My first memory of COVID was late at night in December of 2019. I saw it on the news, looking at my phone in a pitch black room – a room in the apartment my family had just moved into. An apartment that was small, 11 stories high, and about 7,000 miles away from where I used to call home. When I was ten, my parents shifted the entirety of my life by moving us to Kyoto, Japan. What made me remember this moment - looking at my phone at the news in the midst of unpacking and struggling to live in this completely new culture - is that I told people. I told others about COVID and everyone shrugged it off; as did I, not realizing it would change the trajectory of our lives – everyone's life. A few months later: It's February, 2020. Light was streaming in through the thin brown curtains of my open-windowed classroom at school, all 20 students sleeping on chairs or squishing onto the one stained couch at the back of the room, all looking for a cushioned seat to sink into. Three teachers were jammed in the room. First they said we would be wearing masks. I didn't think anything of it, as did everyone else. The following week, my teacher, standing in the shadows of the light bleached room, said we would all be going into online classes. Everyone was silent. No one understood. Throughout the next three years the borders in Japan stayed closed. Traveling back home over the summer required 5 hours of paperwork after 20 hours of flying, plus quarantine. Only at the start of this year did the Japanese government finally release their grasp on the Mask Mandate. Even today about 85% of people still wear masks; it's like a regularity now, a parasite that people have learned to live with and don't know how to live without. I was in online school for over nine months in total, and staying home wasn't the worst part - it was being told I was going to be able to go to school in person, and then a few weeks after actually being able to see people, we would have to go back into online school. March 2021: The waves licked at my feet in beautiful Okinawa Japan in the late afternoon during spring break. We had been at in-person school for five months when I got the email –- we would be going into online classes for two weeks. That turned into over two months. In the US people sat outside their houses on lawn chairs, talking to their neighbors through their windows. Japan doesn't have front lawns, or back ones. They have windows that are only opened when clothes need to be baked in the sun because dryers take too much space in the house. I talked to almost no one for a year, and, having just moved to a polar opposite country to the one I had been previously living in, I felt trapped in a cage labeled “overwhelmed.” For the first couple months where we lived free of COVID in Japan, there were many foreigners visiting. Where we lived, we weren't surrounded by only Japanese, but also those from the west who somewhat made it feel like home. Then, the borders closed, and the land was quiet. My world felt silent for two years. As I was able to begin riding the train again each morning, not trapped in my home, I realized how being foreign and living in Japan was not pleasing to some. The stares. People crossing to the other side of the street when you are near. Moving to a different bus seat when you get too close. Though every country experiences these problems, living in a closed-off Japan, trapped from the rest of the world - trapped me too. But then I met a girl online, and she filled my life with light. And soon I met another, who lived close by and came over to my house often. Though there were days I felt alone, I knew that I had wonderful people around me - and I will never forget the hilarious Zoom calls with my friends from school… I miss them. I moved back to the US in June, and not wearing a mask felt odd, but freeing. I now live in Texas, and I see that everyone talks to everyone. They are kind – they say excuse me if they are in your way, and they smile at you more often than not. Being in Japan, not talking to many people for so long due to language barriers and the extensive shut down COVID inflicted on the country made me realize how deficient I was in the complex action that was being social. Despite all of this, Japan was a blessing, and COVID wasn't a curse. It was painful; but it also made me stronger. I understood the meaning of looking out for myself, and to simply enjoy life as it was. Sitting at home and typing at my laptop for a whole summer resulted in an entire book that has infusions of my life in it, something I never would have done if COVID didn't occur and I didn't have the time. COVID resulted in me learning about myself, even if it was a struggle to realize that. Those four and a half years were worth it, even through the hard times, and experiencing the entirety of COVID in Japan, though difficult, allowed me to see the goodness in a newfangled place halfway across the world.

It was a chilly morning in late August. “Today is the day,” I thought, as I parked my bicycle in its usual spot. There wasn't a sound to be heard in the area, other than the occasional chirp of a bird, awake for the hunt. As the sun rose above the horizon, numerous shadows cast across the cement apron of the Rockcliffe airport. Planes. The aircraft, each different in complexion, lined the sides of the ramp, yearning for the skies. I couldn't help feeling a surge of excitement, envisioning what lay ahead. The adventure was just beginning. I made my way around the side of the tiny, wooden building with my flight bag in hand. The light morning breeze ruffled my hair. I grimaced. “Looks like it'll be a windy day,” I thought to myself, knowing the wind was bound to pick up. I made my way up the creaky steps and into the flight club where my instructor would inspect my final flight plan. I took a seat on the old vinyl couch in the pilot's lounge. The next hour was spent reviewing my flight plan and ensuring everything was in order. After a grueling wait, my instructor walked in. Greg, a seasoned pilot and senior flight instructor, would sign me out for my first cross-country flight. I greeted him and sheepishly handed over my planning sheets. I watched with anticipation as he looked over the documents, nodding approval after every step. