By Nicole Acevedo, Assistant Editor
“I’m okay.” This has become the most used phrase in my vocabulary since the world went into a state of frenzy and discombobulation. A year in the life of Nicole Acevedo has been far from polished, far from simple, yet, I’m still grateful because I have not even come close to skirting the edges of death and heartache that many others have.
Last March, I wasn’t even in the States when the virus was deemed deadly and we closed our borders. I was living in London for the semester, studying abroad at the University of Roehampton. My boyfriend at the time was English, and his family was kind enough to take me in and let me quarantine with them so that I didn’t have to fly across the ocean in unprecedented waters. Originally, I’m from NorCal, where I live in a small three-bedroom home with my grandmother and great-grandmother.
I was terrified for their safety and well-being. My grandma Jackie is the one person on this entire planet that I would quite literally die for, and although my anxiety had reached an all-time high because I couldn’t be with her to make sure she was safe, the thought of potentially being the one to bring the virus into our home was not a chance I was willing to take.
For the first three months, I occupied my hands with books and keyboards, trying to turn my worries into art. I jumped on the banana bread trend and even dabbled in vegan cupcakes. “First Lockdown” seems so far away, as though it really was a different life. The beginning of quarantine was oddly comforting because the whole world just stopped. We were able to do things we otherwise wouldn’t because we’re consistently juggling five-hundred to-dos in a day.
But with that being said, the comfort didn’t come without the recognition of how fast the numbers were climbing. I’m a lucky one. I’ve had close friends get sick, but nothing more than a chest-rattling cough and the loss of some tastebuds. My family members have been doing their part, staying inside, wearing a mask, taking one for the team because clearly, the majority of Americans aren’t willing to do so.
2020 has by far been a year of learning and unlearning for me. I’ve seen features I never knew I possessed and had to face my apparitions head-on. I’m a runner; I always have been. I don’t mean on tracks or streets, across fields, and for fun, but away from the things that scare me and force me to comprehend the magnitude of my trauma.
I think this past year has been that way for a lot of people. With all the battles on top of the pandemic, our eyes are opening to the ones around us and the people we truly are. I’ve lost people who are still living because we lack common ground in morality, and sure, maybe I didn’t have to sever some relationships – but energy is real – and if I’ve come to terms with anything this year, it’s that you control the narrative.
When schools opened up once more in the fall, I was half elated to feel productive again, and half pissed because we’re still eons from where we need to be with getting the virus under control. I’ve had a tsunami of emotions brewing in the depths of my stomach for months now. Part of me is thankful. I am on the better end of this tragedy. I have a home, food, a job, and a stable support system. But, sometimes I feel as though I’m treading water alone.
I live by myself in an apartment, which has been extremely beneficial to my mental health, while simultaneously turning me into a hermit. I’ve become so comfortable in my own company that when I get those waves of isolation, I don’t have the energy to reach out to people.
2,931 miles from home. I sit here amongst my wonderful college friends who make me feel included and welcomed, but it’s not the same. Most of them are a handful of miles or hours from their loved ones and can take off whenever they want (although technically we aren’t supposed to, what do you expect – we’re sad.) I’d be lying to you and myself if I said that didn’t make my throat tighten and my cheeks heat up because no words can properly express just how much I’d give to be sitting with my grandma on our front porch drinking coffee.
I’m doing the best that I can to stay positive, to keep myself in check because things could be worse. But also, it’s okay for me and anyone else to be upset about the situation they’re in right now. By the time this article is released, we will only be four weeks away from summer and I pray that the time flies by.
These are meant to be the years we hold onto. The ones we tell our nieces, nephews, and children about someday. But honestly, all I want is for this semester to come to a timely and peaceful close so that I can board that Boeing 737 with my suitcases trailing behind me, and finally be in the presence of those that keep me going.
We’re going to make it. We might hit some turbulence on the way, but we’ll make it to our final destination.
