26 minute read
QuaranTeens
It’s a tough time to be a teenager.
Story By Garry Dow
Illustration By Anthony Foronda
More than a year has passed since Covid-19 reared its ugly head. Since then, the pandemic has led to shelterin-place orders, the closure of businesses and public spaces, and the shutdown of schools. Some families have been crammed together for months on end. Others have been cleaved in two. Many people have known sickness. Some, death.
And though we have fared better than most, Pomfret has not been immune to this virus. Like every other school, we were forced to shutter our campus last spring. We opened back up in the fall, but then had to close back down again this winter, as Covid numbers in our local area spiked to dangerously high levels.
During this rollercoaster-of-a-year, students have traded classrooms for bedrooms, lost touch with friends, missed out on sports, and grappled with unprecedented levels of anxiety and depression. And yet, our students keep showing up. They keep trying. Their optimism undimmed. Their hope for the future bright. It’s a remarkable story — a testament to the strength and resolve of a student body that has been challenged like no other.
For this issue of Pomfret Magazine, we wanted to get a better sense of what it feels like to be them right now. So we asked seven seniors, scattered across the country and the world, to tell us. This is what they had to say.
Shawn Zhu
California
The memory is blurry now, faded, fossilized. Sitting with my family around the artificial fire pit, we restlessly awaited the coming of a new year, a new decade. 2020. The very digit seemed special. Two 2s, two 0s. Easy on the tongue. Special it was. Not special in the way my family optimistically hoped it would be, but special nonetheless. In that moment, two realities loomed in the impending shadows of 2020, yet unbeknownst to me. First: that gathering around the artificial fire pit would be the last time I would see my family for eleven months. Second: 2020 would be the year of endless “firsts.”
As the clock hit midnight, we cheered and embarked on our journey into the new decade. The road was bumpy from the beginning: the killing of Iranian General Qasem Soleimani spawned concerns of WWIII, the US House of Representatives sent impeachment articles against Trump to the Senate, and Kobe Bryant died in a tragic helicopter crash. In hindsight, those were just hills preceding the mountains that would come.
While our eyes fixated on the stream of shocking headlines, the seemingly benign virus loomed closer and closer. Finally, news headlines became reality. An urgent school meeting was announced. I remember the auditorium flooding with voices full of angst. I remember the sudden silence that afflicted the room as Mr. Richards stepped towards the podium. And I remember the moment 300 hearts sank as the words “headed home early” were verbalized.
I was still optimistic. I was confident that the virus would run its way through the country, and we’d be back in school by the spring term. I even celebrated the opportunity to stay with a friend for a couple of weeks. “A quick vacation in Florida while we wait out this virus,” I remember thinking.
My definite confidence diminished with each passing week, along with growing uncertainty. A Florida vacation couldn’t last forever, and I needed to find a more permanent
quarantine location. But where could I go? My family was trapped in China, and after four failed attempts to fly back to China, I set off on a $20 flight to California. A suitcase in each hand, I stepped into an empty house, greeted by nothing but the dust that had accumulated after months of neglect. The impatient calls of an angsty teenager craving independence was suddenly realized. As I walked through the house, echoes of familiar scenes played out in my mind: my mother cooking while a rich aroma spread through the house, my father intensely studying his golf swing, my brother getting lost within the cubic world of Minecraft.
Soon enough, I too would lose my grip on the world. The pressures that kept me grounded suddenly dissipated. No more daily proverbs from my parents about hard work or staying proactive. No more Google calendars to keep my daily life on a regimented schedule. And no more need to find my place in the social hierarchy of high school. I was a bowling ball spinning towards the gutters, with the guide rails suddenly lowered. 2020 was a year of contradictions: It was a year spent lying in a quiet room, trying to silence the thoughts screaming in my head. It was a year spent trying to get a head start on college apps when I hadn’t even started the day by getting out of bed. And most importantly, it was a year spent disconnected yet hyperconnected to the chaos of the world.
In a year without the usual stimulations of joy and excitement from chatting with friends or a tense basketball game, the internet stepped in to fill the void. The tiny handheld screens of our lives stimulated us with fear, angst, and anger as we heard George Floyd beg for his mother with a dying breath. Balled up on my bed, I would watch millions march in the streets, chanting as tear gas filled their lungs. In the darkness of my room, I watched as the scar that divided the nation cut deeper and deeper.