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he said, “Alright, let's get you a plane and you're good to go”. We walked down the hallway to the dispatch station where I was assigned a Cessna 172, fresh out of inspection. After grabbing my equipment, I hurriedly exited the building in the direction of my aircraft to perform the walk around; an essential step to ensure the security of an aircraft. The inspection went smoothly, as expected, and I was ready to go. With my survival kit loaded and my navigation charts ready, I performed my final startup checks. With a twist of a key, the old Lycoming engine roared to life. I taxied to the end of the runway. My Cessna was ready to fly and so was I. Full power. The engine roared like a lion as we barrelled down the runway. I could feel every bump in the pavement and every instability in the air. 55 knots. As I'd practiced many times before, I pulled back on the yoke. We were airborne. The aircraft climbed through the mid-morning sky as it drew further away from the world below. After communicating my departure route with local traffic, I switched to terminal frequency and continued my climb. I reached 8000 feet and the controller cleared me on course to Kingston. I banked the aircraft to the left, set my heading and started my timer. The journey had begun. I couldn't help but gaze out my window at the glimmering water of the Frontenac lakes beneath me. Suddenly, I realized I was flying alone with the grandeur of the Canadian wilderness stretching for miles in every direction. Most would feel terror. I felt alive. I had never been more confident in my abilities. An overwhelming feeling of happiness overtook me as I realized I'd found my second home – My calling. After an hour, the endless forest gave way to a large lake on the horizon. Lake Ontario. I could see the city of Kingston along the shore of the lake. I started my descent. As I inched lower, I could see the shadow cast by the aircraft glistening on the lake's surface. I was one with the machine. Its behavior was intertwined with mine. Suddenly, a violent gust of wind struck the airplane and it veered abruptly to the left. I corrected quickly, my heart pounding in my chest. The wind had increased significantly. I knew it would be a challenge to get the plane on the ground. The flight service operator gave me a runway to land. I started my approach over Lake Ontario. The glistening turquoise water below looked peaceful, unaware of the buffeting winds aloft. I turned onto the base leg and started my approach into the airport. Sweat pearled down my face as I maneuvered the old aircraft onto final approach. Full flaps. The runway was dead ahead. The airport was getting closer every second. A nasty crosswind forced me to tilt the wings into the wind to maintain my course. Five hundred feet. We would be touching down within thirty seconds. I continued my approach into the inner-city airport with determination. Fifty feet. I could see the runway numbers just ahead. “It's now or never,” I thought. Moments before the wheels touched the ground, I pulled back gently on the yoke and put the aircraft into a flare. The maneuver was one I'd practiced. It allowed me to bleed off the extra speed. I felt the plane descend until the squeak of the tires assured me that the aircraft was on the ground. I applied the brakes and exited onto the nearest taxiway. “What a flight,” I thought to myself. I closed my eyes. Pandemic. Shutdown. Lockdown. Mask Up. Isolate yourself. But I persisted. A dream come true. A licensed pilot at last.

The Cathedral Post Office, Uptown, Manhattan. I was walking along with others on the 2nd floor. Each of us was carrying one or more large boxes. We are all mail processing clerks. Our duty was shorting, scanning, and preparing mail for distribution. Job started at 3am, but I always came at 12am. Because my home was too far away. The outbreak of the pandemic has just calmed. Many offices and companies were still closed, and people were facing an extreme financial crisis. My husband recently got a job, but the salary was low. Before this job, he got an unemployment allowance. I didn't, because I was a student. I earned money by working at a study job before COVID 19, but that opportunity has closed. All colleges are online now. It was hard to continue education with only my husband's income, so I joined the postal job. I worked at night and attended online classes during the day. “Are you okay?” Someone asked to see me standing. “I couldn't walk,” I said in a scared voice. “What's wrong?” “I had a terrible car accident last week. Everything was fine, but today I'm feeling a lot of pain in my knees." She helped me to sit down on a chair. After two hours my older son (28 years old) took me home. My doctor told me, “It happened because you didn't get enough rest." After the car accident, I should have taken a rest for a month, but I continued my job because it would become permanent after three months. Eventually, I lost my job and we had to move out of our apartment due to financial difficulties. Then my husband became sick and needed surgery. Despite all this, I didn't give up on my studies, but I was always worried about how I would continue them. After that, I managed to get through three more semesters through various struggles. I'm just on the verge of graduation now. But my misfortunes haven't left me. New critical problems have arisen in my life. I got an urgent call from my doctor before the Fall-2022 semester. She told me that I have heart blockages and that she has scheduled for an angioplasty at Mount Sinai Hospital on August 25. I was extremely disappointed to hear that. My classes will start on August 25. If I die or become sicker from this treatment, my dream of earning my degree will not come true. I only have one more semester left to graduate. So, I didn't want to go through with the procedure. My doctor told me, "Your life is more important than your studies." I couldn't tell my doctor how important studying is to me. When I was nine months old, I lost my mother. My stepmother stopped my studies in the middle, and it took me more than two decades to struggle. In 2015, I moved to the United States and started my studies through the GED program. It wasn't easy for me because I had been out of studies for a long time and English was not my first language. On the first day of class, my teacher asked me some questions and I couldn't understand or answer anything. My eyes filled with tears, and I told myself that I wouldn't come back to class the next day. But I did. Within a week, my doctor called me again. She gave me some medical tests a few days before. After receiving the reports, she immediately deemed my angioplasty as urgent. She said that I could have a stroke at any moment. When the doctor confirmed that I would be able to go back to my classes within two or three days, I agreed to the procedure. After the angioplasty, I had various health problems. In addition to the blocked arteries, the doctor found blood clots. It was a little complicated. When I got my senses, I saw the nurse holding a part of my right arm tightly because the bleeding was not stopping. I left the hospital holding my right hand tightly because I had class the next day. But I was so sick that I couldn't go to class the next day. After three days, I started attending classes regularly and doing class assignments along with household chores. At that time, I had to take so many medicines that I always fell asleep and forgot everything. I felt a lot of pain in my right hand. I often forgot to take medicine on time and became sick quickly. My whole body was filled with big blue and black spots that looked like injury marks. But I was happy when I received my final grades. I got four "A" in four subjects (two were A-)." I am thankful to my kind professors for considering my hard work. My bad luck still hasn't spared me. Right after the fall 2022 semester, my husband twice contracted COVID-19. He was extremely sick and quit his job. I have faced so many difficulties since starting my studies that I am now afraid "will I be able to finish my last semester of graduation!" But I feel that someone is constantly helping me from behind. He brought me back from death's door five times and protected me many times from the conspiracies of my stepmother and dishonest people. So, I believe that he will help me fulfill my dream this time too!

