Buried amongst hundreds of news stories about social distancing, self-isolation, and lockdowns, I notice a surprisingly positive effort by my government.

"UAE: TRA unblocks Skype, Google Hangouts, and Zoom amid COVID-19 outbreak."

I glare in shock as the words "unblock" and "skype" sit beside each other on my Gulf News app. Excitedly, I forward the article to all my Whatsapp group chats. I’d often complained about how my money-minded government had blocked all video calling apps as a ploy to force us to purchase local phoning plans. Over the years, I’d grown tired of repeating this explanation to all my international friends when asked, “Why aren’t my Skype and FaceTime calls coming through?” Yet at a time like this, I couldn’t help but crack a smile at UAE’s effort to bring people closer—or as they chose to describe it: “to support distance learning and remote working.” Hmmm, okay sure.

After being (ever-so-kindly) kicked out of university housing, and shipped back home, the only thing preventing my quar-insanity was this daily dose of Skype. “Mom, I’ll be gone for game night from 6–10 tonight!” I’d say, half-closing my room door. My mom, who’d previously have scolded me for being on call with my friends all day, now smiled as she walked past my room, watching me giggling at a screen.

Some days, things were almost the same: the laughter, friendships and spirit of competition. Pictionary soon became skribbl.io, NYU Kimmel turned into NYU Zoom, and Netflix n Chill was reduced to a single Google Chrome extension: Netflix Party. Yet, other days, almost carried a heavier weight. Amidst the crackling audio, dysfunctional video, and “shitty wifi,” our realities seemed forever changed.

Aside from those breaking social distancing rules ehm ehm, most of us are now embracing technology, searching for old joys in the virtual world. As the products of the infamous digital age, we are supposedly the most connected generation ever. Yet, over the years, with a flurry of Facetime, Facebook, and Flickr, our “face-to-face interactions” were traded for “face-to-phone” ones. A 2014 study, The iPhone Effect: The Quality of In-Person Social Interactions in the Presence of Mobile Devices, explored the impact of phones on face-to-face conversation using a sample of 100 couples. Results demonstrated that conversations in the presence of mobile devices resulted in less empathetic concern, regardless of age, gender, or ethnicity. These findings, alongside those of many such studies, were telling of a greater issue: despite having multiple mediums of communication, we had become more disconnected.

Contrary to popular belief, this finding applies to boomers too. Social psychologist—and author of Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other—Sherry Turkle found that many children were unhappy with their parents's technology obsession. In fact, she spotted a common pattern across over 450 interviews: children felt neglected as their parents diverted greater attention to smartphones over face-to-face exchanges.

Here’s what’s really ironic, though. Today, as we sit enclosed in our homes, physically distanced from loved ones, we should be feeling, well, distanced. But here I am, along with many others, feeling more connected—or perhaps, more bonded—than ever before.

This “common enemy”, however, is not just the virus. Rather, the lockdown has forced many of us to confront our inner demons and insecurities, which we’d conveniently brushed under the carpet. Sat in a house with our thoughts for hours on end, we’ve finally begun vacuuming under that carpet, realizing how the life we’re leading compares to the one we want to lead. As a result, we find ourselves grieving over deeper bonds lost over the years.

Sat at the JFK airport, uncertain of when I’d return to this concrete jungle again, I received a text from my ex.

"I know time’s have been rough recently, but I hope you and your family are doing well."

Over the upcoming weeks, similar texts poured in from old friends and extended family members.

"I wanted to reach out to you to apologize and talk."

"Miss you! Hope you’re safe and healthy."

"If you ever wanna talk, I'm open."

Excited by the possibilities of reignited relationships, we scheduled Zoom calls, reread old chats, and reminisced over old times, unlocking a chest of fond memories. At a time when we’re fighting to save lives, what was the point of fighting with one another? For the first time, people were confronting death as a legitimate possibility. Formally named “the terror-management theory,” psychologists attributed my ex’s existential grief as the reason that pushed him to reach out and fix things. So, in case he died tomorrow, his soul could rest in peace. That or he was just horny.

Humans are part of one of the most sociable groups: the primates. We’ve earned our seats at the cool kids table. Unlike the other mammals [at the table], our brains are larger and more sophisticated. And since brain size is correlational to social group size, our ape ancestors reaped greater benefits from operating in larger groups: more pairs of eyes to search for food, bigger groups providing greater defense against competitors, larger pool to search for a mate. Today, after our split with chimpanzees, modern human brains have expanded further, increasing our dependence on community even more.

