STAYING IN: Issue I. May, 2020

Statement from the Editor The ongoing COVID-19 pandemic is, without any new surprise, wreaking havoc on the everyday formalities of existing as a functional human being. For many, reassurance through a communal experience is largely focused on specific groups; those deemed important by overarching ideologies and narratives. There is more mainstream disclosure on how difficult it is to be an individual within a nuclear set up, and within a middle-aged, professional environment. The subsequent empathetic channels of fiscal distribution for relief to these group function as such . Although there has been perpetuated stigma that depicts the detriment that young adults produce within the current health situation, such as recklessness at parks, or through socialization, there has been a lack of alternative documentation on the cause and effects of middle aged engagement with market economics, and the toll that continually engaging with jobs through physical presence has had on the healthcare system as well. Much of this work perpetuates as essential, while the income of young adults through the service industry and low skill market is cut. Young adults who do not have the same level of job security, emergency planning or savings behind them become silenced from the discourse.

Creating an increased dialogue between the voices of diverse people is one way of increasing empowerment within that community, and allowing inclusivity and further intrusion from periphery to core status within the mainstream. In trying times, it is often hard to articulate our own experiences, but when given the opportunity, this exchange of experience opens up empathetic channels of vulnerability for humanity to find comfort in. Therefore the subsequent purpose of this Zine, is to actively engage with, and to pay mindfulness to the demographic of young adults regarding their experience with the pandemic.

Comparable to the work of film festivals as spaces of intimacy and self representation, this zine seeks to allow engagement and outlet for many young adults to come together through their own experience to create collective community space and central thesis, even with the barriers to success such as formal allocations of physical space. Similar to the work of the initial New York zine scene as allocated by the provisions of the Xerox machine, this zine has been made possible by the advancing connectivity of technology. In this instance, through the work of self scanning and online communication mechanisms, and through the utility of social media as a means of connection and communal writing and sharing platforms. Through bypassing formal institutions for publication, there is an increased freedom towards these pieces that has generated the space for other young adults to see their experience represented, and have further power and safety in knowing that they are not alone.

This work connects four visual artists and five authors together in a medium that although individually anonymous, explicates a reality familiar for many. This merging of performativity and private truth is something that harkens back to the original alternative purpose of zines, and encourages others to join the community through saturation within distribution. Through the distribution and reception of this zine, the objective is to produce both safe spaces for people to challenge themselves within the isolation they find themselves, and to counter their situation by rearticulating their presence as one of many, an activist agenda of not being complacent or forgotten, of demanding recognition from the institutions that seek to curate narratives for these young adults.

A Little Bit You know how sometimes; despite everything, you start to feel like this is normal? Like, you know logically it’s not, and this is crazy. BUT, then you just get so used to whatever routine you’re stuck in you start to feel like it’s, you know, routine. It’s like when you stay in a hotel or at a friend’s house and catch yourself saying something like “let’s go home”, while referring to your temporary room. It’s not your home and you feel a little weird saying it, but functionally, for that time and place, it is. At least for a little while.

I think people are really good at falling into whatever situation you stick them with, at least most of the time. It would be exhausting to be constantly aware of how fucked up everything is. So, you make a new normal. You start calling it home.

And then you’re watching the news because there’s nothing else on. Everything is news now. And you can’t quite keep it up anymore. And everything hits you and you realize yeah; the world is ending. At least a little bit. At least for now. And you can’t quite make that feel normal.

I don’t really know where I was going with this. It’s not really profound or novel. Everyone knows we’re a generation that basically goes from one world ending event to another. Y2K was supposed to kill us pretty much as soon as we were born, and then 9/11, followed up with a Great Recession, then it was one climate catastrophes after another, with some political unrest and threats of nuclear annihilation sprinkled throughout to spice up the day to day. If anything, this sort of is normal, or a flavour of it at least. It’s funny, with all the looming threats of the world ending I’ve just gotten used to having in the back of my mind, I never thought of this one. Shows how helpful worrying is I guess. I don’t know. Like I said I don’t have anything profound to say with this. It just feels like we’ve never gotten a chance to get comfortable. Not that it’s stopped us from trying.

Thoughts from the (Almost) Island I genuinely never thought it would get this bad.

And I fear I am not alone in this.

Just yesterday I was at the gym wondering why everyone was being so paranoid; people wiping down all the equipment for you, and putting hand sanitizer absolutely everywhere!

