Solitary Quarantining

They canceled school on March 15th. I remember being understandably confused. Why would they completely shut down over some virus? We switched to learning off of laptops, receiving bagged lunches from the school bus to our driveways, and being told by every adult to not leave the house. Eventually, the school gave up, realizing that none of us were actually paying attention to the teachers over Zoom and how virtually all of our tests were cheated on. They ended online school, and I got to watch my graduation over a Facebook live stream while eating McDonald's in my family's living room.

And so, my five-month-long Summer vacation began. I spent hours by myself, reading, watching TV, playing video games, and generally just finding ways to waste time. I was happy, for a period, and celebrated with a few of my friends over the phone at the beginning. My version of Heaven quickly started falling off its pedestal, though, when I realized I had exhausted my forms of entertainment barely two months in.

The other three months left me exhausted. Weirdly, doing nothing seemed more tiring than doing my chores, taking a walk around my parents' property, and committing myself to a hobby. Sleeping in until the afternoon became daily, just as going to bed around sunrise did.

Finally, school came around in the Fall, and I found out we'd be learning over a hybrid schedule. Half of the days I'd spend at home in front of a screen all day, and the other half I'd be inside a brick-and-mortar building. The day of my orientation loomed closer, and I assumed I was excited to get to see my friends again, but I couldn't find them.

Whether it was because of the masks, or being divided into two by the hybrid schedule, or transitioning to high school, I found myself surrounded by people I didn't know. I kept my head low and my voice quiet as I floated between classes, only speaking when spoken to. For the first time since quarantine had started, I began to look forward to the days when I could lock myself in my room and just attend class virtually. I stopped caring about friends—I couldn't find them—and making new ones didn't appeal to me. I quit sports, I stopped doing my hobbies, and I buried myself in school work.

I wasn't in the mood to be social. And it didn't come back for nearly three years.

I enrolled in a standard piano class about halfway through the pandemic simply because I wanted to have a more formal education of the instrument. I previously had spent hours teaching myself from videos on the internet and downloading free sheet music, but I hadn't developed any real skill with it. I still felt like I was just hammering the keys.

Soon after enrolling in the class, my father received an upright piano from his father, a relic of his childhood home. It moved to our living room, where my older brother used it the most, spending his free time playing. This piano quickly became what I exclusively used to submit assignments to my teacher, or practice in between classes or lunch while stuck at home.

I started with learning classic pieces, and only with one hand at that. My teacher gave me a booklet with drills, routines, and small excerpts of songs to practice at home. It was small and quite simple, so I managed to finish it within the first month. He gave me the second book, this time utilizing the other hand, stating how impressed he was at the rate I completed it.

Piano became the hobby I did to pass the time, and I was left at the end with something to show for it. I picked up ear training, began hoarding collections of sheet music, and became quite good friends with my piano teacher, as well as the other students in the class. I also started branching out to other genres of music than just classical, opting to find some of my favorite songs arranged for the 88 keys.

Learning a basic understanding of piano and music theory was one of the high points I remember from the pandemic. I loved being by myself, listening to piano/orchestral music on the bus, and playing in my free time. I would never consider myself an expert or even really good at the piano now, but I could (and still can) play a few songs.

Despite this, I still treated every day as another chore. I still had to wake against my will, learn about things I didn't care about, and fight to keep my grades high lest I disappoint my parents. Sophomore and Junior years drove me deeper, too, as I picked up AP and college classes. All of a sudden, I had an excuse to avoid people. I had a never-ending supply of homework I needed to finish, warranting me to race home after school to get started and staving off any invitations.

For some, school was a part of their life. For me, it was my life. And I did everything I could to keep that life within the boundaries of my parents' property.

Spain was what finally did me in. As part of a school trip that my Spanish teacher painstakingly fought to include me in, I went to Spain with a large group of classmates. Of course, I was expectedly anxious about the ordeal, but I still bade the states farewell and ventured overseas. I had a great time, made incredible memories, and returned to the country with new, close ties to some of the other students in my cohort.

It didn't change me completely, though. I still locked myself in my room every evening. I returned to my mountain of responsibilities, most of which had to be done on a school-issued laptop. And I still parried my friends' invitations to outings with poor excuses. But like the piano, it was a catalyst that was well overdue.

And with the purchase of my own car, I found a method of leaving. Of grabbing my keys, opening the front door of my house, and leaving to spend time with someone new. Senior year dawned on me, and I came to the horrible realization that my high school career, as of yet, had only been constituted of homework. So I took a break, I dropped a couple of classes, and I basically told my friends to force me to join them when they wanted me there. It worked, to an extent, pulling me along into places and experiences I hadn't gone through before, and I met friends of my friends that I still talk to today.

I still treat my house, and now my dorm, as a solid home base. I still return to it some evenings, wishing no one would message my phone or knock on my door. But I've started opening that door more often now, and answering the call that's behind it. I still struggle with balancing a social life on top of my work/school life, but at least I'm trying now.

I couldn't say the same before.