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WORD ON THE STREET
from 09.07.21
Confessions From a Girl Who Can’t Go Home
A reflection on what it means to 'belong' somewhere in a pandemic—both here and abroad | AAKRUTI GANESHAN
Illustration by Lilian Liu
I’ve spent a total of ve weeks in mandated hotel quarantine while traveling to my home in Hong Kong: two weeks last December and three weeks this past spring. I’ve been deplaned twice—both times due to COVID–19 test–related issues but never because of a positive test result. e rst time, I needed a negative COVID–19 test within 72 hours of leaving the United States—my test was dated 72 hours and 20 minutes. On the second occasion, it was because the COVID–19 Testing Center at Je erson Airport failed to provide me with a “Certi cate of Accreditation," a piece of paper that said the testing lab had government approval. It didn’t matter that I was tested at the airport center that was exclusively intended for travelers. It was also of little consequence that I was fully vaccinated.
I conceptualized my experience in numbers. e number of days I had left on my quarantine sentence, for instance. I would wave to my parents from the window of my hotel room. To me, they resembled little matchstick gures frantically throwing their arms up and down to maximize visibility. I watched life move past me from the eerie solitude of a ve–by– ve room. Ships sailed nearby, miniature props leaving behind trails of white foam as they zipped to and from ports. I conceived of everything outside my window as “props,” because nothing outside my door seemed real. Last fall, my dog died on my seventh day in quarantine, proving that as much as my world had stopped, life—or the lack thereof—kept going without me.
Six. at’s how many hours I spent at the Hong Kong airport this past spring, being shepherded through arbitrary rows and makeshift dividers, waiting for my onsite test results. All of the passengers had to wear lanyards around their neck—an identi cation card of which group they belonged to. Each station had a designated function. One would check my documents, while the next would slap me with a plastic wristband designed to monitor my location in quarantine. I moved through eight di erent queues and answered the same ten questions. To a random bystander, we must’ve seemed like cattle being lined up for transport. “Kafkaesque,” a term used to de ne a bizarre, nightmarish, and illogical situa-
tion, soon became my go–to word of choice to describe the experience.
I thought a lot about what it meant to be a person, what it meant to be a citizen, what it meant to really belong somewhere. I’m not an American citizen, but to the Hong Kong authorities, I was —for all intents and purposes—American, branded a Class C traveler subject to the maximum quarantine penalties. Whenever I’m in Philadelphia for college, I’m reminded of how often that isn’t true: My “un–American” insurance is rejected from health care clinics and goes unrecognized at CVS.
Twelve. at’s the number of months my Hong Kong visa is valid for. By my own estimation, unless things get better, I will not be granted another visa to visit this December. In a way, I’ve been given permanent outsider status in both of the countries I live in. e bounds of sovereignty extend far enough to exclude me, but fall short of letting me in.
More than anything, I want to be able to go home. I want, as so many other people do, for things to get better, for the last year and a half to nally come to an end. My experiences pale in comparison to the horrors that others have had to endure, but my plea remains the same. I can’t control what anyone else does, but what everyone else does inadvertently a ects me anyway. It’s odd to have a complete lack of control over the things that seem so intensely personal. I sit on the border between one culture that prioritizes the collective at the cost of the individual and another that does the exact opposite.
Every day, I read more news articles about the “unprecedented” times we’re in. And every day, that gets a little more cumbersome to digest. I think we all want things to return to “precedented,” but that won’t happen unless there’s a concerted e ort to do so.
I’m thankful because most of the people I know are vaccinated and encourage others to do the same. At the same time, I know that there are a lot of people who refuse to get the vaccine and act irresponsibly. I’m not exactly quali ed to address all of the concerns around the vaccine, but there are a plethora of resources that do. I don't expect my own (privileged) experiences to completely change someone’s worldview.
All I can hope for is that people continue to share their stories, and that, along the way, we develop compassion for circumstances we can’t understand. Beyond knowledge and education, I hope for empathy. I anticipate that things will have to get a lot worse for our sense of solidarity to get a lot better, but every day, I pray that I’m wrong. I hope that the phrase “misery loves company” becomes an outdated aphorism. I hope for a softer worldview that extends far beyond ourselves, one that prioritizes empathy and care above all else.
Yet?, which came out this past Saturday. e tracklist is a collection of songs that encapsulate a generation. e artists covered on the new album range from recent up–and–comers like Joji to stone–cold classics like Paramore, whose song “ at’s What You Get” nds new life in a special arrangement. is album is also a tribute to the 15 singers who invested their time, dedication, and passion under challenging circumstances. " e beauty of having a 15–person group, as we did this year, is that we have a very wide range of voices, and everyone’s voice complements a di erent kind of style,” says Jack. For e Pennchants’ graduating seniors, Are We ere Yet? is a culmination of the styles that singers have developed since they were rst–year students.