I thought it was all a bit excessive.

We didn’t even have a confirmed case in Nova Scotia yet.

Clearly, I’d never entertained the possibility that my first world, small-ish Canadian city would ever be affected. In my defense, I’d never had to before.

Only a week before the schools closed, my philosophy professor joked that “The good thing about living on a Canadian almostisland is that nobody comes here!” She never believed that all the planning the administrators were doing in order to prepare for the university to close (we didn’t know if it would then) would ever be worth anything.

I grew up watching reports of war, natural disasters and pandemics on the news.

We’d sit back and think “how terrible for them”, and perhaps ponder, for a moment, how it must feel to actually live through what we were witnessing.

Normally I hated it, seeing those images.

I often said “I have an overactive imagination as it is, so I’d really rather not experience the visuals, thanks”.

The most I might have ever engaged with tragedy was in class. Some of us keeners would get into UFC-worthy fights over what to do about a particular issue. From a distance we could rationalize our way through the problem; analytically weighing one value against another.

I never acknowledged the mercy of that distance back then.

I sat on my couch just a few weeks ago listening to a friend tell me about what was going on in China. There was some new virus? I approached the issue the same way I always had: mild contemplation, an acknowledgement of how hard that must be for those people, and I totally forgot about it.

It is amazing how truly uninformed University students can be.

My squat blue house in downtown Halifax, drowned by office buildings, is a tiny haven that holds my tiny student life. It’s a place where I worry almost exclusively about how to remember the difference between afferent and efferent neurons, and to make a meal that consists of anything other than popcorn and cheese.

With a distinct lack of cable TV and my social media pages clogged up with memes and feminist jokes, I genuinely heard very little about COVID-19 until it was unabashedly in my face.

I thought it was so true that I’m sure I repeated the sentiment three or four times in the following days.

Now, and not for the first time in my life, I desperately wish I could go back and retract the joke each time it was made.

Even as I witnessed it I barely believed in the significance of the events. The restrictions, as they set in felt more like bureaucratic necessities. A way for the University to cover its ass in case a student got sick.

I was a part of a majority group of people who knew to some extent what was going on, but who let the details remain ambiguous, and never acknowledging the worst-case scenario. Each time another restriction was imposed, I naively assumed that was the end of it. That Friday, time sped up and it hasn’t slowed since.

I was at a bar the night after we got informed about the school closure. Giddy with our luck at having our exams online and open book, my friends and I were somehow still blissfully unaware of just how serious the situation was.

Sure, hand hygiene was important, and it’s not like we went around licking bus seats, but I still imagined online school in a sunny tableau. Me in a coffee shop, cappuccino in hand, comfortably moving through my Neuroscience lectures at my own pace.

The next day the bars and restaurants were closed.

People at the supermarket had masks covering their faces, every ounce of cleaning supply was gone, and not a single store was open for business. I somehow managed to get one last work out in before getting the note that the gyms closed, that morning. That said, I am finally accepting how much worse this is to media fire and every kid growing up since the early 2000’s has experienced this through other But

the COVID-19 crisis pairs ambiguity with longevity. As long as people are infected, news stories can keep getting spat out daily and do absolutely nothing to calm or inform me.

We’re all worried, the whole world is.

The world is going into lock down, yet the news stations are thriving. I’ve made the mistake, once or twice now, of watching some quick updates on YouTube, and it never does anything to reassure me. Rather, panic quickly rises, followed by a plethora of unanswerable questions: When will this end? How many people are going to get infected? Will my family be okay? Will I get infected?

How bad is the virus? How bad are the symptoms? How many people are going to die?.....Do I know anybody who could die? What will happen if someone I love gets sick and dies? And the thoughts keep spiraling.

Flash forward. I have no idea what time it is.

Saturday felt like Thursday and today feels like Friday.

I woke up at 9AM and it’s 6 PM even though I’ve only been awake for 3 hours.

I think?

This is self-isolation. And I’m not joking. The endless scrolling through Instagram, which has now made up a large portion of my life is surely rotting my brain and leaving me with the totally untransferable skill of being able to recite every meme by heart. Somehow, holding onto concrete objects or following a small routine in the morning helps bring me out of my head and back to my body. Where normally I’d have a class, dance practice or lab to go to, my days are empty, making it easier to pretend that I have more time than I do to get my homework done. By the time I’ve messed around aimlessly in my kitchen and meandered my way over to my desk, it’s noon and I don’t get much work done; maybe a couple of hours of lectures, but I’m distracted. In reality my day is filled with calling and messaging people I haven't heard from in months or years, just to catch up and see where they are in the world and see how they’re coping with the situation.

