Photo Courtesy of Antonia Moffa
Through a flurry of confusing texts and emails late on a Sunday night, I learned that Hofstra had canceled the week of classes before our regularly scheduled spring break due to the growing presence of COVID-19 in the United States. I was aware of the virus – it was difficult to ignore the constant news coverage of its spread from Wuhan, China – but I wasn’t worried about it. The University’s administration was probably just taking a precautionary measure. The next morning, I woke up with a giddy feeling, similar to one I might have had on a snow day in elementary school. I still wasn’t concerned and was actually somewhat happy to get a break from classes. Expecting to be back on campus in two quick weeks, I had breakfast with my closest friends at Hofstra, packed and hopped on a train to Penn Station in the city before taking an Amtrak home.
Upon returning home, I spoke with some of my friends from high school who explained that most of their universities had already moved all classes to an online format for the rest of the semester. Additionally, many of the colleges in and around my hometown had taken similar courses of action. I was a bit shocked and, still in denial about the severity of the situation, I ignored the possibility that the end of my freshman year could be canceled.
Ultimately, however, I did receive an email from Hofstra that confirmed my fears, moving all classes to an online format. A few days after that, Residence Life informed us that we had one week to retrieve all of our belongings from our dorms and officially check out of on-campus housing. At this point, my emotions were volatile to say the least. I was overwhelmed, confused, angry and sad. After a lonely and difficult fall semester, I had started to blossom during the spring and Hofstra truly felt like my home. Between joining multiple clubs, finding two jobs that I enjoyed and visiting New York City at every opportunity I had, I was having the time of my life. I was busy but felt productive and fulfilled. Abruptly and without warning, the rug had been pulled out from under me.
My mom and I drove from our home to Hofstra twice in one week in order to move out all of my furniture, clothes, textbooks and other things I had accumulated over the past six months, and to say goodbye to New York for the foreseeable future. After our second trip, all I could do was cry because as frustrated and angry as I was that the end of my freshman year would not live up to my expectations, I had no control over the situation.
While I understand that I am in a very fortunate situation – I have not been exposed to COVID-19, all of my close family and friends are healthy and I was able to quickly move all of my stuff out of my dorm and return home safely – the sudden closing of campus has jolted me into a bizarre grieving process. I mourn the late-night study sessions with friends in the basement of Axinn library, quick conversations with baristas at Starbucks and even the many quirks of living in communal housing. Most of all, I miss the energy and inspiration that simply being on campus gave me. I miss feeling connected to a community greater than myself.
After taking many contemplative, aimless drives around my hometown in the past few weeks, I have realized that if I can learn anything from this apocalyptic misfortune, it is that living in the moment is imperative, as there is no way of knowing what the future holds. Though my first year of college was cut short, I am so thankful for my time on campus and for everything I have learned thus far, and I can’t wait for Fall 2020!
