Memory Pieces

Jinha Kang

“I was really desiring for something that I could interact with people, not only physically, but also, like, emotionally.”
“It's been a while since they touched someone during the COVID era, and it was a great opportunity to feel that intimate feeling again, and that warm feeling again. And they felt like, while I became like a human again.”

July Zhou

“Since the pandemic, everything has turned into online meetings, and now I feel that all activities should be conducted online. Whether it's attending lectures or working, I question the need to gather in the same physical space. This shift in thinking is significant for me; online meetings have become an indispensable part of my social life, and their efficiency is unmatched. In the past, there was a sense of connection only through in-person interactions, but now, the convenience of online platforms has changed my perspective. While some may question if this trend is positive or negative, it aligns with my inclination towards the convenience and efficiency offered by online meetings.”

Yoshe Li

“When I was back in China in 2019, I knew it could be my last time with my grandfather. So I spend a lot of time, like, eating at their house and drive him to hospitals to get medicine and get injections.”

Zihao Yang

“During that time, I felt an increased sense of safety, perhaps because I was with my partner.  It felt like having a refuge, especially during the nationwide chaos where people struggled to buy groceries and many were sick with colds or fevers.  Despite the turmoil, having someone to rely on and a safe place – be it a physical home or a mental state of security – provided a sanctuary.  It made me understand why many seek a stable life, especially in such chaotic times."

Zihao Yang

“We usually have lots of lots of people gathering around those that temple and on the riverside. But in 2023, although it has been resumed, there has been less people, because their patterns has been changed. They used to celebrate this festival every year, but that pattern has been changed. Maybe they just don't pay too much focus on this festival again. They don't pay too much attention to the Buddhas in the temples again. Yeah, that's what has been changed. “

My motivation for undertaking this project stems from the fact that the pandemic has been the most abrupt event affecting many aspects of my life. As a Chinese international student, a young adult in my early twenties making crucial life decisions, and a sensitive person easily touched by surrounding events, I found various aspects of the pandemic resonating with me deeply.

The pandemic hit the US during my junior year, just as I finished my finals for the winter quarter. With my school's announcement of a complete shift to online instruction, I commenced my remote life. As Raven Hu and others experienced, I found myself with an abundance of time spent in my bedroom, confronting the walls, screens, and windows. This was initially a novel experience for me, as I hadn't previously had the opportunity to engage in such a prolonged period of independent reflection before the pandemic.

However, the situation took a turn for the worse. With the intention of reuniting with my family in China, they encouraged me to book a flight for late March to return home sooner. Believing that a 10-day difference was inconsequential, I opted for a flight in early April, planning to settle my apartment and handle furniture affairs before departing. Unfortunately, those 10 days brought about dramatic changes—severe international travel restrictions emerged, leading to the indefinite cancellation of my flight. The new "Five-One" policy restricted flights from the US to mainland China to only four per week, and thousands of international students, like myself, desperate to return home, faced exorbitant ticket prices. Despite my family's daily calls and deep concern, they were helpless in securing a ticket for me, and I found myself grappling with a level of hopelessness I had never experienced before in my life.

Initially, I had friends who were also stranded in our college community, but they gradually left, and I found myself alone in Los Angeles. It was a challenging time;  I was in the midst of the spring quarter, managing schoolwork while figuring out how to procure groceries and protective equipment. A curfew in L.A. County added to the strangeness of those months, which were devoid of ambient sounds and unnaturally quiet after sunset, save for the occasional sirens of ambulances and police cars.

Despite these depressing experiences, I must admit I was still privileged, having an apartment in L.A. to stay in during the lockdown. Fortunately, I managed to secure a ticket in July 2020, which at the time was my only focus.

During my wait, I closely followed news about COVID and the policies between China and the US, aware that my flight could be canceled again.  I also experienced discrimination, like being rudely refused entry to an elevator for being an Asian wearing a mask, and witnessed unfriendly public opinions toward Chinese international students from both the US and China. Although understandable in the context of COVID-19, these behaviors and comments made me very uncomfortable.

The anticipation of boarding the plane was anxiety-inducing, fueled by the memory of my friend being denied entry due to her body temperature meeting the exact limit. The vivid recollection of that incident heightened the tension as I embarked on my journey. While I usually refrain from taking pictures of my boarding pass and passport, this time I made an exception. The very flight that eventually safely guided me home in July left an indelible impression on me forever.

