Stuck in a Box - Illustrated Diary of a Pandemic

I.                    Introduction

When talking about depression, Ann Svetkovich described it as “a state of being “stuck,” of not being able to figure out what to do or why to do it” (Svetkovich, 20). She also talked about the concept of an impasse: a state, mental or physical, that opens into anxiety, uncertainty, and generally a form of confusion and immobility. In the context of the current pandemics, the world is, in fact, in an impasse. With people staying at home, productions and life are put on a standstill without a guarantee when it will end. In contrast to an impasse is the idea of movement and creativity, defined by Svetkovich as a form of movement that  maneuvers the mind around an impasse, even if that movement seem backward or like a form of retreat. Creativity encompasses different ways to move and be functional in a world that does not allow the person to do so.

For me, the impasse started when I got an email from Vanderbilt University on March 12^th, saying that all students must move out from the dorms. That email started a series of changes in my life and habit and forced me to move in both a physical and mental way. I was thrusted out of the comfortable, albeit repetitive and at times taxing, habit of my student life, and into an unfamiliar territory of constant changes and confusions. And why I was on the move constantly for almost a week, I felt like I was stuck in a box. There was no creativity, just movement inside boxes that I jumped from one to another. This feeling of being stuck brought me to this project, which I will called “Stuck in a box.”

The project was a series of digital art works that I started to learn once I settled back at my home. It was a way for me to do something new, to “create” and “make things”, as Svetkovich described. This was still a moment of confusion and uncertainty for me, when “the social relevance of what we’re doing and thinking is not clear” (Svetkovich, 22), and I decided to engage in art as a pathway to understanding my own thoughts and emotions.

II.                 Stuck in a Box

1)     Packed:

The night I received the email was chaotic. I did not want to leave, and staying was not an option. As an international student, I had too much to lose and the information my university provided was unhelpful. I did not know whether I could stay on campus or where else I could stay. I did not know what kind of test or quarantine was waiting for me if I returned to Vietnam. I was in a limbo of staying or leaving. But I knew one thing: I wouldn’t be able to stay in my dorm. I held onto to that one singular certainty so that I can move. I pushed everything aside and focused on one thing: it was time to pack. 

Over the course of the school year, I have accumulated more things than I thought I did. My room was small, with sad pale purple walls. But I made it my own space, filling it with arts and postcards and things that made me who I am. I cried when I took down my posters. As an international student and a college student, I was always on the move. Those posters and collections of knick-knacks were the things that gave me a sense that I belonged and taking them down to reveal the bare walls was more emotional than I expected.

It took me more than a day to pack everything into my suitcases and cardboard boxes. It wasn’t a smooth process: I had to stopped multiple times before forcing myself to move again. Packing was confusing, in and of itself, without the emotional baggage. I didn’t know what to put away and what to leave out, and that left me exhausted and unable to continue. But eventually, everything was packed, and my room returned to being “a” room, lifeless and nondescript. It was also the state of my emotions for the next two days, until the day of my flight.

2)     A box in the sky:

My flight back to Vietnam was long, as it always had been. Almost 30 hours of travelling in the span of two days, divided between three flights and around 6 hours of layover, I was also constantly moving. But an airplane was a box in the sky, and the airport was a space between. It was movement, but I was not moving. Instead, I was carried on the current, and didn’t have a lot to do. I planned to use flight time to write, or read, but I didn’t get to do it. I was too tired to even keep my eyes open. Moving from one plane to another was moving between boxes, the same scenery outside. The same narrow space between my seat and the seat in front that I was stuck in for almost two days.

Not only it was a physical box, I was also stuck in a box of little to no information on what would happen once I get to Vietnam. There were rumors about testing and quarantine, and no official guidelines.  It was not just a state of exhaustion, but also a state of anxiety.

3)     The airport:

              Times flew differently in airports. I got of the plane and followed the other passengers to a line. They checked our passports, plane tickets, and our medical clearance form. Passengers from the US were then taken to a hospital for testing of the virus. The room where we waited to be taken to the hospital was large and square, with a glass window that spanned the entire wall. From there, I could see the sky and the streets. I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait until I could get outside, and the verdicts around me differed wildly. The line moved slowly, only a few people at a time were called. There was internet in the airport, so even though it was confusing, it was alright because I can still contact my family.

               It was when we were taken into a car to leave the airport for the hospital that the anxiety returned ten folds. Without WiFi, my phone was a little more than a brick. I couldn’t contact my family. I could not do a lot but to wait. We waited out in the sun, and then were led to a waiting room. Even then, there were confusion about whether we were sent home or if we were to be kept for twenty-four hours – the time it took for the test result to come out. I was anxious, because I didn’t know what would happen in that 24 hours, whether I was exposed to virus, whether I would endanger my family.

The line moved a little more quickly.

And then I was done. I stepped out of the building, out of the final box I had to be in until I could go home, feeling more anxious than relieved.

I borrowed the phone from my friend’s dad to call a rideshare to my parents’ apartment. And that started the 14-day long self-quarantine process.

4)     Self-quarantine:

I soon settled into a habit. Woke up. Showered. Ate breakfast. Studied or messed around on my laptop until meals and sleep. I spent most of my time online, talking to my friends through social media. Talking to my mom through social media, because even though we lived in the same house now, I wouldn’t risk exposing her to the virus. The days was repetitive, but at least now I had more energy. I wrote, a bit. Started to learn to draw on my laptop. The only thing good coming from this quarantine was I did have more time on my hands. not necessarily more energy, but at least now I could move. Ironic, that I found movement when I had to sit still.

My self-quarantine ended just when Vietnam went into a national lockdown to control the spread of the virus, which ended on April 23^rd. I guess I can go outside now, but I think my creativity works just find inside. 

 Reference:

Cvetkovich, Ann. Depression: A public feeling. Duke University Press, 2012.