My parents told me to go start a fire today. I think that says a lot about how my quarantine is going. I think that also says a lot about how my senior year of high school is going.
This suggestion came to be when I was sitting in my living room, sobbing over an essay for English class about the coronavirus. The essay instructions were to describe how I feel and how the virus is affecting me. I found myself having difficulty putting my feelings into words.
Because there are people in much worse circumstances than me, I feel guilty for feeling.
I have been contemplating the words of C.S. Lewis, the author of "The Chronicles of Narnia" and "A Grief Observed." These words have resonated differently with me lately; Mr. Lewis wrote, "We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program."
My generation never anticipated sufferings of this magnitude in our lifetime. C.S. Lewis also wrote, "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing."
We are grieving. The class of 2020 has been forced to forego multiple, traditional milestones serving as hallmarks in people's lives including our senior prom, senior class awards day, the last full days with our classmates, and most importantly -- graduation.
Since beginning school, we have eagerly anticipated and diligently worked toward these events. It was our turn.
We grieve for the lost time, the lost celebrations. These milestones are rites of passage. We mourn them. In addition to our class, those who understand this grief best are our parents and our teachers. With all due respect, very few others can closely understand.
Onlookers do their best to show sympathy, but this is not just a snow day. We do not even get to clean out our lockers. We are living a coming of age story that no one has ever experienced. Therefore, we respectfully ask that you stop trying to replace that of which we have been robbed.
We understand that you are trying to help, but wonder if you are trying to preserve our memories or yours.
The class of 2020 has been told many things. A few of my favorites are, "At least you are not being called to war," and "These are not trying times." We understand that these statements are an attempt to normalize our situation, but they do not. Comments like these are grossly insensitive.
Saying, "At least you are not being called to war" is akin to telling a recently-orphaned child that their parent is "in a better place now." Yes, worse things could have happened than our senior year of high school being hijacked by this invisible terrorist, but that truth does not give solace to the fact that we still want to celebrate, together, the milestones provided by the last few months of our childhood.
That very statement also implies that our feelings are invalid and selfish, which is untrue. We are being called to war against an invisible enemy that can not be defeated by traditional means. Our battlegrounds are our houses, and the tactics are to avoid the places we'd most like to be at all costs.
Another way onlookers attempt to show support is by posting pictures of themselves in their caps and gowns "in honor of the class of 2020." Scrolling through Facebook posts seeing pictures of alumni in their graduation garb is not soothing. These attempts just twist the knife. Our graduations have been delayed, the formats have been altered, or, in some cases, may not happen at all.
Seeing pictures of you donned in a cap and gown is a reminder that we may not get the opportunity to wear one.
Our graduating class consists largely of the first group of children born after 9/11. We lived through Hurricane Katrina, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, terrorism by Al-Qaeda and ISIS, the Great Recession, the Boston bombing, some of the worst school shootings in America, and now the COVID-19 pandemic.
The development of technology, such as Life360 and other GPS service applications, has led to an era of constant tracking and surveillance. Due to growing up in this age of technology, our norm is helicopter parenting.
We have never known a world in which our parents do not have the means to know where we are at all times. This helicopter parenting has curated a lifestyle in which parents have a hard time allowing their children to leave the nest.
Many parents believe in participation awards. Moms call schools when their children are not chosen for a team to complain. They genuinely believe their child could not have missed the cut. Mama's baby "deserves to have a spot on the team."
In this society, everyone is a winner. Most adults, therefore, tend to think that we, their children, are emotionally immature. To some extent we are, simply because we have been raised having everything handed to and handled for us. We have been raised to believe that life is fair. We have not been equipped with the skills to address feelings of loss, disappointment, or sorrow. We have rarely encountered those emotions.
To our parents: Now is the time to let us go. We will not be living under your roofs for much longer. In a few short months, we will actually be on our own. Some of us will be hours away. We need to learn to identify our feelings and navigate the responses on our own because soon you will not be there to spoonfeed us euphemisms.
This hand-to-mouth situation should be no different. We understand that you want to help. We appreciate the sympathy. No amount of Facebook posts or "Senior Appreciation Days" will replace what we have lost. We feel like the last few moments of our childhood have been stolen.
We have studied for 13 years to walk across a stage, and for some of us, that is still uncertain. We have been told for years that senior year was going to be the best year of our lives.
We said goodbye on the Friday before Spring Break only to find out that we would never return to the places that hold many of the best memories of our last four years without even knowing. Closure is something that we may never get.
On behalf of the class of 2020, we ask — rather than assuming you know how we feel or what we want — that you ask.
What we want more than anything is time. We want our senior prom back, we want more time with our classmates, to rekindle old friendships, and we want to physically walk across a stage in a cap and gown. We desperately want to tell you what is wrong, but we have not been able to put those feelings into words. This is my feeble attempt to do so and to help you understand that we simply need time to grieve. Stop trying to sympathize.