This has been a small, but significant blessing.

Suddenly reaching out to people doesn’t feel scary or intrusive, rather there is a sense that we all crave it although not so much from boredom….yet. It’s more so a way to keep a grip on familiarity, when life feels unfamiliar; even if that means retreating to memories and past relationships. That said, I’m worried about my loved ones.

All I can say is that a global pandemic is certainly a unique way to force independence on young adults.

And in truth, I don’t mind it. This doesn’t stop my parents from calling daily, reminding me of how scared I should be (supper helpful). That this is a serious illness not to be messed with and that I need to be taking every precaution. This may be true, and I do, but life still goes on. I had to ask them to stop calling unless the news was positive. It was all getting to be too much. This isn’t me.

Each time a friends asks to come over because they are bored or struggling with being alone, my desire to wrap them up and protect them gets overshadowed by the reality that helping, in this case, means the opposite of welcoming people into my home…..and my hugs. Instead, I have become a strange automaton version of myself, constantly pushing people away, for the good of the collective.

The other day, I phoned a friend to chat. she’d gone through all the statistics posted online by Statistics Canada and came out with her own set data: attempted answers to my questions earlier on: how many people were projected to get sick and how fast, which demographics were most at risk.

How many people were projected to die and from which age groups.

From this she’d managed to translate this information to her school's, town’s and province’s population. I’m sure for her, this must be a coping mechanism, but to me it sounds like busy work.

Why bother knowing any of this if I can’t do anything about it?

What will be, will be.

Perhaps a little fatalistic, but, honest, I think.

I like to sit in my cozy blue house at night and think about the whole world hiding out in solidarity. The streets are quiet and looking up at the night sky gives me a calming sense of security, like we’re all just locking down, ready for a crazy roller coaster ride that we know will have to end at some point.

I’m looking forward to that day.

Love in A Time of Corona When I first got quarantined, it was in a tiny dorm room with a guy I’d met on Tinder a month before. I’ve never had the best luck dating, in fact sort of the exact opposite, so this situation should probably have been a terrifying prospect destined for disaster, but somehow it just seemed to work. Quarantine spoke to a bunch of twisted millennial fantasies I had and would never have been able to act on, and it was sort of perfect for me.

And it has been for a lot of people. But let me explain.

We’re a very lonely generation. No, not because of phones, or because we don’t value face to face interaction anymore, or whatever bullshit your uncle says. We’re lonely because we aren’t comfortable with, or allowed to be, alone, so when we are, we feel guilty.

Think about it, how many friends do your parents have?

How about your grandparents? If you only talked to that many people regularly, wouldn’t you feel like you were left out of something? But how many times do you hear your grandparents complain about having no friends? And not only are we expected to have more friends, and constant interaction with them, we’re expected to be constantly striving for better, for the best. We can’t stay home, we have to go out and meet people. You can’t just settle down, you need to spend years making sure the person you’re with is the best possible person for you, and that means sifting through hundreds of faces and profiles knowing there might always be someone better just waiting for you on the outside of your swipe allowance for the day.

Millennials have this weird split identity about these things. On one hand, we’re the generation of gifted kid burnouts and Tinder entrepreneurs, people who grew up thinking we had to be exceptional to be acceptable. But this constant striving has a side effect, a weird fetish for the domestic. It’s so comforting to fantasize about a world where we can just settle. One where we can stay home, with a spouse we love, maybe a kid, and go to a job that doesn’t require we “grind”, and never feel guilty about not doing more than that. My greatest dream is a weird warping of the life my mother’s feminists were fighting against women having to lead, and I feel fucking terrible about it. I’m sure I’m not the only one like this.

This is where quarantine comes in. Is it mostly stiffling and horrible? Yes. Of course. But is there a tiny bit of relief in having no expectations left to conform to? Kind of! No one expects you to have a normal sleep schedule for one. More importantly, you don’t have to hang out with anyone. You choose who you Zoom baby. I don’t have to be going to parties and meeting people, in fact, I legally can’t! My friends are equally aimless for once, so response times have shot up. People can hardly be dating around, so me and all my friends have ended up doing the unthinkable and just picking a person we like, and talking to them.

