Marla Manes

People are on lockdown, people are dying, people are mourning, people are… spring breaking in Miami. I think of the fear I harbor for my 60-something parents, for my immunocompromised friends, for my unemployed boyfriend, for the what-if future wherein I think of those facing unjust incarceration (read: pretty much everyone in a prison or jail in this country?), those with incarcerated loved ones, the governors that are still refusing to grant clemency. I don’t spend too much time thinking about them, I can’t.

I find myself wishing there was a different numbers system to compare, one that can incorporate the 10 weeks I’ve spent in Thailand, the four different occasions I’ve explored Croatia in the last few years. Missing people, because that’s what home is to me, but accepting that pain because for right now, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make time and time again. From the three life-changing weeks spent in the northwest corner of my very own country with the man that I love, to saying goodbye to him for 19 days, and then having that number grow and grow throughout the summer until it almost reaches a full 7 weeks on different continents. In the moment that I’m writing this, midnight on my plane ride to Fiji, I can’t seem to find present me.

I don’t like that cloud metaphor, but that feels like the only way to describe the quiet anxiety that follows me around. But suddenly, I can’t count on that anymore, and it’s got me feeling a little lost. It’s a little thrilling to feel like I’m finally in charge of all aspects of my life. But in reality, I can’t help but envy my friends who have already accepted their seat in a Master’s program or a job in a new city.

But to put the memories together feels like a stretch, to remember what the cold air must’ve felt like in my lungs when I left a little too late for class feels out of reach. My time in Denmark wasn’t just a fun little trip, it was my life for 4 whole months, and if it’s fading from my mind, then what happens? But right now, in this moment in time, it’s impossible for me to grasp the idea that it’s still full of people living their lives, that my old roommates and professors are carrying on just as I am. , it’s like my American life didn’t exist abroad.