This essay has been extremely difficult to write. So many things have changed in my life and around the world since I first sat down and wrote a proposal that now feels irrelevant. The issues at hand that it addressed (community-making, art, activism, the concept of democracy as a performance) are still felt, but this is a time that calls for social isolation for the greater good. Instead of congregating, we must stay in our homes and limit contact with others for now. It makes me wonder: how can you perform democracy when you can no longer gather in large groups? Whose voices get lost when certain industries are put on hold?
Are essential workers heroes or are they underpaid employees being put in an impossible position? I cannot help but make this a personal essay— these are wild and uncertain times in which we are living. Life is not the same and may not return back to whatever was “normal” for you and me. Aside from the personal comforts, should we even want things to be normal again? A world that exploits human labor and suffering, overworking people and taking all of their energy? I for one, am glad to have some sort of break without working retail. It is never-ending, thankless, tedious, and requires dealing with a lot of different people all day in different capacities— not necessarily easy all the time and if I could make my living off of something else, I would.
I was one of the relatively lucky ones. I have enough money saved up to not work for a couple months and family I can depend on, but that isn't the case for everyone. I had to move all my things from Berkeley back to my family's home in San Pablo, California (about thirty minutes north of Berkeley with traffic). Upon writing my previous version of the proposal (included as a link above), I had not been back home in a number of weeks. The last time I visited was to drop off my ballot on Super Tuesday, which feels like a lifetime away now. It is not lost on me that the circumstances under which I returned home in a normal capacity was while exercising my right to vote and congregating in a large group of people (which I tried to avoid at the time, anyway).
When I last wrote, I was filled with anxiety and fear of the unknown. At that point, I was completely alone in Berkeley. All three of my roommates had already moved out, and I had to stick around until I could ask my chronically ill paternal grandmother to give me (and most of my belongings) a ride back home. I could only imagine what the stores looked like, how sick my immunocompromised family could get, what my high school senior brother’s experience would be like without prom, his senior retreat, or graduation, and what it would mean for my father to be out of work while supporting two kids. On top of that, all of my midterms were due, and I wrote three essays in one day while eating the lentils I had accidentally stockpiled (I guess this is a bad time to not be able to cook). And even more, the thrift store I worked at was still asking us to come in and sanitize everything instead of just shutting the place down. Every day I was getting notifications from the university, my job, and social media that kept contradicting one another and heightened the anxiety.
As I write now, I can no longer say what I am going to do like you would in a proper proposal. The funds were used for art supplies and living expenses while everyone I know has been furloughed from their jobs. I am depending on refunds from the University of California, Berkeley from housing and a meal plan that I can no longer use. I have been home for weeks, and it is coming with its own unique set of issues. I am sleeping in the same bedroom I have had for 16 years. I feel as if I am 16 years old again as my high school years were marked by internet usage and remote learning, watching movies, reading, and listening to music, having no job or money, and not being able to go out.
This is a return to old patterns for me. Unfortunately, with all that free time, I was horrendously depressed and didn't know what to do with myself aside from mope around. When I felt like this in Berkeley, I distracted myself with a variety of vices: shopping, eating out, friends, dates, and parties— none of which I have access to now. In a time like this, I am being forced to confront myself, my past decisions that have led me right back where I started, and an uncertain future. It has the opportunity to be incredibly freeing, but also terrifying at the same time. I make monthly and themed playlists, my favorite thing to do is watch short videos, and I like to make moodboards instead of making my own work. It's the online collage!
For a time, I was paralyzed by fear. I dove straight into social media and unproductive screen time for many hours a day. It was addictive and seemed like the only comfort that had stayed the same. I wasn't doing anything with intention-- I was just mindless. I found it difficult to talk with my family about how I was feeling, I didn’t feel comfortable enough with my professors to explain my lack of interest in coursework, and I was seriously considering not moving forward with my studies. I was stuck in a dysfunctional loop of waking up sometime in the afternoon, isolating myself in my bedroom with my phone and computer, procrastinating even eating, maybe watching a movie with my father while stressing over coursework that just seemed to get harder in the transition, and retreating back to my bedroom to stare into blue light for hours until 3 or 4 in the morning. Not exactly productive, but I also wondered why I was beating myself up about productivity.
Shouldn’t I get in the right mental state before I pile on more anxiety of deadlines and assignments? Aren’t we always talking about how important mental health is? So, I asked for extended deadlines for the first time in my entire college career. I wrote in my diary about how I was feeling. I talked to my friends who felt the same way about their classes. My family reassured me that I had made my own path to get where I am and I would continue on it— it didn’t have to look exactly the way I imagined it. Where’s the fun in that? I meditated, painted, visited my grandmother because she's the only person I can see outside my household, listened to an audiobook of The Communist Manifesto, ate more lentils, reminisced with my roommate Kris, and gave myself an ill-advised haircut.