I could not have known before this how deeply Zoom dates speak to desires I didn’t know I had. As a fucked up kid without friends whose greatest fear was people leaving, a situation where people are literally, legally stuck with me is a fucking kink. And yeah, I know that’s fucked up. And I know life before was better, don’t get me wrong. I miss sex. I miss it so much. And I really miss physical contact. And I miss hanging out with people who aren’t my family. I miss looking out the window and seeing people on the street, I didn’t realize how much I cared about that. This is a time manufactured to be lonely, and despite all I said before I’m not immune to that. But I’m hoping, that after all this is over maybe we take something from it. I’m never gonna feel obligated to be social again. I am gonna cherish the first bullshit party I have to go to. And leaving the house will not feel like a chore for a good while. But I’m also gonna try and remember that the people I have are more than enough for me, and we don’t need crazy events or activities to keep us interesting.

People find a way to enjoy each other, even if you’re stuck miles apart. And I wanna remember that.

And also have sex. Like, as soon as possible.

It’s the day after my 22nd birthday. I am months into the newness and I’ve found myself at this rooftop bar for the second time, likely in an effort to make this a regular spot.

I live on the other side of London, so it won’t be, but at 22 and a day I don’t know this. I’m here with my best friend, weaving through the clusters of people towards the toilets when I turn to my right and pause. There is an empty window frame looking out onto the rooftop.

It’s slightly ratty but it’s dark inside and I’m too distracted to notice. I am mesmerized by the sight beyond it. It’s nearly nine o’clock and the blue sky is streaked with bubblegum pink.

There’s a low yellow glow coming from the bulbs strung across the bar and beneath them, the people. Through the frame I am watching them float between groups, holding drinks, waists, laughing and engaged. People gathering on floors and tables or leaning against the railings that line the edge. I am so unaware that in time I’ll be a part of similar pictures. Ahead of me are nights in basement pubs where I am laughing so hard, I’m snorting, afternoons in the park with bread and wine and books and kind company, days waking in a friend’s bed to coffee and croissants and the soft language that starts the morning. There is tender, hellacious happiness ahead. Here, on this rooftop, I am as foreign to this fact as I am to the people on the other side of the chipping window frame. I simply do not know.

Today, I am sat on the sofa in a relatively new flat. I am lost in a new kind of newness, as is my flatmate, as are my neighbours, as is the rest of the world. The day has passed as most do—I walk my dog, I read on the balcony, I look out to the neighbours who are looking out at theirs. I am grateful for the bright sky and the speakers across the road

blaring music that echoes in our little world. I have become well acquainted with the men whose home looks onto our building’s carpark. The way they time their emergence with when the afternoon sun turns to light up their patio furniture when the afternoon sun turns to light up their patio furniture.

to light up their patio furniture. The beers and the scrolling through phones and the barbeque if they can swing it. There is a woman who sunbathes in her small garden every day without fail. Two units up and one over a couple will sit drinking their coffee or tea, occasionally looking to the skyline or us, my flatmate and I, leaned against the balcony edge, taking in the air. I know none of my neighbours’ names. I don’t know their jobs, if they have them. I don’t know where they shop, how they spend their Friday nights, who they voted for. I don’t know if they are single, engaged, married, if they are from the city or if they moved here. I just light up to see them here too.

The world is in motion and I am a happy participant. These words sit beneath the picture I took and posted on that rooftop those many, many months ago. I think of it today even though the world feels a pastel blue, verging-on-white kind of still. I am reminded of a passage by one of my favourite writers, Rebecca Solnit. ‘To be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery. And one does not get lost but loses oneself, with the implication that it is a conscious choice, a chosen surrender.’ I think I’ve spent much of my life trying to befriend the unknown because to me it’s been a space bursting with possibility. If you don’t lose yourself in it, what lessons are lost? Where we’ve found ourselves now is in the midst of an unknowing. Our worlds have been upturned and as I see it there are two ways to move forward: we can allow ourselves to get lost in the fear and chaos, by far the easier route, or we can choose, quite fearlessly, to lose ourselves in this new landscape with an eye to what it might teach us for when we finally emerge onto familiar land.

I choose the latter, not the very least because to not would be to face great pain with helpless hands, life slipping through the gaps between our fingers. I stay sane by refusing the idea that the events of the

world have cost me my days and rendered them useless. Let this time be an opportunity.

Let it mean something.

