In the early days of the pandemic, I lived in a five hundred square foot apartment. About three hundred of that was taken up by furniture, and the rest was run by my five cats. My momma and I were starved for space, but too scared to go outside for fear of catching covid. We lived in the upper unit of an aged duplex; our downstairs neighbor was never home to keep his apartment cool so the heat rose and baked us in our sardine can. We had a couple decade old window units that tried their best to keep us cool, but more often than not we would eat meals in our car so we could have well-functioning A/C. “All I want is a house,” my mom said while the food wrapper in her hands crinkled. This had been a dream of hers my entire life, I always said if I ever won the lottery the first thing I would do is buy her one. Being in that apartment made that dream bigger, more urgent, something that constantly itched underneath both of our skins. We wanted walls of our own to paint and put holes in, we wanted freedom from overbearing landlords. We wanted to not be scared of eviction with little notice, which is what had landed us in that duplex in the first place. I crossed my legs to make myself more comfortable in the front seat. I stared out at the countryside we had seen so many times in passing, nothing but vast fields with the occasional dots of trees. “I applied for a grant,” I turned to look at my mom and make a questioning sound in my throat, “A grant, some banks will give money to poor folks to help with a down payment. I know we could afford a mortgage and utilities, but I could never save up enough for the down payment,” At the time it seemed like a pipe dream, but the worst thing they could say was no. We would never know if we didn't give it a shot, and at the time all we wanted was that miracle. “Holy shit! Kitty! We got it, we got it!” my mom burst into my room to give me a hug, squeezing me tighter than she ever had before. She nearly dropped her phone her hands were shaking so much. She seemed to be on the verge of tears so I held her a little longer and bonked my head against hers. From that moment on our life consisted of scrolling through Zillow and looking through the newspaper for any home that fit our budget. We didn't have much but fortunately the areas we were looking in weren't the fanciest. We toured place after place, always six feet behind our realtor and shrouded with our masks. “Wow! This place is so spacious and look at those hardwood floors.” She commented as our feet clacked on the floors. The walls were painted a cool blue, it felt like the living room alone was the size of our apartment. It had four whole bedrooms, and a dining room! It was more space than we could have ever dreamed of. At the time we didn't want to get our hopes up, the place was ten thousand dollars over our seemingly meager budget. My mom's door slammed as we climbed into her jeep after the tour. “I mean, it was amazing, but there's no way they'll ever accept our offer,” I looked at her and told her we never thought we would get the grant either. It would hurt more if we never put in an offer in the first place than it would to be told no. It would haunt us to let this opportunity sleep by. A place that wasn't ancient, not too far from family, and had enough room for all of us. She held my hand and nodded, texting our realtor to put in the offer. The day we learned that we got the house, it felt like someone out there was watching out for us. It felt like a blur, between putting in the offer, signing for it, and moving in. For a while it felt like I was dreaming. It didn't hit me until we were standing there in our new living room, with our second hand couch and great value tv stand, that the house was ours. I remember holding my mom real tight, crying for the first time in what felt like years. We spent the night laughing and celebrating, finally able to eat a meal not in our car.

It was another uneventful day of the quarantine. Suddenly, the bustling Berlin that I was enamored with came to a halt, and an eerie silence reigned. Only a few weeks ago, I felt I needed a break from the giddy hustle and bustle of this crazy city, the raucous parties, the unending appointments, the busy schedules. Now, as if a spell is cast on the city, freezing life in its tracks. My smartphone stopped buzzing. Friends' invitations for outings ceased. In the beginning, it felt like the much-needed break. Now, I have time for myself. A whole range of hobbies reappeared from the attic of my mind; I rediscovered some books that have been gathering dust. I started a skin daily care routine; My skin looks really tired and dark circles have appeared under my eyes. I have put on some extra pounds. My body is telling me that it is dissatisfied. I started to go regularly jogging by the nearby lake. How come that I have been living in this neighborhood for so long but have not noticed the mesmerizing beauty that is only a stone's throw from me? Then time has come to take stock of relationships. Some have already fallen by the wayside. I have not contacted my family via Skype in a while. When I did, I noticed the gray hair on my father's head has multiplied, and so did the wrinkles on my mom's face. My younger brother has had his heart broken by his girlfriend. My baby nephew can now declare his love to me in clear intelligible syllables. So my relationship with my family has grown solid again. It saddens me to say that it took a global pandemic to. Boredom creeps in. I lazily scroll through my Facebook timeline. It is awash with tips on how to make the most out of the quarantine time; read novels, they say, cultivate a hobby, reconnect with loved ones albeit virtually, learn a language. People started to share posts highlighting their 'achievements'. Some even said that they have eventually ‘'found their true calling'' . I just realized that all I have found is a pair of socks that have been missing for a while. There is a universal myth about washing machines devouring socks. Anyway, to me it was a heartwarming reunion. For some reason, this made me think of some ex boyfriends. One morning later I woke up to find a message on my phone from an ex with whom I had a passionate love affair. He said his quarantine made him miss me badly. My heart leapt. We started reminiscing over our memories together; I recalled vividly