As I write this a grand total 26 days have elapsed since the last time I set foot inside an educational facility. I used to dread hearing the ringing sound coming from the phone beside me every day at five o’clock, and the almost dozen repetitions of that sound coming from yet another alarm because my finger “accidentally” clicked the snooze button.
The way I trudged to the bathroom in a string light lit room and almost always collided with my dresser on my way out the door. The light buzz I received from squinting my eyes at the mirror trying to see a clearer image of the reflection staring back. The way I’d sing or play music in an attempt to energize myself that miserably failed by the time I got to my bedroom to fetch an outfit and “accidentally” stumbled into my sheets again to rest my eyes.
Eventually I’d roll out of my bed to the voice in my head screaming from the confines of my brain “get up unless you want to look like a hobo” and apparently that was all the incentive I needed to quickly get ready every morning for 180 days out of the year. If you could only imagine my shock at what happened next.
On the morning of March 13th (Friday the 13th, appropriate right?), I woke up with an eerie feeling of dread as I scrolled through the slew of text messages that appeared on my phone. A large sum of them were filled with emojis and exclamation points to represent the feelings of glee that protruded over the fear concerning a worldwide pandemic, while others were just glad to sleep for a couple of hours. I was impartial. I wanted to take a test. I had vigorously, and I mean vigorously, prepared for the night before but a couple of hours of sleep couldn’t have hurt right?
Later on in the day our fate as students was declared, as our school scheduling closure for another month, sending everyone’s plans into limbo. The look of shock that invaded my expression was evident. As I quickly refreshed the page countless times with a probable gleam of panic flashing in my eyes. After a couple of minutes of refreshing only to get the same announcement, I slowly came to the realization that I was going to be trapped within the four corners and two stories of my house for the next month.
Although this pandemic allowed for a lot of students including myself to have a slight break from our daily rigors, it also provided a condemnation to remain in the place I so desperately try to avoid. Ever since my older siblings had moved on from our house and onto their own, I always called my house the place where boredom creeps into my mind.
My house can feel like a steel inescapable box that is shrouded in boredom and the only oxygen that helps everyday become just a little more bearable is the knowledge that I get to leave it every day for a change of environment. Albeit it’s school. As I reflect over the last 26 days of quarantine I find that although I have solitude in my room away from others, I can’t escape the feeling of envy for: the trees whistling due to the wind, the wild animals who get to bask in the sunlight, the leaves that are free to roam the streets, the birds that have the privilege to fly from one area to the next and feel of the brisk spring winds against their wings, as well as the clouds which pass over the area minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day seeing a view of the city.
Unlike the morning schedule I had before, most of my days consist of doing nothing or engaging in an activity I find uninteresting after a short time. My mornings start at a reasonable time but the time I leave my bed is usually hours after I first open my eyes. I talk to friends now and then but it isn’t the same as the everyday chats we had at school nor is it supposed to be. The hours and days pass too quickly but in the moment not fast enough, as my main location of operation remains my bed.
Having a sudden abundance of time gives an individual time to review their life and as I come to think of it, I’ve grown to be almost grateful for the morning schedule I loathed at the time but dearly miss now. I’ve come to the conclusion that a scheduled sequence of tasks to complete gave me a sense of purpose and now that it’s been stripped away, it’s plunged me into a hole of uncertainty and ultimately boredom.
Editor’s Note: Grace Tumushabe is a Haverhill High School Early College student at NECC. She wrote this for her English Composition 102 class and agreed to share her story with the NECC Observer.
