Statement

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Dear Readers,

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I don’t have to be the one to tell you that we are living in very strange times.

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I have to put my hand above my eyes to look up and see how high Walker has stealthily climbed up the tree in my yard. The sun behind him creates a sort of halo effect.

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“Dating in quarantine is like window shopping,” my 20-year-old brother said to me.

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I slip into bed after donning my extra-large Yankees t-shirt and rubbing an extra-large scoop of vaseline all over my lips. I pull the covers over my body, prop my back up against two pillows, and place my computer on my lap.

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Heat emanates from the womb of bodies that surround me. Our movements are synchronized, like gravity has mistaken hundreds of us for one singular being. Branches of purple light beams extend from the ceiling of the stage to the back of the bar. 

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Lockdown encouraged me to attempt an activity I’ve fervently hated for my entire life: running. I laced up my decade-old Nikes and curated a Spotify playlist titled “chill run,” replacing my usual dance-pop workout songs with tracks from Frank Ocean and SZA.

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At one point or another, we’ve all had a case of main character syndrome. We go through our lives feeling like we are the protagonist in our own story – our own world – and everyone else is just a side character.

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Growing up, I would frequently visit my mother’s native Mexico. These trips were always a relaxing change of pace from the hustle of everyday life. We would go around four times a year until I was in high school and didn’t have time anymore. Even then, we would go at least twice annually.

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Being home for the past seven weeks during the COVID-19 crisis and living in my childhood bedroom when I was meant to be graduating college and moving to New York City has taught me a few things.