“Does this make you feel any sort of way?” I was asked, an inquisitive look flashing across the doctor's face. “Sometimes being diagnosed with something can be,” she paused, debating her next word choices. “Affirming?” I asked her. I looked around the well decorated room trying to formulate my thoughts. The velvet couch that I was sitting on irritated me and almost made me feel like I needed to itch every part of my body. The psychiatrist's many degrees were displayed across the cream walls, held up by matte black picture frames. The room felt stuffy. No book was out of place and no painting was not curated so that it matched perfectly to the room. The perfection strangled me and soothed me at the same time. While sitting there listening to her talk, I had managed to peel off all of my nail polish that I had recently gotten painted, green flakes of paint piling in my hands. I thought being diagnosed with a mental disorder that I had known that I had for many years would be affirming. Instead, it filled me with a sense of dread. Sleepless nights now had a reason. Hands washed over and over again now had an explanation. You would think that would have given me some peace, but instead only one word flashed across my mind, over and over. Crazy. Two long months later, Covid-19 entered the United States. Every night, I sat on the couch with my family, listening to various politicians discuss scientific topics they knew nothing about. Every so often, a case notification would flash across my phone, informing me that someone in my country, state, or city had been recently infected by Covid-19. Buildings were shut down and restaurants started to change their ways to accommodate the new ways of life. Irrational fears once only held by me were now prevalent in the public. People started washing their hands an abnormal amount of times and wore gloves while walking their dogs. In a way, it made me feel less alone. It became hard to come up with new things to do everyday. Like many other people, I tried new workout videos and watched TV that I had never seen before. I deep cleaned every area of my house and read mystery novels in my bed while listening to the rain. I had online classes but they were a joke; none of my teachers had any experience teaching online and it was impossible to focus in the confines of my room. We tried to distract ourselves with board game nights and themed dinners, but it was hard to ignore how the seasons flashed before our eyes and we were still stuck in our houses. Like everyone around me, I slowly started to lose it. It became tiring to do things that were once considered relaxing and all the time left alone with my thoughts allowed anxiety to sneak past my senses. Like many other people around me, I was scared to leave the house for various reasons; I didn't want to infect my father who was a doctor and was needed on the front lines or my mother who was still trying to navigate ways to teach her students from her desk. It became hard to decipher what thoughts were rational and which thoughts were not. Eventually, I became tired of trying to control the ever-present anxiety that had once made me feel so alone. A few months later, my family was in the car driving to Pennsylvania. We had packed the car with all the things we thought we would need; blankets were piled in the back, toys rolled around in the trunk, and excitement filled the car with happiness that we hadn't felt since pre-pandemic. We reached our destination, my brother and I practically falling out of the car running to the door. As I stepped in, outfitted with an N95 mask, I was greeted with wonderful little bundles of fur nipping on my shoelaces. I knelt down as eight little puppies ran around with no control over their own limbs, tripping and falling over each other. Many seconds later, they started to tire and settled down, snuggling with each other while falling asleep. However, one puppy could not handle her excitement and was still climbing all over me, nuzzling her head into my hair while trying to chew on my earring. At that moment I knew that I hadn't come here, to this little house in Pennsylvania, to choose a puppy. The puppy had already chosen me. Flash forward two years later, and my pandemic puppy was one of the best things that ever happened to me. She forced our family to go on walks in the neighborhood and interact with people from afar. She brought happiness to our lives that we didn't know we needed. At the time I didn't know that it was possible for a dog to bring me so much joy. Now I know that by adopting her, we didn't just save her life, we saved mine.

My first reaction to the pandemic on March 12, 2020--after securing toilet paper and hand sanitizer--was to help my family and the nonprofits I was working with weather the storm. “It's only for two weeks,” everyone said. “It's going to be so much longer than that,” I said. “And, the effects will last for years.” Turns out, the pandemic itself was going to last for years. By nature, I'm a planner. I like to have a strategy. Even if crazy things happen, if you have a plan, you can pivot. The early days of the pandemic drove me to my computer. I made lists. I'm a big list-maker. I already had a solid plan in place for the nonprofits before the pandemic hit, so I wasn't worried about that. If they stayed the course and remained proactive, they would be fine. Becoming reactive would have been a disaster. At home, my parents had recently moved in with me after selling their house. They have never been worriers or list makers or planners. While my kitchen pantry upstairs was prepped with at least two weeks of food that we could survive on, theirs was bare. Up until COVID-19, my prepping was in anticipation of a blizzard or power outage, not a global pandemic. Did my parents have canned goods? No. They picked up fast food or did take out every day for nearly every meal. Did they have a supply of toilet paper and paper towels? No. Were they worried? No. I was. At my computer, I had lists of what we needed to do to get ahead of this crisis. I had never pre-ordered and picked up groceries before but in our new contactless world, it was heaven-sent. Of course, I went right to Amazon to order masks, gloves, disinfectant, and later, when I became really COVID-savvy, a digital, no contact thermometer and a pulse oximeter. And then, the world froze. No one was going in to work anymore. The stores were empty and the shelves were bare. I no longer had to think of excuses to get out of my over-committed weekends. Suddenly, there were no plans. I had everything I needed. My lovable dog, Toby, was by my side every day. I saw my masked niece and family in socially distanced gatherings from ten feet away in driveways and on decks. My friends and I Zoomed. My neighbors group texted and did porch drop-offs of freshly baked bread and goodies. I signed up for online yoga, painting classes, interesting virtual tours of fascinating places in the world, read books, cleaned my house, and watched YouTube videos on how to cut my own hair, which was not my best idea. I used to cherish days when I didn't have to drive to work, saving