Social media became a deadly battleground, filled with endless antagonism, a brewing ground for polarization and misinformation. And all of this chaos I observed from the comfort of my bed, slowly becoming accustomed to seeing the unimaginable. We are a generation of teenagers overstimulated by information: if you told me aliens are invading the Earth, I would simply shrug and go on about my day.
Uncertain, polarizing, chaotic, unmotivated. 2020 was all those things, yet there were endless silver linings to be found. Even while disconnected, my close friends continued to find ways to be there for each other. Daily FaceTimes with my roommate gave me a sense of normalcy during quarantine, as if, for those brief minutes, we had never really left campus. The pandemic served almost like a great filter, allowing me to focus my energy on things and people I truly cared for, while sifting out the unnecessary parts.
2020 was also a year of discovery. A year where I rediscovered my cultural roots through cooking. I learned just how much went into preparing a meal, how cooking a meal was really an expression of love, and how damn annoying it is to put stuff in the dishwasher. All that I learned only through doing it myself. I discovered that I could live not just as American or Chinese, but rather I could navigate both lanes of identity simultaneously. I discovered that after years of pushing it to the side, my mental health was long overdue for a check-up. I discovered that I could be even more independent, but I could not survive by myself. All that I discovered thanks to the pandemic.
Without a busy schedule to occupy me, my mind was free to roam. Whether it was cooking, cleaning, or simply lying on my bed trying to sleep, I had time to reflect. Three thousand miles away from Pomfret’s campus, away from the need to fit in or impress, I suddenly realized how ridiculous the high-school experience is. And even more ridiculous, it seems now, was how much I used to care about all of it. I spent so much time appealing to others, trying to become some idealized version of a high schooler, when in reality, there is no such thing. No one, and I mean NO ONE, knows what they’re doing.
High school is a kiddie pool. We’re all fallen leaves drifting down a tranquil stream towards the ocean. Now I’m not saying you should just stop doing your homework. I’m saying while you’re still in the river, make some splashes! Blast that Taylor Swift if you want, try that quirky outfit, and stop caring so much about what your peers think. After all, the river only runs so long until it meets the sea.
Finally, I’ll attempt to list the many “firsts” I experienced because of the pandemic, and I hope you’ll do the same. The first time I ... went on a spontaneous road-trip hiked Yosemite’s trails went bald made my own boba discovered Bojack Horseman went on a virtual photoshoot walked from my house to the Pacific Highway made pasta from scratch worked as a nature camp counselor fell in love with indie music confronted my mental health The first time we ... were united in our search for joy within darkness.
Bettina Johnston
Florida
When I was a little kid, I used to fantasize about what it would be like to be a teenager, specifically a high school senior. I used to watch classic movies such as The Breakfast Club, Bring It On, and Grease, and think, “Wow, that looks awesome.” At the time, I truly believed that my high school experience would exactly mimic those movies. Boy was I wrong.
As you can imagine, Covid has seriously impacted my high school experience in unprecedented ways. If someone were to have told me in 2019 that I would have to do my classes online during my junior and senior years because of a global pandemic, I definitely would not have believed them.
After the quarantine, I heard many people say that they took part in a lot of self-discovery and reflection. Honestly, listening to other people’s quarantine experiences made me feel worse about my own, because of how unproductive I realized it was. Over my quarantine, I was discovering myself through binge watching movies and shows on Netflix and HBO. Outer Banks, Money Heist, Big Little Lies, Little Fires Everywhere, Gilmore Girls, I Am Not Okay With This, and Tiger King are just a few of the shows I binge-watched, to give you a little taste of my quarantine library.
Growing up, I loved watching TV and movies. I’ve always known the power of them, and how they can transport you to different places. Although I wasn’t able to go on a plane or leave my house, when I was watching Netflix, I was transported to places like 18th Century France or the Royal Mint in Madrid. Movies have a way of making me feel alive when I need to the most. Dealing with college applications while also spending my junior spring online was anything but fun, but somehow watching Little Women every other night, granting me a twohour-and-fifteen-minute escape, made it a little bit better.
