Breakfast for lunch, dinner for dinner
I’ll have to make changes to my wardrobe. The only outfit that has left my closet in the past four months is a blue-striped hand-me-down long-sleeved shirt and a pair of navy shorts. I’ve slept and attended class in this outfit seven days a week, removing it only to be washed on Sunday nights. I don’t go anywhere, so I don’t see a reason to wear anything else.
One day I’ll return to school for real. And I’m so used to wearing and doing the same thing that I’ve forgotten how it’ll go and how I’ll choose what to wear.
Right now, my first alarm is set for 7:15 every morning. I usually ignore it. My second alarm is at 7:30 a.m., and the one after that is for 7:40 a.m. The last alarm at 7:50 a.m. is what actually gets me out of bed. Virtual school begins at 8 a.m., and I’ve still managed to be late, despite only having to walk two meters from my mattress to my desk. For real school, I’ll have to wake at 6:30 a.m. and commute nearly an hour to campus.
Right now I eat breakfast at lunch time: Toast, fruit and the occasional fried egg. Impressively, I still manage to eat dinner for dinner. But I forget to go on a daily run. During virtual school, if my teacher allows it, I turn off my camera. Most of the time I stay up until 4 a.m., so it's no surprise that I enjoy a long nap once my video is turned off. I find myself getting distracted easily and having to check the date every hour because I not only forget where I am and what day it is, but also what I’m doing. And most of the time I’m doing nothing.
After my classes end at 3 p.m. each afternoon, I return to bed immediately and sleep until late evening, something I’d never do during real school. But when it gets dark, I wake up and go back to studying. Regardless of the quarantine, that hasn’t changed.
I’m writing this essay at 2:45 a.m. — right now, the middle of my nightly routine. During quarantine, I have spent less time learning, exercising and eating. I’ve slept more, but hours of the day are like a dream, easily forgotten. The best times are when I can’t tell if I am asleep and dreaming, or if I’m awake and going insane. The worst times are when I remember that I exist, that I must move forward and that the world is just as troubled as it was the day before.
Lately, I’ve imagined how crowded the city streets and crammed subways must be as businesses begin opening back up. I can’t help but fear the inevitability of another spike in virus cases. I admit that all I’ve done is remain indoors, facing only the minor challenge of keeping track of the days. And I wish that I could have done more to help those who are experiencing worse things than I am.
Perhaps the only thing I will ever remember about my online classes is the day that my gym teacher stood up from his desk and ran off-screen, only to return 15 minutes later to tell us the reason for his disappearance.
“Sorry,” he said, “my tomato sauce was burning.”