our walks hand-in-hand under the rain, our passionate kisses, and sweet-nothings. Then he started to push for our meeting again. To me, he seemed to have changed a bit. He is a careless person who attaches little importance to the lives of others, especially the elderly, at a time when back then, I was still in the grip of the phobia that the novel virus has spread. How can he be so flippant about public health as to so casually ask me out? Has he not read any of the countless articles about the need to keep distance? Oh so I have come to discover a new personality trait in him thanks to the pandemic. He even posts photos of him and friends hanging out with no distance kept and no masks. To cut a long story short, we had another fight and broke up again, this time for some silly and not-so-silly reasons. For weeks later the heartache persisted. Heartbreaks take longer to heal during quarantine, for you have a lot of time to dwell on them. Then my heart started displaying some discomforting symptoms; not the heart was broken, but the one which pumps blood. Arranging an appointment at a cardiologist's was complicated because of the pandemic. Eventually it worked out. I made the necessary checkups. Luckily the results came out normal. I am so grateful to the heart which kept on beating even when it was broken. Attempts to find a new love on dating apps are not working. Hot guys are posting photos with masks, leaving a lot to the imagination. Some are suggesting virtual intimacy and others come across as careless , looking for casual hookups to ward off boredom. When human interaction seems to be a threat, the only thing to be trusted is your own body; this awesome container. Loved ones have turned into potential illness carries and transporters. it is an infinite world whose boundaries is your skin. The more love and attention you bestow on it, the more rewards it gives you back, especially during times of pandemics. You have long neglected it. Love your body and linger longer in front of mirrors. Listen to its complaints and treasure its charms. Oh here I go again: falling into the trap of lecturing that I am not so much in love with, for every experience is unique, and people's reactions to adversities differ. But eventually, it all boils down to one single magic word: love. It can carry us through to time when we will look back at these days and be grateful for to surviving, and to love oneself is the first stepping stone to the unbound love of people, life and the universe.

October 28,1901 The day when my life took a horrific turn. My mom came home with some bad news. She got a job offer in this small town in Michigan called The Newlands Town Center. She told me we were going to be moving soon and that everything was happening for a reason. I begged her if we can stay because my life here in Oregon was so amazing. Everyday was filled with joy and happiness but that was getting ready to change very fast. October 30, 1901 We're here, this entire situation was a disappointment. “Ew, mom this town looks so disgusting.” I mumbled. I think she thought I was joking because she never replied but I wasn't. I had only hoped for this town to be somewhat normal like with a McDonald's at almost every corner and seeing kids playing at the park or police cars roaming on the streets at night. This town was the complete opposite, bumpy roads, no cars parked or moving, no pedestrian or animals insight. As we kept driving we started to notice a few people, strangely these people didn't look sociable whatsoever. There was this man who looked angry he had a cut underneath his eye and three missing teeth in the front. When my mom went to him and asked for directions he suddenly gave us this terrifying smile and said “Haha, new to the town I see. Don't let your child out of your sight to many children in this town have gone missing. See you around ladies.” October 30, 1901 (cont.) We found our street. As we were pulling up to the house I noticed how big it was, it had vines all over it with a extremely large amount of trees surrounding it. The inside was just as bad as the town, it had a spoiled smell to it as if someone died in it, the creakiness of the stairs and black walls creeped me out. October 31, 1901 It's Halloween, my favorite holiday of all time but sadly my mom had to work so I spent that entire day in the house unpacking and exploring the house. Later that night as I was exploring the house I notice this journal inside my closet. I WISH I NEVER HAD FOUND THAT JOURNAL!! Inside the journal there were all of these pictures and words that looked like they were trying to relay a message to someone and a key. The words had said “Don't fall for it, don't let him get in your head and never stay up after 11:59.” The pictures that had been drawn were these small wooden doors with a hand sticking out of it. After reading it I figured it was nothing, but wondered what the key was for. October 31, 1901 (cont.) The time was 9:00 pm, the sun had already settled and the night began to get colder and colder. Around 10:00 pm I start to hear these noises inside the walls, the noises were similar to the scratching of a dog. I decided to go check them out and when I got closer to the noise it grew stronger and stronger. A few minutes later the noises stopped, but I noticed the small wooden door that was in the journal. The door was closed tightly and needed a key to open it, I went to go open the door with the key from the journal and when it opened it was nothing but a brick wall. At 11:00 pm, the rain began to fall and the night began to grew even colder than before. November 1, 1901 At 1:30 am I was in a deep sleep but woke up screaming from what was abdominal pain. My mom came rushing in to see if I was okay and began to comfort me. I was slowly falling back to sleep when I saw a shadow coming from the wooden door and whispering my name “Taylor, Taylor” I asked my mom if she saw and heard what I saw and she say “No” I didn't know what was going on It was like my soul was being sucked out of my body and being pushed down the stairs. When I reached the bottom of the staircase it was pitch black, the sweating of my palms, the mumbling of voices, the bitterness taste of the air. I heard this familiar laugh “Haha”. Sitting thinking is this the man we saw when we first arrived in “The Newlands Town Center”.