Take a look at our division of labor. While hunter gatherers divided up essential tasks—hunting, collecting plants, tending to children, or producing tools—amongst themselves, we delegate tasks to other people or companies. When was the last time you went hunting or grew your own vegetables to make dinner? Instead we invest our spare time into other parts of our lives: family, friends, work, hobbies. As a result, we find ourselves immensely reliant on our social networks for everyday necessities—both social and practical.

Lions might chase and chew together, “but they won’t bring any back,” to the rest of the pack, explains Alan Fiske, a psychological anthropologist at UCLA. Humans, on the other hand, share everything, from meals and celebrations to secrets and study notes. But with Coronavirus safety measures in place, our ultrasocial “cooperation characteristic” has made us lonelier than ever. How do we shift from sharing is caring to social distancing is caring? Quarantine is caring? Standing 6 feet apart is caring?

With increased physical distance serving as the villian, social media steps in as our knight in shining armor. Our innate desire to share—our lives, our stories, our memories—are validated through technology, text messages, and video chats. But because we’re starved of real human connection, we’re likely to welcome more (than usual) social interactions online. Ritik Patel, an New York University sophomore, explained, “Because everyone is bored, I definitely feel like I’m having more communication with more people that I usually might not have talked to on a normal day, even if it might not be as close.” Likewise, a Mumbai college senior, Shalin, claimed, “I’ve virtually been having conversations with people I’ve never met in real life.”

When socializing from home, however, the stakes are far lower. You can take your time to craft your quirkiest response, all while pretending your most polished self is your most authentic one. You know the drill: preview the message, think of a response, open it hours later and reply, “oh sorry, I just saw this.” Ayesha Hana, a college freshman at the University of Nottingham, Malaysia, expresses, “I like that many people are online when I need them but I have space to reflect without constantly feeling like I’m ignoring them.” Simply put, our dreaded fear of the awkward silence disappears on text. Poof.

While some young adults at this time socialize free of mental discomfort, others are appreciating the lack of physical discomfort. Farah, a college freshman at Misr American College, Cairo, explains that quarantine has made her “a little more comfortable around people” because “there’s no pressure of needing to look perfect and well-dressed because nobody cares!” Don’t act like the most exciting part of your day isn’t changing from your daytime to your nighttime pajamas. Besides, if being braless and in pajamas all day is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

But it wouldn’t be right to assume quarantine has been a virtual version of FRIENDS for everyone. For some, the glass screen is a barrier too thick to cross. When we asked young adults globally, similar ideas were rephrased and reiterated:

“I feel more comfortable talking to people when I can feel them near me.”

“I miss working next to people.”

“I feel less connected. It feels weird taking classes on Zoom.”

“It’s hard to make conversation when life is kind of at a standstill.”

What did we even talk about before Coronavirus?

We often hear everyone complaining, “It’s just not the same.” And they’re right. Surely, video calls are helping us stay employed, educated, and connected, but they can often leave us feeling exhausted and unsatisfied. In person, 85% of communication is made up of body language; we’re able to spontaneously bounce off the opposite person’s energy, processing social cues using all five senses. On video chat, however, our brain must work harder to comprehend social signals using solely sight and sound, courtesy: pixelated video and crackling audio. This failure to relax into a conversation keeps us on constant high alert.

And the cherry on the cake: the dreadful, unintended silence. Italian management expert Gianpiero Petriglieri says, “Silence creates a natural rhythm in a real-life conversation. However, when it happens in a video call, you become anxious about the technology.” Due to the lack of bodily cues—supplemented with muted mics and hidden video—the sheer experience of a conversation becomes an impersonal experience. A 2014 study by German academics showed how delays of even 1.2 seconds on phone or video made people regard the responder as less friendly or focused, leaving a negative perception of the conversation and individual. We’re looking for exhilarating conversations—like on a first date—where we ever so casually sideline into witty conversations about burgers, books, and the blues. Instead, we’re left settling for a script-like exchange of “Wait, what did you say?” and “—oh sorry, I cut you off. No, you go first.”

Now, you’d assume switching your camera on would solve some of the issue. Not a chance. In fact, our awareness of being watched is an added concern. When we know we’re being watched, we feel the pressure to perform, which in turn leaves us feeling more conscious and exhausted after a video call. And for those of you who claim to “love the camera,” stop looking at your own face in the corner!

