Far from home

In a time when people are staying home, staying isolated, and generally away from co-workers, classmates, teachers, neighbors, etc., I have found myself alone in my apartment in the Bronx nearly 2,900 miles from home and those who make it home. I have a big, tight-knit, immediate family living in my hometown of San Rafael and a large extended family.

This is, physically, the farthest I've ever been from home, relying on phone calls and facetime to shorten the distance between us. Despite the technology that allows me to connect with my family in an instant, I have never felt further from home. I had the option and privilege to move back to California in March when the pandemic began to intensify in NYC, I decided to stay put. I don’t regret my choice; I have all the while longed to be in a familiar place. 

My immediate family tree, excluding aunt, uncles, and cousins.
Teal is currently married, orange is previously married, blue for living, purple for deceased

Familiarity is comfortable, yet creating a comforting space that allows for me to actually relax has become increasingly challenging when so much of my daily life has become physically limited. Public health and safety have overridden personal choice, and I’m hard-pressed to find an area of my life that has not been affected. As a young, privileged woman with a supportive family, I am seldom in need. I have the funds to get my groceries delivered and enjoy fresh fruit and veggies while sticking to my mostly vegan diet. I cannot stress how lucky I am; As I am sitting writing this, my Whole Foods delivery interrupted my quiet morning. 

My privilege has never been more apparent; I am a young woman, white-passing, living alone in New York, and the only reason I have to leave my house is to walk my dog or do a contact-less pick up from my local craft brewery 1-mile the road. I am able to keep myself distant while also fulfilling almost all my needs.

A scale drawing of my apartment and my Whole Foods delivery

I live in a neighborhood in the South Bronx across the street from two NYCHA (projects) buildings with more than 450 units. I live next door to Dollar General, where I walk past people standing in line in the rain to get their groceries. Just this morning I walked past a police investigation on my way to the park and felt no fear, unlike many of my neighbors who I have seen stop-and-frisked on their way home from work.

The view from my bedroom window looking east on the sunrise.

I feel removed from what was home and what has become my home. I feel removed from the neighbors and from my family, from the place I have learned to love and the place I grew up. 

I do not have it bad. I don’t have to go to work and expose myself to the invisible virus that is killing people in my community by the hundreds. I don’t have to worry about paying for food because my unemployment checks are cashing every week directly to my checking account. I don’t have to worry about so many things in my life. 

But I do worry about the things out of my control.

I worry about my loved ones in California where the state is opening up, people are going back to work and the state seems to be emerging from a controlled shelter at a pace faster than I ever imagined. I can’t stop it. I worry that my family’s businesses will not recover and we will lose the ability to support my grad school New York dream I am living. I can’t help them while I’m here. I worry that my family isn’t taking more precautions and exposing themselves to unnecessary risk. I worry for selfish reasons because I don’t want to lose members of my family when so many people are dying. 

I am lucky enough to have very few parts of my life irreversibly affected by this pandemic. I have been able to modify my life. But I have not been able to escape the worry of things beyond my control. This feeling has left me much farther from home than any physical distance could.