me sometimes two or more hours of commute time. I always wondered what I would do with extra time. Would I exercise and eat right? (The answer to that is a resounding “no”.) Writing has always been something I've enjoyed. Sometimes, if something bad happened in my life, I would imagine a story inspired by the true events. Only, I'd make it twisty. If someone was a jerk to me, well a character inspired by that person might find themselves killed off in the story, involved in a ridiculous crime, or on the receiving end of sweet karma. Or I would see something happen in real life--maybe a near-miss car accident, or someone buying a winning lottery ticket after they changed places in line, or a stray cat whose eyes told me that he had an interesting story--and I would imagine and wonder “what would happen if” and then I'd write a story about it. I never did anything with the stories and most times they went unfinished. Just the act of writing was therapeutic. I'd always said that if I had the time, I would write. Not just for work, but for fun. Write just for me. Suddenly, the pandemic gave me time--all the time in the world. I was out of excuses. So I started to write. I found a short story contest to enter. Normally, I'm a pretty competitive person. I like to win. But in this case, I was well aware that I was a novice. Knowing this was my first try, I didn't have my usual high expectations or hopes of winning. I was looking at it as a learning experience. I would see if there was any feedback--if they said, “Don't give up your day job” or “Nice effort, try again.” And then came the phone call. My story was chosen for publication in an anthology. It didn't win one of the cash prizes or earn a judges' award, but that was alright. I was going to be a published author! I know I will continue working in the nonprofit field because, after thirty years, it's part of who I am. But now, part of me is an author too. I have a plan. I can see myself, in my retirement years, sitting at my antique desk in front of a big window overlooking the ocean or a tranquil lake with a beautiful sunset in the distance writing--who knows maybe even finishing a book. But I'll be doing the thing I didn't know I could do until the world temporarily closed.

Whatever the case may be, the universe still moves on. 18 months ago, we greeted and congratulated by handshake, gave our loved ones warm hugs and enjoyed soccer in multiples. But now, we begin such statements with the phrase ‘used to'. Who knew we would ever be visited by a pandemic which does not know its way back. My sister was fortunate enough to have had the grand wedding she had always wished for right before the very first pandemic related lockdown was announced in Ghana and I was lucky enough to have had my mid-semester exams cancelled before I could make any slight move of decreasing my CWA as owing to unpreparedness. Due to the outbreak, every student in Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology was ordered to leave the school premises as soon as possible. The sight of my room mate and I packing our belongings out of our hostel alongside other students, reminded me of how we were similarly instructed to leave campus two years ago on the basis of a student body demonstration which turned out violent in 2018 -when I was in first year. That instant, I just couldn't help but think, ‘Why me and my year group? Can't we just school in peace? Why us?'. Yet, what was done was done; covid 19's corona virus had crossed borders to Ghana and we had to follow the laid down rules now more than ever - leave school, and stay at home, wash your hands ever so frequently, use your sanitizer as well as nose mask and most importantly practice social distancing. So I came home, even though I dreaded how I would cope in the Metro Mass bus from Kumasi to Sunyani without anyone coughing or sneezing around me. I had my nose mask tight on my face and even had gloves on. As for this time round, on a long journey, I kept awake not to let my guard down no matter what. I called my Dad before the bus got to the Sunyani station, so there was no time to waste in getting home at last. Immediately I arrived at home, Mom had already made an elixir of lemon, ginger and pineapple with some local herbs blended together, ready for me to drink and free myself from traces of the virus. For a moment, it ludicrously seemed like an antidote to the virus. I freshened up right after with a warm bath upon Mom's strict instructions and relaxed from a long day that day had been, hoping the pandemic would die off soon. Two days later, 3 of my sisters and my 4 cousins arrived home from Accra(Ghana's capital) seeking a safe haven. Then came the lockdown and I already had a full house; the fun had began and so had the distractions. We watched the movies, sang the songs and even danced to latest songs of Ghanaian artistes- Kidi, Kwame Eugene and others whose music we found entertaining. Days passed by and I realized I was in the second week of being at home. The number of cases kept on rising each day from 2 to 50 to 110 and the count was still ongoing. The mention of the virus and quarantine sent chills down the spines of many as it began to gradually spread in Ghana. The pandemic had become the new talk on TV stations and even trended than some stars on social media. Coronavirus had come to bring lots of sorrow, pain, insecurity and threats. It had come to rob us of our loved ones, our means of livelihood, our set plans and resources. Reading the news each day, I cringed to the number of infected persons in the United States and China, increasing deaths in France and Spain, not to mention the case in Italy. Well frankly, I never thought I would live to witness the barbarity of such a pandemic. I had heard of plagues, the new world small pox and the black death that tortured the world in the middle ages but covid 19's coronavirus had beat the populace with an easy and simple task of hand washing. Soon enough, the world was in late May and there was no sign of coronavirus empathizing with us to take back or even reduce its impact. School had still not reopened and I was struggling with some of my courses online. Lots of things I used to do at home became boring. I got so inactive and dull. I did not find interest in doing anything whatsoever. I felt like that which the enlightened called life was being drained from my body each minute. I pondered over what I could do to become energetic and lively again.‘See the light in the little activities you call hobbies , for through them will you be able to fully indulge in the big activities of your life', Angie -my elder sister -encouraged when I informed her about what I was going through during my stay at home. Then, I had the idea of reinforcing my hobbies and making new ones since there was no harm in trying something new after all. I tried backyard gardening, challenged myself with yoga and took a knitting course alongside working with my Enactus team on societal projects to impact lives during the upsurge of the virus.In all, I believe the pandemic has reshaped countries, societies and individuals including me.