In the process of moving out, I had to take down all the postcards, pictures, posters, drawings, cards, and pamphlets I had on my beloved bulletin board. I even wondered what I would do with all of it, because the walls in my childhood bedroom were pretty much filled up already. In fact, the whole room was already filled up— upon moving out in August, it looked like I still lived there because of how much crap I own. My room in Berkeley was a new space that I could keep as tidy or as messy as I wanted (and it turned out that I’m pretty neat) — it didn’t have 15 years worth of various childhood memories shoved in the closet and the corners of the room. It was a fresh start: a new school, roommates, a life away from my family. This was my fresh start— my life was finally beginning. That is the optimistic reading of a period in my life that is now over. I knew it was going to end, at least for the summer, but I didn't know that it would be cut short by something outside of my control. A global pandemic, how novel!
In order to move back home, I had to make space for the new stuff. I gathered seven boxes worth of clothes, books, and toys (all for donation) in the weeks I returned home and couldn’t focus on schoolwork. It was something manual and I could see the little changes when I filled up the trash can (twice!) with mementos that no longer sparked anything but annoyance. This was something I could control. I had complete authority over my four walls, so I switched it up. I put my butterfly poster up, my Santuario de Chimayo poster, my Nine Inch Nails poster, some of my paintings, my CD inserts, my collection of Fridas, Snoopy, Kurt Cobain, The Breakfast Club, Egon Schiele, Malcolm X, and some skeletons from Halloween I loved too much to throw away after October came and went.
There were plenty of postcards that I couldn’t fit on the walls, things that I thought looked better all together. That’s why I made the collage that addressed the various spheres of life: the self, the community, the university, the world, and the universe itself (in that order). The items that went into the collage were a mix of all of these spheres— tickets, paintings, magazine covers, cut-up calendars, stickers, pictures from my brother, prayer cards, poems, valentines, paints, and price tags. This website is becoming a kind of collage as well. These are things I made myself, collected from my family/communities of San Pablo and Berkeley, that were given to me by the university, and pictures that represented the world and universe at large. I could control these four walls to focus on the self, before I could extend it outwards. I can't help anyone else if I don't have myself together. That’s why I needed to write in my journal and type up the poetry that kept me afloat (and continues to keep me afloat). The problem with losing yourself in depression, substance abuse, or a relationship is that all the things that bother you still exist and get actively worse while you ignore them. I'm still making my way through all of it!
Deadlines piled up (and continue to do so, unfortunately), rent strikes were participated in, blogs are now being updated after remaining dormant for months and years, and I spend several hours a day in the same room as always and just think and think and think. I have to center myself before I can help anyone else. For many of us, just surviving the day is a triumph. I'm doing my part by compiling my notes and keeping my germs to myself. I have read and laughed and texted and talked on the phone with my friends and family. It’s not the same, but it’s better than getting sick or getting others sick. You never know if you were too cautious, but you will surely know if you weren't cautious enough. These days, I’m learning to appreciate the little things, creating a niche for myself, and returning back to basics.
Maybe I won’t be able to create an artistic collective and throw parties at this very moment, but I can hone my craft instead. I am always writing— whether it’s for a one-woman show, a comedy special, lyrics for an imaginary punk band, or just plain diary entries to keep track of the days… it will all mean something soon. This is my private performance in these four walls that I am broadcasting to the outside world via several websites (including this one!). The democratic part is that any number of people could do the exact same thing— build a website and curate the images and text. It’s what I did when I was 16, and it’s what I’m doing now. It is important to document daily occurrences in a time like this. In the future, no one can tell me the sanitized version of the story because I was there. I am here. Diaries are some of the best ways to understand historic events from an average person's perspective. It emphasizes the concept of connecting one-on-one. I am a person writing about my experiences in this period, in this country, in this room, and in this body. And I am reaching out to whomever might be on the other end. If anything, that's what I prefer to be doing: writing and reading the personal accounts of others.
I did what I do best: hoard, collect, and display. This is my private museum that I’m letting the whole world see if they know the right code. This is what I see when I close my eyes, a piece of my inner world. These are pictures of my altars, to honor my mother and the rest of my ancestors. These are pictures of the flowers and ofrendas I see when I take my weekly stroll around the neighborhood. For the most part, things here haven’t actually changed very much. San Pablo traffic is the same as it ever was, but businesses are closed, the church bells don't ring anymore, restaurants are offering take-out only, the grocery store is stocked except for frozen foods and toilet paper, and people seem to only wear masks when it suits them. The places that are open have policies that have gotten stricter over time. You can no longer bring your own bag or enter without a mask. Sometimes there are lines outside because they only allow a certain number of people at a time. I'm pretty spoiled-- I'm used to a life indoors. I will be home until late August for sure, so I’m getting comfortable.