out of nowhere, this overwhelming feeling of boredom. I get discouraged and upset, I feel hopeless and numb to the world because being face to face with myself with only the music of my heart as company, isn't that easy. Then, I will go for a walk, notice that the sun is still rising everyday in harmony with the birds that are still chirping curious melodies. The wind is blowing, and trees remain rooted to the ground. I will call someone to break the loneliness, I will volunteer for organizations that ask for help and do things I love. So, maybe we are not finishing high school as we would have liked but, it will be memorable either way.
​

In short, hoping that you have found a touch of humanity in my Thursday’s reflections, stay home and recognize that sometimes sitting in your own house alone, in peace, eating snacks (frozen mangoes and Greek yogurt in my case) and minding your business is priceless.

Jeanne B.
​16, Quebec, Canada

Life During Covid

I lost my grandmother two weeks before the quarantine.  She was truly one of my biggest supporters. Even at 95, she still insisted on writing her own checks and reading the newspaper every day. A gifted English teacher never retires. When I finished my masterpiece, she proudly wrote her check for a copy of my book. She valued my creative work, and I made sure she was my first customer. 

When the quarantine was announced in mid-March, I’d already carried a heavy heart. My family and the community had already and unexpectedly buried others at the top of the year. 

I needed healing. I had trips planned to some cities I thought would bring positive change in my life; Like everyone else, I had to cancel. 

I tried to figure out what I would do about my work. Canceling my trips upset me even more. My career depends upon my ability to travel and to socialize. Meeting and connecting with new people always brings me success. I can do well in front of groups of people and conferences. Those canceled, too. 

Everything seemed so uncertain. I was this close to having my shit together. I had to make quick changes. I didn’t panic, and I couldn’t stay down for too long. I didn’t choose to operate in that energy. 

I started looking for solutions. I needed to lift my spirits. I started counting all of the positives. 

We were able to gather to lay my grandmother to rest properly. Her spirit must have felt the Coronavirus coming, and she didn’t want to participate. I’m not upset at her for opting out. I don’t know what it’s like to be 90-something, yet.

I count the positives. Spiritually, I know it’s a world-wide shift occurring. The ancestors are always protecting me and guiding me. 

I’m 110 percent healthy. I was probably a healer in my past life, and I know the immune system starts heavy in my digestive system, and its strength depends on what I eat. I went to the grocery stores for high vibrational, immune system boosting foods. I can keep my health and spirits up.

I counted more positives. Lights. Clean water. Food. Air conditioning. Netflix series. Books. Music. Facetime. I count them in my head. Over and over, and over again.

I have the things I need. And I still have a lot of my elderly best friends. Before COVID, I would see them in person to conduct wellness checks. They're our community's greatest assets. Now, I stay away because I don’t want to carry anything to them that they may not be able to fight off. I can still send them small love messages or calls of comfort.

I’m mindful, wearing masks to protect myself and others. I’m following the full shelter in place (other than trips to stock up on more food).

In all, right now, the universe is making everyone get on a team effort and on one accord, to stay inside. It’s also making everyone understand the old saying, “Health is (the true) Wealth.” We have the ability to fight this and win.​

Brandi W.
36, Louisiana

The streets are roaring with silence
except in my neighborhood.

My neighbors and I all live outside now, separated at all times by six feet of barking dogs, garden reconstructions, children bicycling and yelling at the ice cream man (who has not stopped his ice cream deliveries for even a day), babies chalking up the sidewalk, and grinning grandmothers. Strangely, I feel closer to my neighbors than I ever have. I actually quite like this new version of my neighborhood. I hope it sticks around.​

Raven C.
​27, Baton Rouge LA

Quiet, Self Isolation, Masks, Gloves 
This is driving me crazy just thinking about the virus..
When is going to end?
When will we go back to our so called "normal" society? 
Will normal actually be normal again? 
Will we have to make a new normal for ourselves..? 
So many questions, thoughts flying and soaring across my mind. 
So little to do..
Its really weird how as a child I would always want this type of stuff to happen where school closed we were all at home, to avoid what I used to say "BORING" school but actually I noticed that school is the one thing that keeps us occupied even though we might think its extremely boring.
I like silence but not too much of it. 
I want us to go back to what we called normal. 
Weekends no school we relax, Weekdays school and work, Holiday breaks to stay at home and or visit loved ones, but we can't now because of social distancing. 
Keeping ourselves safe and healthy and at home if possible is what we all have to do in order for normal to happen once again.