In her same book, A Field Guide to Getting Lost for those curious, I’ve marked another passage Solnit wrote. ‘I worry now that many people never disband their armies, never go beyond what they know. Advertising, alarmist news, technology, incessant busyness, and the design of public and private space conspire to make it so.’ She couldn’t know that in a decade and a half we’d be forced to disband in this way, that the structures of our lives would crumble to ruins in the matter of days. That we would be thrown into the beyond, the uncanny landscape where we now struggle to navigate our every day. Public space or private, this is new. We are all strangers here. We go about the day trying not to think about things beyond our control, while our Whatsapps are littered with forwards from concerned friends and family warning us of missing Chinese doctors and government coverups. Graphs without sources. Faked statistics. I have to laugh so I won’t cry at some of these articles, only to then worry for people who fall victim to fearmongering disguised as journalism. Yet equally, or perhaps more so, technology has given us community. It has gifted me my mother’s face in Richmond Hill and my father’s voice in Tehran. I watch friends from all over—London, Leiden, Beijing, Toronto—as they adopt new hobbies or invest time in old ones. I read poetry that resonates and essays that inspire. Recipes shared.

Concerts for charity. Articles for hope. What Solnit describes as incessant busyness has given way to creation and self-care, and to caring for each other. We organize applause for frontline workers, donate meals to medical staff, sign up as community volunteers. We talk and we listen. We offer help and receive it. We are present for each other. Virtually, of course. And in person, where we can. I’ve watched neighbours catching up from their front steps, people offering their place in a long queue for elderly shoppers, mothers planting Easter eggs for their children and asking that they leave some behind for the others in the building.

We care for one another, and more importantly, we show it. Please, let’s not forget this.

I was brought back to that moment on the rooftop earlier this week when I came across the photo on my phone. From this balcony to that window, that time of unknowing

to the one we’re in. Hope tangled up in both. I don’t know when we’ll come out of this and none of us can feign any control over the matter.

So let us be present in the meanwhile and hope for a better tomorrow. Let’s make note of what brings joy, what doesn’t. What have we missed? What do we crave? What are we surprised by? What causes disbelief? What do we believe? Who do we believe? Who do we turn to? Who turns to us? Who and what do we support? Who and what has let us down?

What feels right? What feels wrong? Can we learn from it? What do we wish for? What do we fight for? Who do we fight for? Can we fight harder? When does fighting feel tiring?

How can we take a break? Do we take a break?

When it’s silent, where do we go? What do we take with? What do we hear? How do we listen? How will we listen? How do we act? How will we act? What do we want our world to look like? How do we get there?

The world is in motion and we are participating. The world is slowing and we are participating. The world has stilled and we are participating, which is to say we are here. We are here. This is our world, yet.

For the most part, living in quarantine is going well for me. As an introverted homebody I’m not really that bothered that the bars and shops are closed, that I’m not on campus or attending in-person lectures, or even that we need to limit going outside. This ease with my situation is certainly influenced by the fact that I have sufficient food, that a number of my housemates and friends are with me and that I am not, in fact, bored. I have too much schoolwork to be bored, and the efforts towards this have been a mixed bag.

Quarantine is both a help and a hindrance in terms of my academics. It’s not helpful that my professors and TA’s are harder to access at this point. Email and other online forms of communication don’t necessarily satisfy those highly particular questions you end up having at times. I’m not thrilled that my grade potential for one class has been shot by the need to rework grade weights. When we first entered the quarantine period, I had 50% of a grade left up for grabs in a class I’ve been struggling with – that’s now down to 34%, and at best, I’ll get some sort of C. Getting everything done has become an exercise in self discipline, which has proven to be harder when trying to stick to a schedule. However, outside of this immediate stress, I am almost hesitant to disclose that this is the most relaxed I have been in months. After six months of school, job, volunteering, sport and a few other extracurriculars, I haven’t had this much time at home with even just the potential to sit back and refuse to do anything since what feels to be last summer. Perhaps that sounds like a bit of an exaggeration – but I’m surely not the only undergraduate student who finds that a break from school has allowed me a mental breather.

With a news stream of dedicated and deserving healthcare workers, stressed government officials and grocery staff, and a death rate that is steadily climbing it feels inappropriate to be grateful that for now the primary thing this

pandemic has given to me is a much-needed break from life. Instead, I have been able to enjoy past times usually harder to fit into my schedule. The first I should mention would be sleep, as I have in fact slept in, returned to bed, or otherwise disrupted my sleep schedule with great dedication mostly every day since quarantine first began. I have also read, watched TV, listened to music and done some crafting. My housemate has started to paint gorgeous rock paintings. Another is taking the opportunity to pack for her big move to a new apartment. We spent an hour the other day spring cleaning the house, and vacuuming up spider’s webs, dead flies and dust. My kitchen windows are much improved.