After arriving, I underwent a 14-day hotel quarantine. At that time, I was alone for so long since April 2020. I distinctly recall a moment during those 14 days when I reached out to room service, engaging in a 30-minute conversation with the woman assisting me—an unexpected longing for face-to-face interaction after a prolonged period of isolation. Similar to Jinha Kang's yearning in the midst of the pandemic, I hadn't anticipated the depth of my own desire for human connection and conversation.

Upon finally reaching home and embracing my family, a profound sense of security and certainty washed over me. This reassurance had been momentarily disrupted but was largely restored, marking the first time since the outbreak of the pandemic that I felt such a deep and comforting reassurance.

Starting my senior year in the fall of 2020, I adapted to a lifestyle where everything was virtual. By leveraging online instruction and time differences, I completed my first full-time internship. Working during the day and attending online classes at night, I lived across two time zones. The downside was the lack of new friendships in my senior year, as interactions were limited to Zoom. This transition made me feel efficient yet disconnected from others, similar to what July Zhou argued in her work and our interview: that while going virtual seems to simplify life, it also risks real loneliness.

I chose to take a gap year, partly because my family worried about me, but also because I lacked confidence in international travel. Additionally, I always worried about my grandparents all the time when I am overseas, and the pandemic intensified these fears. Yoshe Li's story, about spending as much time as possible with her grandfather, resonated with me;  I did the same with my grandparents. I’m afraid that there is any bad news, and like what Yoshe did, I also tried to spend all the time with them during my time back in China. I drove my grandmother to the dentist even though it is only a 3-minute drive.

I reside in Shenzhen and stayed with my family until I came to NYC for my graduate studies in the fall of 2022. Despite Shenzhen effectively managing the pandemic with the zero-COVID policy, there was a period when our family experienced a lockdown. I recall that during that week, residents in our neighborhood were required to undergo quarantine, allowing us to work from home and move within our neighborhood. Daily visits to the COVID PCR test booth were mandatory, and as I stood in line, a peculiar sense of security enveloped me. With ample groceries and medical resources, families gathered in queues, and the absence of commuting and school activities led to a serene atmosphere. The laughter of children playing outside made me contemplate the notion that perhaps, enduring this moment indefinitely wouldn't be so bad. This resonated with Zihao Yang's discussion in our conversation—during uncertain times, a place you define as home or shelter can magnify the sense of security to the fullest.

As I reflect on my pandemic years, it's evident that numerous aspects of my perspectives and behaviors have undergone profound changes. The erosion of my sense of security and stability manifests in every facet of my life; even the simple act of relaxing during international flights has become elusive. A tangible example is my hesitancy to invest in larger pieces of furniture when furnishing my NYC apartment, a reluctance stemming from the uncertainty that shrouds my long-term plans.

Traditionally, our family embarked on an annual hot spring trip during the summer, a cherished tradition now absent for three years. I fear its resumption may never transpire, as my parents, having deviated from the established pattern, exhibit reluctance to return to its prior course. Similar to Zihao Yang's lament over the loss of the dragon boat race tradition in his community, reinstating familiar patterns proves challenging and may never revert to their former status. The enduring impact of these shifts is a testament to the profound alterations the pandemic has etched into the fabric of my life.

Hence, the inception of this project is my attempt to introspect and discern the transformations that have transpired, seeking answers about whether a return to normalcy post-pandemic is attainable. My narrative merely encapsulates a fraction of the experiences shared by young adults and international students. I aspire to weave together our collective memory pieces, offering a symbolic portrayal of the pandemic era. I encourage you to embark on this journey of reflection and healing alongside me and all the narrators of this project.

Sidenotes

“Five-One” policy: meaning that each (one) country can only send one flight from one airline via one route once per week. On top of this, the policy meant that no flight should be filled to more than 75% capacity.






Curfew in L.A. in June 2020:
Because of the dangers that often occur under cover of darkness and the difficulty of preserving public safety during these hours, a curfew was ordered. Under curfew, residents should remain in their homes and stay off public streets and areas.














Quarantine policy for international travelers:Since March 2020, travelers to the mainland have had to quarantine, typically at a designated hotel and for 14 days.






























"zero-COVID" policy:to keep cases as close to zero as possible. To achieve this, it has implemented mass testing, quarantined the sick in government facilities and imposed strict lockdowns that can span entire cities.