To my peers, the class of 2020: Please know, no matter what anyone tells you, these are trying times. I expected this year to be Elysian. With college decisions already made and most of our grades already turned in, this was supposed to be our semester to relax and enjoy our last moments in our home-away-from-home with our best friends.
We left for spring break praying for these last nine weeks to hurry by, now we would do anything to have it back. I relate to the words of John Mayer, "I want to run through the halls of my high school. I want to scream at the top of my lungs."
Elisabeth Kubler Ross stated in her groundbreaking book, "On Death and Dying," that there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It seems as if I have been taken on a fast track through those stages in the past month. I suppressed those feelings for a while; I felt bad for feeling bad.
I was told that there were worse things than not being able to go to senior prom or getting to wear a college shirt to school on senior day. My classmates and I have been belittled by certain influencers because of our emotions.
After long nights crying with my best friend on FaceTime and several talks with a therapist, I have learned that everything I am feeling is valid. I am following the natural progression of those five stages.
We are allowed to mourn. We lost something that was paramount to us.
We had time with our peers taken from us that we will never get back. We had important milestones stripped from us and never got to say goodbye to the halls, classrooms, and teachers we have grown to love over the past four years.
Our society has long placed a strong emphasis on the last year of high school. Senior year is the year that we are expected to transition from being a child to adulthood.
This transition is built on a culmination of education in the classroom and a transition socially. These social developments must now be fulfilled virtually through an internet connection. Despite what many adults may think, these virtual interactions are not equivalent to face-to-face interactions.
Because many of our parents have left us emotionally inept, many of us have never experienced such a myriad of emotions. As I have stated, most of our generation has unknowingly led very sheltered lives.
If we can find it in our hearts to see the good in this situation, I think it is important that we understand what we feel and keep our long term goals in focus. Please talk to your parents, a teacher, a mentor, or even a counselor about how you are feeling.
Identify your emotions and learn how to process them, because soon we will be on our own and need these skills to cope. We have the right to be upset, but we must make the best of this situation we have been thrust into.
I do not think it would be fair of me to tell you all of this without telling you that, despite this being a trying time, we can and will rise above. We are the first generation born entirely into the age of technology.
We have lived through many monumental events in American history defining our 18 years and will help us to shape the future. We are the doctors and researchers that will proactively seek out new diseases to prevent this from ever happening again.
We are the politicians that will know what the best thing is to do for the country in the case that a pandemic does happen again. We are the teachers that will lead the education system into a digital era and know how to connect with students.
This generation will be the one to make light of this darkness.
I believe that everything happens for a reason. This pandemic will be the catalyst for us to do something magnificent.
In the meantime, while we impatiently await the lifting of safe-at-home and shelter-in-place orders, we must hold our heads high. While easier said than done, we will make it through.
There are a lot of ways to pass the time in quarantine: Take a walk with your dog, "build a rocket, fight a mummy, climb the Eiffel Tower," paint a picture for your mom, learn how to play the ukulele, do yoga, go work out, rearrange your room, plant some flowers, rearrange your room again, teach your dog a new trick, dye your dad's hair, or even teach your dad a TikTok dance.
If social distancing is wearing on your nerves, Zoom call a group of your closest friends, spend more time with your dog, or read an immersive novel.
We have the power and resources to get through this. We need the will to do it. Where one door closes, another one opens. It all just depends on perspective.
We must also have the perspective to understand that we are not the only ones hurting for the loss of our senior year. There are teachers, administrators, underclassmen, upperclassmen, family members, and above all, parents mourning for the loss of our last few months of high school.
They want to make this loss better, but they do not know how. Granted, onlookers may not have asked, but they may not know just what to say.
When you see a Facebook post of an adult in their graduation garb or someone says something unintentionally offensive, I implore you (and myself) to see past the resentment of what we have lost and try to see the well-meaning behind what the adults are trying to do.
It is unprecedented for a modern senior class to have their senior year ripped away from them on such a large scale. No one really knows what to do.
Understand that our parents are mourning with us. These milestones are important to them, too.
We are not alone in grieving over our senior year. Our parents are annoyed by all of the people trying to help and not knowing what to say, too.
If you, like me, find it hard to see the good in how others are trying to sympathize, I suggest we make sure we understand that there are two people that know almost exactly what we are feeling.
As much as our parents have begged for time to stall, they have looked forward to this bittersweet moment. They are going through this mourning with us.
Let us not isolate ourselves in our rooms every day and let resentment devour us.
We have got to keep hope.
If April showers bring May flowers, I am very excited to see what April national shutdowns bring.
To quote my favorite yellow teddy bear, Winnie the Pooh: "You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."
We got this. Stay safe, stay inside, and sane. I love you guys.
Look your best for your at-home graduation ceremony with this adorable white dress and make sure you have the best view of your ceremony with this projector!
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