‘Cough-cough!' my throat wheezed, waking me up at nearly 4am. I looked around and saw that mostly everyone was sleep. The few that were awake were staring at me. I breathed in, out, audible breaths that made me yearn for my asthma pump. I waited though, instead, rising to my bare feet. Usually, I was careful when I stood up, a particular dose of consideration for my neighbors above and beside me. They next bunk over was an arm's length away. In the dorms of Lincoln Correctional Facility, it was literally impossible to social distance. Five dorms filled with twenty people, totaling at one hundred people on a single wing. My legs felt heavy, as though I were wearing ankle weights. Because they were so weak, I grabbed onto the bunks, shaking them slightly, all carefulness thrown out the window. I went towards the light in the long hallway. My eyes were burning by the time I made it to the shared bathroom. “Feeling better bro?” I heard someone say. “Yeah, I'm good” I lied, the blood rushing to my head obscuring my vision. I honestly couldn't tell who had spoken to me. I sluggishly went over to the line of sinks, washing my hands in the steamy, boiling hot water that spilled from the faucet. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Thick bags under my brown eyes, rough scraggly hair beginning to cover my face. “I just want to die” I said in a low voice, practically incoherent to the others who were in the common bathroom. I threw water in my face before I stalked back towards my dorm. There were others of course, in the hallway in front and behind me. But the noises are what got to me. People coughing and sneezing. Like its honestly possible that everyone on that wing had covid and yet nothing was being done about it. When I made it back to my bed area, I lay down, shivering slightly. I think more than anything I was sad. My outdate was less than two weeks away and before I come home, I get sick. I was so disappointed in the system, mainly because I wasn't the only one going through the same thing. Instead of releasing the people who were already coming home, they would rather keep healthy people and put them in bunks next to sick people. But then again, in our society, felons or rather incarcerated individuals weren't even treated as second class citizens because technically we weren't citizens at all...just state property. As I lie down, it feels like someone is sitting on my chest. When I told the nursing staff about it, she gave me an ibuprophen. I took one along with a vitamin I had bought at commissary and took a weak puff from my asthma pump. It didn't do much, but it was enough relief to put me to sleep. My eyes softly closed and I suddenly I saw nothing but darkness. Darkness...until the light was suddenly turned on in the room and I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stirred, a small nurse standing before me in between the bunk beds. She reached down, wiping the thermometer across my forehead. “96” she soon said, turning away. So many questions popped into my head at that moment. Like how can you have covid, but not a fever? And for the people who did have fevers, was it possible that they didn't have covid? The weight of the world on my chest, I reached over to my small property boxed lined against the wall beneath my television. On its surface was a small notebook I kept handy. I kept hearing this one phrase, I repeated it over and over in my head. ‘I want to give up but I can't...this is not how my story ends' The words spilled onto the notebook's hard surface in blue ink. With those words I began to think of my time in prison, seven complete years at this point. I thought about the person I was when I started my journey, my battle with depression after I had gotten found guilty, the fights and hardships I had suffered especially the month I spent locked away in isolation. I though the sleepless nights, the starving, the occasional brutal treatment from the officers, literally everything I had been through because of my actions. Most of all, I remembered what had gotten me through. I looked at the composition notebook in my grasp. It was almost filled from cover to cover, my ugly handwriting littering every page. Throughout my entire time in prison I was writing, from books to short novels, movies, even music. Somewhere along the lines I forgot about that. I sat up, my thumping head resting in my palms. I was so tired; I just wanted to lay and sleep all day. Instead, I rose and went to the bathroom where I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I forced myself to eat. My stomach could only handle a peanut butter and jelly sandwich but it was enough. After I ate, I drank nearly a gallon of water. I didn't know that I was that thirsty until I started drinking. Suddenly, I could breathe better. That same day I went outside and I ran laps on the grassy patio. My lungs burned and my body screamed at me, but I just kept repeating the words I wrote. ‘This is not how my story ends'

With the living room picture window now her quarantine portal, she marveled at creation as she observed her narrowed world. Time had stopped just long enough to help her pay attention. Processing the world's increasingly bad news was easier when gazing at God's artistic wonders. Bird songs caused her to freeze and hold her breath so she could count the syllables of each bird's call. What might they be saying? Who are they warning? Are they simply practicing their morning reveille? Masked faces hurried down the street walking their dogs. With brisk strides, they glanced about nervously as if they might be caught violating lock down requirements. The doggies didn't care, though. Their noses to the ground zig-zagged them forward toward inviting scents. But her greatest delight came from observing bunny antics in her front and back yards. Hops, dances, and chases. Ears pricking up, then flattening down to camouflage. Grazing here, scurrying there. Flopping in the dirt, then disappearing somehow. “Quick like a bunny” took on a new meaning. With dawn and dusk being their active times, she stood at the window each morning and again just after dinner. This glorious routine kept her from worrying about the growing statistics of death and dying. One day a bunny ran up the front yard downspout and then back out, scurrying to its safe place under the neighbor's large spruce tree. She named it Somebunny so she could announce, “Somebunny just ran up the downspout!” “Somebunny's in the front yard again.” “Somebunny's flopped near the flower bed.” Another day she discovered a baby bunny had made its home under their lawn mower. She named it Toro and warned him the mower was not a good place for a den. Later that Spring, three baby bunnies hopped out from under the back yard fence to graze just inches away from their warren. Quarantine's kind of entertaining, she regularly thought. Nature is so amusing. God certainly outdid himself when he created songbirds and bunnies. Then one morning, she saw the neighborhood cat trotting up the