Anthony D.
13, Baton Rouge, LA

What A Year

The streets roar with silence
Wind screams gently in my ear
The cruel sun embraces my lonely shadow
What a year, what a year

Tenth time roaming the neighborhood
Hands pocketed, mask adhered
Pretending to see things I haven't before
What a year, what a year

They say this virus is a sign;
"This is it, the end is near."
I say it's Mother Nature's revenge
What a year, what a year.​

Elisabeth G.
​15, Baton Rouge, LA

What I will remember about this time is the way we kept figuring out how to connect. I text with my dad and my sisters almost daily now, and I send random texts to friends as I’m thinking about them. I will remember how even brief messages matter, and how much my introverted self needs these moments of knowing there are people I care about and who care about me. I will remember that we need each other all the time, not just in this moment. I will remember how this moment reminded me of the many ways in which I’m incredibly fortunate, and how easy it is to do for others in small ways that matter. I will remember how much we all rely on the people who do the most and have the least. I will remember to work to make other people’s lives better.

SUE W.
55, BATON ROUGE, LA

                Dear Coronavirus, please disintegrate and disappear!

CELESTE P.
​50, BATON ROUGE, LA

Driving through Stop Signs

One of the things I remember most about this time is the shell-shocked drivers.  My husband and I were driving to the grocery store for touch-free curbside pickup, and at the intersection near the highway in Grand Coteau, a red pickup truck almost hit our car.  The truck was driven by a distracted grey-haired man. Like so many, perhaps he was thinking about the impending storm of contamination, sickness, death worldwide and at home. 
 

Fear fills our heads and we may just roll through stop signs.  Drivers may be thinking about hospitals and clinics, surgical masks, homemade paisley masks, ventilator shortages, and cars cruise past warning signs.  Some honk, “watch where you are going!”  Where are we going?
​

I am reminded of 2005, during Hurricane Katrina and Grand Coteau filled with muddle-minded evacuees from New Orleans, driving through town, dented cars packed with hampers of clothes, teddy bears, boxes of canned goods, coasting through stop signs as they thought of the water lapping at 1st floor windows in a silent dark metropolis.  

Now the quiet has returned but the houses are dry and people lie inside, some feverish and achy.  Some hide inside to avoid the dry coughs of covid-19.
When we take to the roads, our heads fog with anxiety, tension of loss—jobs, family, friends and sometimes cars just drift through stop signs creating collisions or near misses, hopefully near misses.​

PATRICE M.
58, GRAND COTEAU, LA

I am hopeful that all of the Class of 2020 will heal from the disappointment of missing all of the senior activities including prom and graduation.

CELESTE P.
​50, BATON ROUGE, LA

What I will remember most about this time is . . .  how there are always
two sides to every coin. 


Like all movements, what side comes out on top depends on a number of things:
momentum, material density and homogeneity, friction of the surface.


The U.S. is a turning coin, an alloyed metal, non-homogenous, with a lot of friction. 
And each side seems to have momentum. 

When this crisis is over, will we,
the people, the environment, the future generations,
come out on top? 


Or, will we remain a country with mostly
heads-down?


What I will remember most about this time is how there are two sides to all people,
the visible and the shadow. 


What I will never forget about this time is how prisoners and immigrants were left in cages, where following CDC prevention guidelines was impossible to follow,
left to risk infection and die,
and, how most of the world 

stayed silent. 

What I will remember and honor is how communities came together to pool resources and begin generating PPE the government & world markets were
unable to provide frontline workers to stay safe.

Seamstress collectives, abuelas, Tinkerers and Makers, mutual aid groups, community centers, churches, non-profit organizations, universities and local businesses became collaborators in the greater human effort for public health.


What I will never forget about this time is how states closed abortion clinics during the #coronacrisis, claiming they were NOT considered an essential service.

I will also never forget is how Florida opened up Pro-Wrestling during the #coronacrisis, claiming that it WAS an essential service. 


And, I will remember how so many, again, remained so silent. 

What I will never forget about this time is how the manufactured "need"
to keep the capitalist machine turning
placed medical frontline and essential workers' lives,
their families' lives,
and their patients' lives
at risk
every day  stay-at-home orders were ignored. 


What I will remember and honor are the people, womyn and children, whose suffering has been compounded by a stay-at-home order
in a space they can not call safe. 


What I will never forget is how PPE was not provided by some companies for their staff, considered essential workers:
grocery store and gas station attendants,
construction workers,
nursing home staff and residents,
as well as all frontline medical workers
being asked to reuse their masks for up to 6 days,
again putting all at risk of infection. 