Ostensibly, Are We ere Yet? is also in conversation with e Pennchants' legacy as an organization—its title is a cheeky riposte to one previous full–length release, 2014’s Close Enough. However, this album was always going to be unlike anything the group had put out before, as it was conceived and produced entirely during the COVID–19 pandemic. What resulted were new constraints on the recording and rehearsal process, but also new innovations.
Evan estimates that “it’s been untold hundreds of hours, if not close to a thousand or more hours, put into this project over the course of the summer.” at includes all the steps from song selection to arrange-
ment, audio and video recording, and multimedia editing. e biggest hurdles during production were more of the social variety. “I really miss being able to hang out with e Pennchants,” says Bauti. e group is so much more than an extracurricular commitment—it’s a support system, a circle of close friends, and a respite from the Penn grind. Without an in–person component, those aspects were more di cult to maintain.
"It’s going to be hard for any member to want to put in six hours a week on a song, [let] alone in their room," says Evan.
But as much as this was a year of challenges, Jack says it was also a year of nding silver linings.
One of these was adopting the mantras of “unlimited takes” and “unlimited parts.” e latter meant “[we were] able to add more to the soundscape then we usually do ... di erent elements of sound that are really hard to achieve in a live performance,” according to Evan. is is emblematic of the shifting approach to
audio production that marks this album as a turning point for e Pennchants.
What makes Are We ere Yet? a unique listening experience compared to Pennchants performances, or even previous albums, is that these arrangements often wouldn’t be feasible in a live setting. You would be hard–pressed to nd a prior recording as pristine and full–bodied as their cover of “My Life Would Suck
Without You” by Kelly Clarkson, which I had the privilege of listening to before release day. e group's YouTube series was consistently entertaining, but those videos were "a bit all over the place sometimes," Evan admits, "even though that's the way we like it." In contrast, the album is designed to be a cohesive listening experience from start to nish.
As business manager, Jack came prepared with a three–part pitch for listeners, whether they’re long–time fans or former a cappella detractors. In addition to centering the aforementioned standard of musical excellence and diversity of genres and styles, he says this project has been rst and foremost about “trying to stay true to the spirit of having fun as a group that e Pennchants has always embodied. e camaraderie that we have ... the brotherhood that we have.”
It’s that brotherhood that Bauti, Evan, and Jack all hope to see carried beyond this experience, even as e Pennchants move along the ambiguous, ever–changing path back to in–person rehearsals and live performances.
Jack wants to celebrate “the resilience that the individual members had throughout the whole process." " ey really proved to us that they are very serious about making music,” he says.
Evan makes it clear, though, that the group was far from faltering. “We’ve always been a creative group, and we’ve always been a passionate group. e spirit of e Pennchants was still alive and well throughout this entire thing," he says. at spirit is embodied on Are We ere Yet?, an album that will serve for years to come as a testament to being tested and coming out stronger on the other end.
BAUTI GALLINO (C ’23) JACK VERNON LEE (C ’23)
EVAN BEAN EVAN BEAN (E ’23)
Are We There Yet? : THE PENNCHANTS ON PUSHING THROUGH THE PANDEMIC
Image courtesy of e Pennchants
Evan Bean, Bauti Gallino, and Jack Vernon Lee take us behind the scenes of the a cappella group’s new studio album. | WALDEN GREEN
From afar, the members of e Pennchants might come o as unapproachable. With their sunglasses, Members Only jackets, and supple voices, they could easily pass for a gang of teenage heartthrobs. But when they join me one afternoon for our Zoom interview, Evan Bean (E '23), Bauti Gallino (W '23), and Jack Vernon Lee (C '23) just look like normal guys (although Bauti is sporting his Pennchants baseball cap). ey serve as e Pennchants' president, business manager, and marketing director, respectively—they also spearheaded the release of the group's new studio album, Are We ere Yet?, on September 4.
Evan, Bauti, and Jack each joined the club in their rst year at Penn, and all say their choice of e Pennchants out of Penn’s 17 a cappella groups was anything but arbitrary. For one, the club is Penn's premier all–male group, which appeals to members like Evan, who sang previously at his all–boys high school. ere’s something else that makes e Pennchants unique: their repertoire. In previous interviews, members have talked about how their selections focus on the "songs of their childhood." Bauti adds that their "niche is also broad,” since it can mean something different to every soloist. For example, Bauti grew up in Argentina listening to music in Spanish, which he says isn't typical Pennchants material. But last winter, he was able to perform a Spanish–language song—“Azul” by Cristian Castro—as part of the group's Bedroom Bops Online Concert Series. Evan says members have also performed songs by Frank Sinatra, Barry Manilow, Elvis, Prince, and Counting Crows, ve artists that account for half a century of music. at diversity is present in spades on Are We ere