street with a baby bunny in its mouth. “No!” she cried and ran outside. But she couldn't get the cat to stop, and life was gone. Sorrow plummeted down to the depths of her soul. She cried out to God, “How can nature be so cruel?” “What were you thinking to allow such horrors?” Surprised by her lack of restraint, she stopped to listen for God's answer. The familiar still, small voice told her how He, too, cries over each lost creature. It was always His intent that the wolf lie down with the lamb, no need for killing. So, she read Creation's story. How the Genesis of life was marred by the genesis of sin. How the world fell by choice and humanity now wrestles in darkness and death. Then an image came into her mind: of Jesus' nail-scarred hands taking hold of the bunny caught in the cat's deathly grip, cradling it close to His breast and receiving it to the realm where the Genesis of life flourishes. From that day, she prayed over the bunnies. She stood watch for cats prowling along fences or crouching near porch decks. She became guard, caretaker, protector and defender, a first responder of sorts. Winter came, and the bunnies went into hiding. Snow covered the ground, but whenever it would melt away, she'd look outside the window just in case. Once or twice, she'd spy Somebunny under the neighbor's large spruce tree and she would smile, knowing he was still alive. But most of the time, she busied herself with other tasks. She paid closer attention to the news and realized the gravity of rising infection rates and death tolls especially in countries that still couldn't administer the vaccine. And she prayed. She prayed for the afflicted and the vulnerable. She prayed for the caretakers, protectors and defenders—those first responders far more critical than she. The world had morphed into an unfamiliar place. Now, fear and hopelessness cried out, kicking and screaming. Trust was absent and accusation ran rampant. Like cats killing baby bunnies, the frailty of humankind hit with brutality. Spring arrived again, and with it came new baby bunnies. Frolicking, grazing, and running for cover. She smiled and thought back to one year ago when she stood at the living room picture window observing the joy of creation. The innocence of beauty prevents us from seeing reality, she bemused. We are marred, she sighed in sorrow. Looking from the inside out once more, she gazed upward. And she saw the same hands that received the lifeless bunny now cradling the scarred world. "I'm coming soon," Jesus whispered. "I'm coming for the innocent, the pure, the poor and the persecuted. With healing in my wings and a scepter of righteousness in my right hand, I promise that evil will no longer invade creation's goodness."

Introduction The corona virus has influenced everyone, and this is the story of how I took on the virus head on and won. I am an essential grocery store worker, and I have been working just about everyday since the pandemic bean. People must eat to survive and keep the economy going so I must constantly work. This is the full story of how I conquered my fear of death and the corona virus. The Miracle That Saved My Life By the Grace of God, a miracle has changed my life from certain death, to a life of victory and courage. Some truly miraculous stories have emerged from the pandemic, and this is my story. I am a cashier at the Wilkes-Barre Pennsylvania Price Chopper Supermarket and I am living through a miracle at the store. When the pandemic hit in March 2020. our sales volume and my work hours skyrocketed. As a senior citizen, I was sure the pandemic would kill me as hundreds of customers were breathing on me and in the beginning, there were no masks or protection. It is a miracle that after all this time, I have not been infected with the corona virus, and my teammates and customers are experiencing the same miracle. Only one of my teammates got the corona virus and he got it at home from his family. I do not believe any of our thousands of customers got the virus at the store. We have experienced maximum exposure and risk and yet miraculously no one has been infected with the corona virus while in the store! Price Chopper never closed up and we never had an outbreak or even a single store relate infection! Essential Workers Grocery store workers were classified as essential workers during the pandemic. The U. S. Department of Homeland Security categorized the protection and continued operation of the food and agricultural industry and related transportation activities as "Critical Infrastructure" under the COVID-19 emergence conditions. In the President's Corona Virus Guidelines for America, the White House emphasizes that food industry sector workers should continue to work and stated: "If you work in a critical infrastructure industry, as defined by the Department of Homeland Security, such as food supply, you have a special responsibility to maintain your normal work schedule." Price Chopper provided a letter so I could travel during the economic shut down. The letter stated that I work in the supermarket industry and must travel to and from work, regardless of the time of day. It is essential to the nation's food supply that I be permitted to travel to and from my job and be exempt from local restrictions, such as shelter-in-place orders, when reporting to, returning from, or performing any of my work functions. My Decision To Keep Working As a senior citizen I could have refused to work because of the obvious health risks. I decided to keep working, and I learned to overcome my fear of death during the Corona Virus Pandemic. When the pandemic hit, I came face to face with my fear of death, and I had some important decisions to make. I trust in Jesus Christ for my Salvation, so it was logical that I would keep working. In the beginning, it was very dangerous, as there were no protections and hundreds of customers were breathing on me. I was sure that I would get the virus and it would kill me. The supermarket I work for was determined to serve its customers and community. I shared my employers objectives and decided to continue working on the Front Lines. It was the right decision, as I have not been infected with the virus and none of my teammates or customers got the virus at the store! While so many institutions have suffered through outbreaks of the pandemic, we have not. As a senior citizen, I believe I should take the risks before my younger teammates, those with health issues or children, and those who are victims of discrimination. Moreover, I wanted to serve my customers, and I was willing to die for a legacy and a testimony of serving my customers, the people I love. I was really surprised that when I made this decision, I was free from my natural fear of death and willing to accept the consequences of my decision. I am taking the same risks even today. Cautious But Not Fearful I am amazed at my teammates courage in facing the pandemic, as they proceed cautiously but without fear. My teammates continued commitment to safety guidelines is the best defense against the corona virus. Conclusion A miracle is a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency. There is no scientific explanation for Price Chopper's success while staying open for business during the pandemic. The store served its customers and community, and by the Grace Of God, its teammates were given the miracle of good health while working in dangerous circumstances environment. For the latest on fighting COVID 19, please watch the following video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1I_cCsaomU