After experiencing so much time away from Pomfret, and hearing so many stories of schools not going back at all, it makes me so much more aware of how unbelievably lucky we were to be able to go back to Pomfret in the fall. Being reunited with my closest friends after six months apart was a feeling that I had been longing for. This quarantine has made me appreciate and miss them more than ever.
In the future, when I look back on my high school experience and my time rewatching some of my quarantine comfort movies, I know that even though I was online for a portion of the best years of my life, quarantine allowed me to reconnect with the joy I felt as a child by transporting me from place to place.
Eddy Akpan
Nigeria
There have been many downsides to the invasion of Covid-19 into our lives, and in particular, our school lives. I’ve chosen to talk about our school lives because, as seniors, this is the most critical time in our education.
This threatening virus holds the world at gunpoint. It has made it so I can only hear teachers through computer audio. It has forced me to look at my fellow classmates — soon to be fellow Pomfret alumni — through an HP computer screen. But, I have found, at times, that I can transfigure the big picture to find the good within it. This drastic change has shown me that I can adapt.
I was incredibly disheartened when I first found out, during a school assembly last spring, that we were all being sent home. I had never done online school before, and I was convinced it would be a very hard transition. I had imagined what school would look like, but I had failed to imagine what school in my house would look like.
When I first began this new scholastic journey, this was a serious problem. I don’t think I am alone in this observation. My home was usually where I’d come to rest and get away from the hustle and bustle of school. School, however, now invaded this safe space. How could I feel like I was really at home if I had to have a class meeting in my own room? And how could I feel like I was at school with my family, pets, and every other house distraction surrounding me? One fact remained: this was going to be my reality for the rest of the spring term.
When we returned to campus in the fall, I told myself this was going to be the only distance period. That was apocryphal.
I am writing this piece now, in another DL period. As much I do not appreciate the fact we are forced to assimilate information through a video call, I am grateful for the opportunity. Experiencing distance learning has prepared me for learning in any type of environment and through any method. I have adapted my learning capability to fit the classroom and the bedroom. And however uncomforting it was, I gained a valuable skill from it. So I would sum up my DL experience as less of a curse and more of a blessing that’s been heavily disguised.
Svea Anderson
North Carolina
The world wept with me as I packed up the life I had known for the past six months. Gray light filled my room until all the colors I had pasted on my beige wall were reduced to a desolate ash. Slowly, I pulled open the drawers of my desk and rummaged through the treasure chest that it had become. Corrected tests saturated in purple. Green pens with missing caps hastily thrown in after a long night. A red and black team photo crushed and wrinkled at the seams. Notes from a night where we huddled under blue light and wrote wishful notes to our future selves. But as quickly as they were found, these red, blue, purple, and green memories were packed away. And right then, I wept for my losses, and the sky wept with me.
I know this sounds like just a yearning for what could’ve been. But that gloomy day, I wept for my neighbors whose lives have been uprooted. I wept for the pain of my kinship and the cold blood drawn from their veins. The wounds cut deeper when you see yourself in the faces of the casualties.
I’m lucky to have something to miss, but it would be terribly naive of me to ignore the catastrophe awaiting at my doorstep. There has not been a single day that has passed when I don’t wonder how our world will ever recover from this, how we will once again open our doors and finally breathe. When strangers will mumble apologies after bumping shoulders on a bustling street or when friends will point out an amber sunset from the window of a restaurant.
We have lost the subtleties of everyday life, and that is what we miss the most. As we watch the world pass by through our windows, it is hard to ever think of a time when the world won’t be gray anymore or if we will ever be okay again. Though my dreary thoughts have stuck with me, I found solace the other day sitting on the doorstep of my house. The world had stilled around me as it had done for the past few weeks. It felt silly sitting there, trying to find enjoyment during a time of crisis. But it was then that I saw a bee land on a flower next to me. Its yellow body hovering curiously above delicate rose petals. And as strange as it sounds, I smiled at the sight of the buzzing creature. You see, bumblebees aren’t aware of the state of the world. They know nothing of sickness, death, or violence. They only know one thing, only know one dance. Their blissful ignorance reminded me that the world still turns in the face of trauma. Bees still pollinate, and flowers still bloom. The tree outside my window will still drop white flowers, and my neighbor’s dogwood will flourish into a brilliant magenta. It is easy to drown in fear until the world around us becomes ghostly, but much like bees, we only have one job: to carry on. We have one dance that we must learn, and all we will do is whirl and leap until the color of our world returns.