I’ve also gotten on the Zoom and video-call train at full speed. I spent three hours on Facetime with dear friends from my elementary, arranged for Skype to happen with middle school friends shortly after, Facetimed one or two university friends and had great fun participating in a family Zoom call! It’s pretty fun having three or four generations on Zoom playing with backgrounds, bringing out a full explanation of the Tiger King series, figuring out cameras and muting and Zoom settings and more. My cousin set his background to a dog pooping which my great-aunt just couldn’t get over, and my brother set his background to a screenshot of himself and waited for the family to notice before popping up from under his computer to surprise everyone. We had a pretty fabulous time taking lunch together, talking all over each other and generally just being silly.

With the good comes the bad, and I’ve found that the personal nature of a video-call tends to bring the far more serious side of things closer to me, in my somewhat insulated daily existence. When the lives and stories of others are presented as statistics, news articles and disaster reporting on our phone or computer

screens, the events of the world don’t feel so close and personal to us. It’s all on TV, Facebook, social media and happening elsewhere, probably to people we don’t know.

Video-calling changes all that. My mum is far more inclined to tell me about her mounting worries when I Facetime her than when I message our family group chat, a tiny component of what is now the norm for interpersonal relations.

when England started raising the alarm. The other friend three weeks back had been in contact with another who was shortly after diagnosed. So far, she has remained without symptoms, but she may be an asymptomatic carrier. They aren’t the only individuals I know of personally who have been touched by the disease. More recently sobering was the news of the death of a good friend of my grandfather’s, who lived in Europe and was just over seventy.

While not a friend of my own, for years my This connectivity is important, regardless of the grandad has been in the habit of forwarding to physical element of it. At the moment, I’m me research, news and other tidbits that he quarantined apart from my family. My parents himself had received from his friend. As such, and younger sister live in England. They were this man has been a consistent presence in my set to move back to Canada this summer, but life (or inbox) over time, despite our lack of my sister’s early release from school has pushed personal connection. Two weeks ago, it was that planned timeline forwards and they hope with a familiar amusement that I opened the to be able to return to Canada in May and latest email regarding correspondence of my quarantine themselves in my childhood home grandad’s friend, only to take a sort of mental here. That will depend on the state of step back when I realized that what I had international travel in a month’s time. Despite received was a death notice. Somewhat isolated the uncertain nature of the moving plans in the here in fairly healthy Kingston, news of the midst of a quarantine, the thought that death of a man within my larger community sometime soon they will be back in Canada with starts to drive home the tragedy occurring me is buoying. It’s far from comforting to globally. consider the distance between us, and I try not to think too hard on the state of the UK at the In the grimmest thoughts I entertain right now, moment. Canada may not be free of the disease, I think it is hard to imagine what it must be like but we’re doing a sight better than England to have a loved one die from this. right now. It’s a bit nerve-wracking to have my On a global scale a resolution seems even more parents, who are in their fifties, alone over there with my ten-year-old sister. With nearly a unclear. What a recovery looks like from the hundred thousand cases and over ten thousand effects of the virus on people, communities, employment and recreation appears mired in deaths I would like them out of that country as doubt and confusion. This in part is fueled by soon as possible. the fact that the current strongest example may Similar to the worry I feel for my parents still in be China – a country facing mounting England is my worry for old friends over there accusations of stifling reporting, case numbers too. Two of those who live in England spoke to and dissemination of truthful information in me about how they reasonably believed they order to re-establish an image of strength at have already been exposed to the virus. One of home and abroad. As such, it seems the only these friends said that a month ago she had sure thing right now is that everyone has been very sick and experienced many of the questions, and no one has the answers needed. flagged symptoms. With testing low and reports Which largely seems to cycle me back to my and measures in England still loose at that first thought – that as an individual the clearest time, there are decent chances she did indeed next step seems to be continuing on with the have coronavirus and didn’t know. She rest of my responsibilities as best I can, and recounted to us how without the alert and otherwise take the break presented in the midst guidelines present worldwide right now, she of the business of life. had simply gone about her usual activities