Many of these are minute issues, but there’s one problem, which is the source of everyone’s frustrations right now. Mark Gungor, marriage expert, and comedian, once explained the key difference between men and women boiled down to the way they sort things in their brain. Okay, but what has this got to do with anything? Bare with me for just a moment.

Well, what can we do?

Stop trying to replicate your real-life online. I’ll say it louder for the people at the back. Stop. Trying. To. Replicate. Your. Real-Life. Online. Surely, everyone’s heard Einstein’s famous quote, “If you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” Well, Zoom’s not literally a fish, but if it were the fish Einstein was talking about, it would’ve drowned under the weight of our expectations.

We need to accept that while Zoom is a great platform, it simply cannot give us “the real thing.” So use it—wisely. Reconnect with old friends one-on-one and strengthen the ties you already have. Maybe now’s not the best time to establish new relationships over video calls. Schedule movie nights with your best friends. Accept that happy hour may not be as fun without the clink of your wine glasses, but game night can still have the same spirit of competitiveness. The reason socializing online isn’t satisfying enough is because we’re constantly comparing it to socializing in-person. It’s like expecting vegan chicken to taste as good as real chicken. And that, we know, only happens at ByChloe. The way forward, at least for now, is steering our social interactions towards the strengths of these platforms that allow us to meet, greet, and compete.

This new way of interacting will inevitably change the face of many relationships. You may find yourself growing closer to some people while drifting apart from others. Don’t believe me? We asked some young adults themselves, and a fascinating pattern emerged. Most individuals, at this time, could more or less be placed into 1 of 4 categories.

This new way of interacting will inevitably change the face of many relationships. You may find yourself growing closer to some people while drifting apart from others. Don’t believe me? We asked some young adults themselves, and a fascinating pattern emerged. Most individuals, at this time, could more or less be placed into 1 of 4 categories.

Several members of the “Bonded + Not Connected” category reported sharing their deep feelings with new friends. Likewise, many in the “Not Bonded + Connected” category described losing touch with “some of the people [they’d] come into close contact with on a daily basis.” Multiple young adults complained it was weird that their “closest friends” hadn’t checked on them for days. While this left some feeling “awfully lonely,” others explained how “quarantine has taught [them] to stay connected with people who really mattered.”

Let’s take, for example, individuals with anxiety. Because they don’t fully comprehend their own problems, they are likely to avoid social situations and push others away. When the group perceives the individual’s self-isolation as disinterest, or a lack of effort, that individual’s feelings of inadequacy are reinforced, causing further withdrawal. This is a classic example of self-fulfilling prophecy. So, next time you're “salty” that a friend hasn’t texted to check up on you, ask yourself why you haven’t texted to check up on them. Perhaps, they don’t even have anxiety, but everyone’s got more behind the scenes than they show.

Now, more than ever, is the time to practice kindness and compassion. Pandemics, for better or for worse, alter social behavior in society. In the past, catastrophic events—such as 9/11 and the Plague—have made us question the nature of our relationships with ourselves, others, and even God.

Well, let’s not sidetrack. Racism stemming from the 9/11 attacks marginalized Muslims Americans across the United States, often through acts of microagression. 28% of Muslims reported being looked at with suspicion, and 22% said they had been called offensive names. These changes in attitude trickled down from authority figures down to the masses, who began seeing Muslims skeptically. This was made conspicious when a majority of 52% claimed that government anti-terrorism policies single our Muslims in the U.S. for increased surveillance and monitoring. As a result, associating as a “Muslim” became a taboo. When Muslims in the U.S. were asked how they saw themslves, a 51% majority reported that they didn’t see themslves as Muslim first. In fact, 26% associated as American and 18% as Muslim-American.

Born after the 9/11, I can only speak of what statistics tell me about the attacks and their aftermath. But writing as a young-adult at the time of the Coronavirus pandemic, I am noticing a similar pattern of racism in our 21st century society.

What merely started as skepticism and humor birthed immense violence and discrimination. As vibrant, popular Chinatowns across the globe struggled to stay open, its East-Asians residents suffered more than just financial consequences. One 34-year old woman was attacked in Manhattan; the attacker grabbed the victim’s hair, spit in her face, and yelled, “You are the reason we have the Coronavirus.” Similar headlines pervaded newspapers globally; New York City, alone, logged 248 complaints of Coronavirus discrimination. Who have we become?

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