Jackson Partilla
New York, NY
The other night my mom and I went out to get sushi. We sat down in the modified outdoor-butindoor seating area that most NYC restaurants have had to erect due to the cold temperatures and strict restrictions. The waitress came around and guided us to the QR code for the menu, and we proceeded to order. Although somewhat sheltered from the cold, it was still 25 degrees and freezing. I thought to myself for probably the 500th time this year, “What the heck is going on?”
Last spring, as we began to hear the news about Covid and learned that we would not be returning to campus, I thought this would be over in a couple of weeks, maybe a couple of months at worst. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine the current situation that we are in.
Being from New York City, I saw firsthand how awful and vile this virus truly was. During the spring distance learning period, after my assignments were completed for the day, my family would eat dinner together and then proceed to the living room where we would watch the nightly news and Covid briefings. We would see the anchor announce the grim death toll every night and ask ourselves when will this be over. I would watch these briefings and get the same powerless feeling each night. Knowing that there is nothing I could do to change what was happening.
I watched as each day more refrigerated trucks made their way to NYC, and I became more and more grateful that I was still able to wake up every morning next to my family. Although many little annoying things made their way into daily life, such as mask wearing, I had to put it in perspective because so many people had it worse than me. Throughout the summer I resided at my house in a small beach town in New Jersey. I would wake up, work out in the morning, and finish the day at the beach. But this routine began to grow old, and I was eager to get back to school.
When I heard that we planned to go back in the fall I was ecstatic. I could not wait to get back to the Hilltop, where I could return to being my best self and hang out with all my friends again. It was probably the first time in my life where I was actually excited to go back to school and attend class again. Covid had turned life upside down, and I was looking forward to returning to a sense of normalcy.
Being on campus felt like a breath of fresh air for me. Walking to my classes every morning, getting a chocolate chip muffin from the Tuck, playing sports each afternoon, and returning to the dorm in the evening were all things that I had missed deeply while at home. I was so happy to be at school.
Covid still remained, though, a constant threat to campus. Nearby schools began to get cases, and the surrounding area turned into high risk, but each day I could only “control the controllables,” as Coach Burke reminded the soccer team regularly. We had some speed bumps along the way, but for the most part, being at school was the highlight of my 2020. There is nothing that can replicate the sense of community that is felt while being on a boarding school campus.
I have certainly faced many losses and disappointments of my own this year. Senior year is one of the best parts of growing up and it has been tough not having a normal year. One of the hardest pills to swallow is knowing that I will likely not wear the Pomfret soccer jersey again. Do not get me wrong, I enjoyed every minute of soccer practice this year, but I was really looking forward to leading my team through a normal season with my fellow seniors and playing real games. When I heard the news that our return to campus would be delayed by several months this winter, I was quite frustrated. However, at the same time, as I reflect on what this past year has brought me, I truly have enjoyed being home with my family for an extended period. I have appreciated the extra time Covid has granted us. It is my hope that we return to campus as expected, and I look forward to seeing Mr. Rodman and his chocolate chip muffins each morning as I start my day.
Samia Segal
New York, NY
Dissimilar to my peers, I began to pack up my room at Orchard Cottage in early January of 2020. After being accepted to a small program for the spring semester, I knew in December that I would not be returning to Pomfret until fall of 2020. So, in a way, I was lucky knowing that I needed to say my goodbyes then, for what would be seven months without seeing my friends. But the greater Pomfret community, and the entire world for that matter, did not have this same privilege.
I remember the news stories, beginning in early March, about this “novel coronavirus” that had started in China, and was slowly making its way through Italy and Western Europe. At first, nobody really talked about it, and if they did, it was purely a method of comedy. But as the cases drew closer and the death toll rose slowly, the realness of this virus started to kick in. What was going on?