What I will remember and honor is the mutual aid disaster relief network of affinity groups that rose up in resistance to disaster capitalism and 
state-sanctioned control of supplies distribution
and movement restrictions. 


What I will never forget about this time is how the status quo government response continued to put profit over people,
to the detriment of our collective
public and environmental health. 


What I will remember and honor is how the planet and ecosystem health was revitalized when millions of cars were taken off once traffic-jammed streets, 
consumptive demand slowed, 
air pollution dropped drastically, 
skies blued with brilliance, 
and we became the animals in cages 
looking out in envy at the wild world 
as it looked back 
in relief.

What I will never forget about this time is how the once impossible became probable. 

What I will remember and demand is the sustainable continuation
of pop-up #coronavirus response, social resource programs, 

once claimed to be fiscally impossible, 
now made possible and implemented in a month or less. 

Access, support, and equity should be #thenewnorm for all members of society.​

Rain

What I will remember most about this time is the slowly loosening grasp I have on my demons. For a while I was winning the battle, and with every step up the mountain, it became a bit easier until I reached the peak and it soon felt like a declining fight. While I never claimed a victory over my demons; of whom are named PTSD, anxiety, depression, and addiction; I did feel like the battle was closer to its ending than it’s beginning. That is until the things I used to keep my mind occupied as a way of combating these demons was no longer at my disposal. Where I used to go to the gym for endorphin rushes and friendly smiles and hugs, I now turn to a bottle that is purchased from a clerk standing behind a plastic sanitation sheet. Where I used to create opportunities to experience new and exciting things to keep my mind from wandering, now all that is left is time in excess to be alone with the haunting thoughts of lives passed. I felt the grip on my demons slowly slipping, and I’ve struggled to regain my grasp. I’ve since tried to recover my footing in the battle by finding new and innovative ways to contain the beasts, but what worked for me was closeness, familiarity, freedom, and routine, all of which have been stripped for me. Hopefully what I will remember most is how I defeated the monsters within once again, this time without the weapons I had once forged for myself, but that story has not finished being told.

TONY T.
​33, BATON ROUGE, LA

What I will remember most about this time is nothing if I do not write it down. Already my sense of each day's distinction has collapsed, folding in and over itself until "What day is it?" became "April." What I will remember most about this time is what I will make an active choice to remember, and so:

That the last normal day was March 12th, and that its successor seemed to hang in midair.

The sun: how it stubbornly rose and set.

That after two weeks of solitude, nightmares drove me to my mother's house. That I got my first ever speeding ticket on that drive.

That our last day in class was one of the good ones.

That my immediate (ongoing) sorrow has been for the 2020 graduates, my students current and former.

That it takes my computer at least six minutes to enter a Zoom meeting. l will surely forget this one, but right now it is very present.

That Arkansas has had an unseasonably cold turn to spring. I guess--my most recent point of comparison is a decade old.

People wearing masks at the grocery store, like it's normal.

People not wearing masks at the grocery story, like it's normal.

Easter: a strange, suspended moment of digital family togetherness. 

Easter: the realization that this holy day did not begin as a single point of celebration but as an ongoing discovery of the new order of things, a process marked by mourning, disbelief, and doubt--of not even knowing that we are searching for the living among the dead.

Emma G.
​29, Little Rock, AR

​Social distancing has taught me that there are some dreams and goals that I dropped. Though I miss the masses, having to be secluded has reconnected me with me.

Celeste P.
​50, Baton Rouge, LA

Rearranging

Shifting cups in a cupboard to make room for clean cups
Moving the bed to the other side of the wall to open up the room more
Fluffing the couch pillows, carefully adjusting them to support your back
Transporting a plant to a different window to get more light
Adjusting the milk carton, so the new eggs will fit
Color coding the closet to make an indoor rainbow

I wonder what result will come out of this rearranging of time.

The many ceremonies and celebrations shifted aside to make room
For an event none really planned for
while the carefully planned details of graduations, weddings, 
vacations, birthdays, anniversaries, jubilees are wiped clean.

Time has been rearranged for now.
We do not know what will be the result of this rearranging.
If it means there will be room for more, 
more openness,
more support, 
more light, 
for the new, 
for a rainbow.​

Alex T.
28, Mississippi

Social distancing has taught me that my immediate family has prepared me for this all of my life.

