I didn’t expect that in five days my family’s world would be completely shaken. That we would have to navigate grief in a pandemic, where the air already feels so saturated with a similar sadness.
From running to the ER from my apartment one morning where I couldn’t stop crying to the nurses on duty; to waking up at 2 am in the Dominican where I crawled into my parents’ hotel room so I could feel some comfort as I curled up against my mother; to crying many nights to whichever of my Facebook friends or cousins was online in the dead of night, I have faced my fair share of paralyzing fear. Some nights I wake up thinking I can’t breathe. And most nights I can’t help but ask: why now and why me?
If your roommate ever asks if you want to get away for 7 days, answer yes: always yes. That’s exactly how I found myself on the gorgeous Dutch-owned island of Curaçao.
When you hear an impending ice storm is about to hit Toronto (why, Mother Nature, why…) and you just have a bunch of free time on your hands, you suddenly find yourself packing a bag and setting off one Friday morning.
Sometimes, by the time you turn 25, you’ll remember the strong smell of hand sanitizer, the texture of the surgical mask against your nose as you try so hard to fight back the tears and gasps.
I watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the first time, a week before they announced breakfast actually would be served at Tiffany’s on 5th Avenue. So, surprise, surprise, I did what Holly did.