This is not how I imagined the apocalypse would look like. For a world descending rapidly into economic, health, and social crises, it has been eerily calm--for my part at least. I sleep at a much more reasonable hour than I did back in Cambridge, have welcomed the occasional before-or-after-dinner nap into my schedule, and treated my taste buds to the best Cantonese cuisine I’ve had in awhile. Had I not known better, you could have easily convinced me that this was yet another summer vacation, albeit less getting boba with friends and more 24/7 texting and facetime. Perhaps that’s what is most disorienting about all of this. Outside the walls of my house, there is an invisible war tearing through the nation with casualties growing exponentially and no end in sight. But inside my little bubble of social distancing, I’ve somehow managed to distance myself from the horrors of a global pandemic. Of course, the risks here are still non-zero--I feel my mom’s anxiety when she ventures outside for our weekly groceries trip, armed only with a cloth mask and a prayer--but thankfully enough, the worst still lies beyond the safety of home.

Knowing all this, it feels petty to be complaining about being in quarantine. As the days roll by, reality is sinking in that we may never return to the status quo before coronavirus. My thoughts have gradually shifted from wondering when this fiasco will be over to how I can make the most of the situation at hand, and I am certainly not the only one with these sentiments. Even back when I was busy crying with my friends over BoardPlus sponsored meals, people were mobilizing to address the shake-ups caused by this pandemic. I’ve seen student peers rising up to fill in the gaps after the move-out order uprooted any sense of normalcy, bringing forward waves of much needed fundraising, resource allocation, and organization that frankly surpassed those by the administration. What was most surprising was that all these grassroots efforts came forth out of mutual sacrifice; time that could have been spent giving a last-minute goodbye or making a few more fleeting memories on campus were instead invested into a support network for others. Our transition to remote work hasn’t stopped these network’s growth either. CovEd has garnered almost a thousand mentors and leaders involved and has collaborated with multiple organizations to provide educational support to low-income students. Spreadsheets about funding from grants and donations, storage locations, resources across the internet have been compiled and dispersed. To my surprise, even the online frat Zeta Omicron Omicron Mu (ZOOM) has a mental health committee working nonstop to recreate social spaces and support with an online community. These initially small and novel ideas have ballooned into key players in the changed landscape of today, leaving a service impact far greater than anyone could have imagined given the circumstances.

Coronavirus has brought out both the best and the worst of every situation, exposing years of deep-rooted inequality and calling into question systemic flaws while simultaneously demonstrating the power of a unified front and our ability to enact legislation that cuts through hyperpartisanship. When communities come together, we can better support our most vulnerable members and push for change that benefits us all. Issues such as breaking down the prison-industrial complex, addressing climate change head on, or providing a living wage to all workers may have seemed like a long ways away just a few months ago but our current precedent has shifted these difficult tasks into the realm of the immediately possible. There is no doubt that the world will be different when we come out of this crisis, but from the rubble I hope we realize that we still hold the power to fight for a better future and will mobilize to construct this more perfect union.