Toi S.
40, Baton Rouge, LA

Today, I decided to call my doctor to find out when I could return to work.  I had called the week before, left a message that I had been tested for the coronavirus, and that they would receive the results.  I anticipated a call back. Maybe the doctor would be concerned about me. No call. On Monday a representative from the Louisiana Department of health called to tell me I had tested positive for the coronavirus.  

Today is Wednesday.  I called my doctor to find out if he had received the results.  The receptionist, working from home, said they had not. I said they were probably sent digitally.  She said they do not receive anything digitally. No email or other electronic communication. Only fax.  She gave me the fax number.

I called the hospital, where I had been tested, and asked them to fax the results to my doctor.

My doctor finally called me and we transferred to facetime.  He was working from home. He talked with me, asked questions, said I could probably return to work in seven days.  I asked for a letter for my employer stating that I had tested positive for the test, and when I could return to work.  He said he could write something on a prescription pad. Would that be okay? And he would mail it to me.
He could not type a note on a laptop or computer.  No email.  
I will wait for the little note written on the pad.​

Patrice M.
58, Grand Coteau, LA

Today I decided to open an art studio. Got the keys and I'm setting up shop. Socially distanced of course. ​

CELESTE P.
​50, BATON ROUGE, LA

Today I wrote a note to a friend, talking about the feel of sand under our feet, and the warm sun upon us.  I wrote another friend about the sound of a ball hitting a glove. Snap. How powerful. How much tradition.  How much training. How much part of our identity.

Randy
60, Baton Rouge, LA

Today I decided to live I was out growing my ac generated
coffin Coughing up dust and cobwebs I smelled the air today
Felt the rain on my skin Today I decided to give I'm amping up
the volume on my humanity Breathing in the broken goals and
ambitions And I'm taking you with me Watch us pick up the
pieces Masters at rearranging because we are so creative We
are hope we are more than what they've told us to be Young
people are solutions We are ruthlessly creating our happiness
Pulling it by the horns and embracing it Today I decided to be
gentle I observed how the wind blew Marveled at the sunsets
Took deep breaths Felt the heat of the concrete Cried when I
felt the sun on my skin Embracing me and reminding me I'm
still here You're still here When the smoke clears We'll dance
to our humanity Capitalize your name you're a legend You are
​history you are future We are products of 2020

Jessica "Jess" W.
​19, Baton Rouge, LA

Today I decided to put on sunscreen,
which is funny, 

because there is no sun in which to screen. 
My dermatologist recommended it 
(back when it was safe to go see a dermatologist all those millions of years ago)
and I listened. 

Today I decided to put on sunscreen,
if only,
because I miss the smell. 
It reminds me of New York City summers;
old abuelas selling icees,
even older abuelos selling churros,
girls dancing torsos in newly shortened shirts,
boys from the islands singing their praises at my newly shaved legs,
(they are young, and harmless, and will one day learn there are others ways to love)
and a permanently stained bubblegum blue tongue. 

Today I decided to put on sunscreen to remind myself of the universe,
of my place in it
(small, undefined, and powerful beyond belief).
I find myself forgetting that I am not the only one,
pining for sunshine. 
I find myself forgetting that the earth circles the sun,
(not the other way around)
and I must only wait for that next rotation.
​

Today I decided to put on sunscreen to remind myself there is still sunshine 
just outside my window.

Kendi K.
​18, Brooklyn, NY

Today I decided to sit on my front porch drinking coffee and eating oatmeal with blueberries while I read an article about Fred Moten before my work day started. My close friends and family know that I am usually the kind of person who eats breakfast at my computer or at my first meeting of the day, so this was seriously not my normal MO. I feel like I'm deprogramming myself from the rush-rush that I generate around myself and participate in as the world presses so many of us to do more, more, more. Slowing it down has been a goal of mine for a long time, and I really struggle with balancing that goal with the many commitments I hold. This time is scary and unreal in so many ways, but it is also an opening to create some new habits, to step back from the press of life in some ways and be with ourselves. Hopefully we can nurture wellness right now in small ways, seeing just what we have the power to do in our own lives first, and let that be the thing we carry with us out of here. I want that for me, and I want that for the world.

Anna W.
44, Baton Rouge, LA

Today I decided to cut and shape my beard.  If you know me my appearance means a lot. Since the beginning of this quarantine I've still matched clothes, moisturized face, even cleaned and trimmed beard.  But since I've been quarantined home to work all those things have stopped. Well today that will change. If you know better you must do better, so for me I'm going to start looking better hopefully therefore feeling better

Adaryll W. 
​37, New Orleans, LA


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