I arrived home, completing my final trip through an airport without a mask. And even though my mother is a doctor, the lack of information I seemed to have was tough to comprehend. When can I see my friends? When will I be able to travel and visit family? When can I drive to the grocery store and shop without a mask? I kept asking questions and no one had answers.
In retrospect, these concerns were valid, and I am almost certain that most others had these same wonders in April or May, too. I had been separated — suddenly — from the place I had learned to love so much, without any glimpse of when I’d be able to go back. And as our “return” date got pushed further and further out of reach, I became aware that this was not just a two-week vacation. This was real, and this was not going to be easy.
I am lucky that I was able to spend time doing the things I love most: painting, reading, and laying in the sun. But the gratitude I have for the paintbrushes and books that kept me entertained the entire summer is newer than I think I’d like it to be. At the time, I was desperate for something to keep my attention away from the chaos circling my head. An activity which was no more than a means of distraction. But today I am thankful for the peace and solitude I could find, whenever I needed it, just me and my book.
There is no question that quarantine was hard. I was physically and mentally isolated from all I had ever known. If it weren’t for FaceTime and the newcomer, Zoom, I am not quite sure how I would have gotten through this. But as I move forward and carry what I’ve learned from the time I spent alone, I see myself as an individual growing from these isolated months in more ways than I could have ever understood at the time.
Michaela Nsubuga
Connecticut
This is my sincere reflection on this time of mass infection:
Going home...
Who knew one school meeting would become an unforgettable moment in so many of our lives? That fateful meeting was the last time our community gathered in one place; from the balcony, to the plastic fold up chairs, to the alcove of standing faculty, and to the rows of red seats, we heard these fateful words, “You will all be going home.”
This is where my story begins.
As much as this moment may have brought many in our community a sense of sadness, I will forever cherish this day because, for me, that is not what this day represents. This day represents all that this community is: a family. Together we packed, cried, and joked, all while supporting one another. It was in this moment that I truly realized how special and important Pomfret was to me. I guess what they say is true, you never really appreciate something until it is gone. Home....
Quarantine taught me many things, and quite honestly challenged me in ways that I didn't think were possible. When I first got home, I was incredibly optimistic. I was so optimistic that I refused to unpack; claiming we would be returning to campus soon, so there was no point in unpacking. My optimism, however, eventually waned when we were officially told we would not be returning for the remainder of the year. All too quickly, the idea of “distance learning” was no longer a fun trial period we would joke about later, but our reality. The dining table, which usually housed placemats, soon became my sister’s and my desk — housing piles of textbooks and notebooks. I would wake up each morning, get ready, and sit at the dining table across from my sister. Together we sat, both on Zoom or occupied with various assignments, until my sister would finish her work, leaving me to continue mine. I would sit at the table until the time came for me to cook dinner. Lesson number one: I knew how to cook, but I can’t say I had ever cooked this often until this quarantine, and that was a lesson in itself.
Most nights my sister and I ate dinner by ourselves, as our Mum was still at work. You see, my Mum is a nurse, and is on the front lines at the hospital, which meant that our quarantine was a lot different from many other people. My Mum would come home and try to distance herself from us — and let me tell you, in-home social distancing is not an easy feat. This left my sister and me to our own devices most days, and quite quickly I fell into a lackluster routine.
The days began to blur, and I lost track of the date; all I knew was that I had homework and it was due in a particular number of days. Like many others, my motivation fluctuated throughout this period, but I learned how to hold myself accountable, and with each day I got through, I saw that as a win.
Almost an anniversary...
2020 was a rollercoaster of a year filled with ups, downs, stagnation, loses, and successes. I write this paper approaching the one year anniversary of where it all started. I am in the same space I was last March (literally), at home, but I am not the same person.
I have learned how to better organize myself and manage the beast that is online learning. I have grown closer to my sister. I can now honestly say that I know how to cook. I have learned the value of my relationships, and the effort it requires to nourish them.
During quarantine, I put myself out of my comfort zone, ran for school president, and found success. I learned how to connect with people virtually and how to bring people together in meaningful ways.
I have evolved since last March. However, beyond quarantine’s sentimentality, if there is one thing to take away from this, it is that we are much stronger than we think; if we can come this far, then we can go even farther.
