Humans of COVID-19
Glimpses into lives transformed by our new world
I am not needed at the clothing store / hotel / restaurant / nail salon / coffee shop / gym / cocktail bar / office / gift shop / amusement park / library / airport / school campus / art gallery / day care center / movie theater / market / co-working space / museum / train station / barber shop, anymore.
I am a graduate without a graduation, a singer without a show, a comedian in a room where it’s too soon to laugh.
I am trying to home-school, cook for, clean after, and entertain three children under the age of twelve with little help from my partner who is messaging coworkers on Slack in the other room, wearing noise-cancelling headphones.
I am secretly thriving, finally able to focus my time and energy on the people and things that I care most about.
I am prying my mask and goggles off my bruised and weary face, exhausted after a 19-hour-long shift at the hospital, and returning to a house that everyone else has emptied, “just in case.”
I am single and 34 weeks pregnant with our first child.
I am buying groceries — quickly, I promise — gingerly lifting a bundle of green bananas with gloved fingertips while an adjacent shopper smiles approvingly.
I am furiously rummaging through the cabinets in our shared bathroom, stuffing toilet paper in my underwear to soak up the blood in the interim.
I am a cute neighbor in your apartment complex that’s similarly sheltering-in-place and suddenly really curious about you — like when you moved in, if you hear my dog barking at night, if you like it here, etc.
I am kneeling on the ground in a densely-packed slum, hugging our children closely, rubbing my elderly father’s bony back, hearing his dry coughing.
I am moving the wedding.
I am consoling my crying, four-year-old son as he clings to my legs, trying to explain why he cannot rush over to hug me when I get home anymore.
I am wandering into a cold, deserted subway station with my stomach twisting — shelters are full, soup kitchens are closing.
I am reapplying mascara, popping caffeine pills, and squeezing in back-to-back Zoom calls between online classes and workouts.
I am starving, waiting, stuck at the border after walking hundreds of miles to come home to you.
I am going to die here — the hospital and I are running out of blood.
I am lifting my sore body off the hard pavement after being spit on and attacked by two strangers yelling that I should f*** myself and go back where I came from.
I am live-streaming your sermon, cupping my empty hands in prayer before the white glow of the computer screen.
I am screaming in pain that you had to do this alone — that I couldn’t be there to hold you when it happened and whisper how much I love you; that now I can’t give you the funeral you deserve.
I am hiding in the bathroom, finally texting you our emergency code word in a secret plea for help, trapped in my own home and running out of ways to protect myself.
I am planning to arrive at 5am tomorrow with the rest of the construction crew, like we always do.
We all have a story. This piece is only scratching the surface, uncovering a handful of the myriad ways in which each of us is uniquely navigating our uncertain new world.
If you are able, please help others by:
- Staying home and socially distancing
- Donating food, blood, masks, and period products
- Supporting local businesses by buying gift cards, ordering in, writing positive reviews, and tipping generously
- Spreading the word about job opportunities and startups still actively hiring during COVID-19
- Volunteering your skills — such as in AI, machine learning, art, design, 3D-printing, or mechanical engineering — to help build products, platforms, and systems that can support ongoing efforts to fight the pandemic
- Extending kindness, gratitude, and empathy towards others