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I opened my eyes at the insistent sound of my alarm. It was such an annoying sound, I hated waking up like that, but I had to, I needed to revise something for school and I couldn't ask my parents to wake up at 5.30am so that they could wake me up, right? It would be extremely selfish. Especially because the reason was not a real reason. I opened the window and the sun rays entered my room. I didn't even bother putting some clothes on, nobody would notice anyway. I know I'm lazy, but online school really brings out the worst part of you. I experienced it in my own skin. As usual from a month or two - I lost track of time, every day is just exactly like the one before - I sent a text to my best friend, Anna, asking her how she was. She had Covid-19 and she was at the hospital. I couldn't go visit her, but that was fine, we always FaceTimed each other, at least once a day. I revised history and at 7.30am I checked my phone: no answer. Maybe she was still sleeping. I turned on my computer and clicked on the link our Italian teacher sent us. Great, another Italian lesson where she won't stop talking. She's a good teacher but since we're in lockdown, she just goes on and on and on with our school program without ever stopping. It's April and she's already doing something we should do at the end of May. At 10am I check my phone again: still no answers. But I mean, wouldn't I sleep until 11am if I could? Most definitely yes. I had a 20 minutes break, so I decided to have breakfast. I can eat at any time and sometimes I just forget to do it in the morning: it's not healthy, but I still do it most of the days. I returned to my online lessons: I had history, the teacher was going to test some people. I wasn't even that anxious, I had my book just next to me, if I didn't remember anything, I could just look at it. But then, then something happened, something I could never even imagine that would happen. I received a call. Obviously, I did not answer for two reasons: I was at school and it was an unknown number. They called again 5 minutes later. And again 10 minutes later. The fourth time I left the zoom call, the history lesson, and answered. I would just say I had “internet issues”, it's not like they can know in any possible way. I heard a voice I did not recognize. Maybe a male? I wasn't sure. They said “Hi, is this Valentina?”. I answered affirmatively. It was probably just a call center, always calling at the right times of the day. “I need to give you bad news.” They said. Oh no, I didn't like how that was going. They hesitated. “Come on, just say it, this way you're making it worse.” I said. “Anna has passed away this morning. You were in her “favorite contacts” list, therefore I thought I should call you.” I froze. “Yes, great nightmare, now can I wake up?” I whispered to myself. “I'm really sorry.” They said. Wait, was that really happening? It couldn't be possible, Anna was 18, she was in good health. It must have been a nightmare, right? “What is happening?” I asked. “I'm sorry.” They said, and then they hung up. I looked around me: everything was in the right place with the right colors: it couldn't be a dream, it was too vivid. I fell on my knees, finally realizing it: Anna was dead because of a stupid virus. I was sure she was going to get better soon enough, I was so sure. How did that happen? I felt a tear rolling down my cheek. I couldn't move. I don't know how long I stayed in that position, I just know that my memories after that moment are very blurry. I remember my mother hugging me, I remember walking upstairs and laying on the bed. I remember crying until I passed out. The next thing I remember is going to her funeral. No, it had to be a nightmare. Just let me wake up.

Covid brought about devastating consequences. Forced us to look at the bright side and appreciate things we often take for granted like family time. Often we leave it up to chance or reschedule because we don't get paid at the end of the day for something that is so priceless. Unlike the procrastination of homework and projects, life is too short to reschedule or have a deadline extension. As a sister, eldest of five children I have realized how much time we waste as a family or siblings doing our own thing only coming together when food is being served. The lock down taught me that it is important to have intimate family moments building stronger relationships. The lock down made me renew or rekindle the relationships I have with each family member. With schools out, I had to take the role of a teacher with two of my eldest siblings. They are at the same level at school. Working together to achieve one goal until schools open and even after has reinforced what we all know inside our hearts. We need each other emotionally, mentally, and physically. Through studying together I have realized that everyone is comfortable voicing out their weaknesses so that we turn them into strengths. There is something about being vulnerable inside a family set up that's comforting, knowing that family has your back and asking stupid questions is a sign of intelligence. I get to know them better through the jokes and laughter we share, and the feeling we have for one another to succeed is awesome. While I continue to look at the bright side I'm reminded of a Shona proverb,''Kushata kwezvimwe ndokunaka kwezvimwe'' meaning ‘'the bad outcome of one thing is the good outcome of another.” Since the beginning of lock down we have had uninterrupted power. Before long you would wake up to see it gone and we would be using firewood to cook or heat up bathwater. It's almost as if the government is bribing us to stay inside. Laugh out loud. Walking into town is like walking onto the set of ‘' I am Legend.” You keep thinking zombies are going to pop out of somewhere with streets deserted. Other than that I noticed the streets are cleaner, no litter. The air is even cleaner. Makes ask. Do humans really destroy everything they touch so much that we need a pandemic to reduce all the gases we release into the air, that in turn kill us? We are better than that. Looking at the bright side I realize that somewhere along the line, it goes dim. The virus robbed us of the chance to say goodbye to our loved ones properly, and undid age old tradition which had become a doctrine in some cultures. Sign that we can adapt through anything if push comes to shove and we do not live and survive on luck.

Even if it seems like the world has stopped revolving, or that it might end in some ball of firey hate sooner rather than later, we all still have to move through today into tomorrow because if tomorrow comes, we're going to have to deal with it. I've been using the lock-down/insanity time to grow. I've committed to reading 200 books in a year as part of a mastermind group with the purpose of rewiring my brain and changing my life for good. For real. Writing is my way forward. I'm making great strides in all directions an author must go in order to achieve all-around success. Expanding - the library, the content, the audience, the connections I need to make to get me where I want to go - in front of people to talk about the importance of our stories. And, I want to see my screenplay make it to the big screen. I'm focused. Spending a specific number of hours working on specific projects, reading, checking in with accountability partners, writing, writing, and writing some more. It might seem like the future is something not worth planning for, but we should anyway. Because if the world doesn't end, the sun is going to rise tomorrow. And then what? Here's my latest plan - https://nanci-writes.squarespace.com/blog/3zpvbj9q2tauo1uv19srtp7fq91aoa

THE LOCKDOWN A sense of accomplishment was all I could feel as I stood across the window looking out over the city, but this euphoric sensation wasn't one to last. The ringing of my alarm set on the table across the room from me made sure of that. I had placed the alarm as far from me as possible so I would not have put if off since it was within an arm's length. It was already mid semester and time to get serious with my studies, especially with my lecturers reminding us that tests were around the corner. But today, none of that mattered, not the tests or the exams that usually came immediately afterwards, all that mattered was the news of a pandemic, the Covid-19 virus. The day before, when we all received news about the Federal government's decision to shut down all schools in the country was probably the first time, I took the covid-19 virus seriously. Calling friends in affected but distant countries always seemed to make the virus unreal. Receiving numerous calls from my parents made it all the more real. And that was how I sought my way home the next day. Unlike most of my friends, going home was not a problem as my family lived in the same state. Some students, however, lived in other states and had to travel long distances to get home. News of shutting down inter state borders caused in a tremendous increase in traveling costs. Some students, who couldn't travel under such short notice had to find alternative sources of accommodation. The first month at home was spent studying, in the hopes that school would soon resume. In time, I realized it wasn't going to resume anytime soon, at least not with the number of cases of the virus increasing in arithmetic progression across the entire country. More news about the virus flooded the screens of our television, fueling the fear that now engulfed us all. With the pending news of total lockdown in the state, my mother made lists of all the food stuffs we needed and sought about purchasing them all despite the inflated prices. As news of safety measures to stay safe came, so did false information often leading to confusion as to which was true. News of the virus seemed like a political propaganda to some, to others it seemed not as serious as it was made to be, but to a select few it was quite a serious matter. My family was one of those that considered it a serious matter, we never went out unless we really needed to and coming home was immediately followed by hand washing, the use of hand sanitizer and a bath. By the second month, the state has been totally locked down, dashing my hopes that school would resume by the end of the first month. By now reading books relating to academics was a distant dream, but I spent a lot of time reading novels and poems to pass time. Social media challenges were trending and watching them was fun, although I never tried any. With less novels to read, I had to find other ways to kill time, so I picked up an old hobby. Drawing family members and friends was more fun than I anticipated. Often I didn't quite get them right, but I kept practicing. Online classes were also trending, so I took up a Spanish class online. Spending more hours of my day online than I was used to took up a lot more of my data subscriptions than I anticipated. I had to cut down on my online activities. So, I got more free time and had to find new ways to spend them. After a week's worth of begging, my brother and I convinced our father to teach us to drive. We practiced along the now empty streets and it seemed like more learners were taking this opportunity too. With time, we got better but not after giving the old car a few scratches here and there. On one occasion, my brother almost hit a car in front of it while I almost drove in to a ditch once but with time we got better. After a while, I had built a routine that kept me busy. First I would go out early in the morning to practice driving with my brother, then when I got home I would practice my Spanish, read novels and draw. Between all these, watching movies was always squeezed in between. I had almost completely adapted to a life at home. Being a student was now a distant memory I often reminisced about. On one of those moments of nostalgia, my phone called me back from the land of wandering thoughts. At first, it was nice hearing an old friend's voice, but the fear I sensed soon made me worry. Apparently he was experiencing some symptoms of the corona virus after traveling to one of the states where the pandemic was more prevalent. He talked about his plans to get tested while I encouraged him not to worry and wait patiently to get his test result before jumping to conclusions. Calming him down took awhile but it eventually worked. After the call ended, his words kept coming back to me, “I don't want to die.” I realized so many people had died from the virus and I couldn't help but be thankful for my life and that of my family.

But wait, it's getting hotter. We're expecting 117 degrees (F) by Friday, our near record-breaking number of days over 110 this summer, another expected record-breaker. Having more days over 110 degrees than previous years is not a record we want to keep breaking. The heat isn't making the virus disappear like a miracle. In fact, we seem to be in a blooming phase, our numbers are increasing like the number of fires popping up all around us. It happens in the summertime. I'm still amazed at who is okay with wearing a mask, and who isn't. It seems like the people who should be more worried, are not, and those who should calm down, aren't. There has to be a happy medium someplace, right? Personally, I'm good with the mask. I recently ordered an SPF 50 golf shirt that came with a matching mask, made out of the same SPF material. I figure the sun damage I'm not getting while wearing the mask for a couple of years (we could be doing this for 2 years?) will save me a decade or two of sun damage, out here in the desert where it's over 110 degrees for more days this year than last year. Maybe next year's heatwave will kill it.