122 Waiting on the World (and My Visa)

When COVID-19 began, I was still living in Mexico. I had just turned 16 years old — my birthday is March 16th, 2004 — and I was in the equivalent of Grade 9 in Canadian schooling. March 12th is a national holiday in Mexico, and I remember looking forward to the long weekend. What I did not realize at the time was that March 12th would also become the last day I saw most of my childhood friends in person. Two days later, the world stopped. COVID struck. At that point, I had already been accepted into Lakefield College School, a boarding high school in Canada. I was supposed to begin in September 2020, and my family was in the middle of the Canadian student visa process. But all of that came to a standstill. The pandemic hit during our long weekend trip to Cancún, where I was with my dad, sister, and her boyfriend.

Suddenly, we were stuck — unable to fly home, confined to a hotel for over a week until domestic flights reopened. 

We eventually made it back to Mexico City safely — masked up and, thankfully, COVID-free. What followed was a strange year of limbo. I couldn’t attend school in person in Canada, but I still started online classes. I was officially enrolled in a Canadian boarding school, yet I was still stuck in my bedroom in Mexico. Everything was on hold: the visa process, travel plans, and daily life in general.  

I filled my days with virtual school, video games, cooking, and movies. I even lost significant weight during that time — a small personal victory that oddly became a silver lining in all the chaos. The biggest hurdle came with my visa process. Even when Canada resumed applications, I couldn’t complete mine because biometric appointments in Mexico were completely shut down. My dad and I researched every option and discovered that the closest functioning biometrics office was in San Antonio, Texas. We received special permission to travel to the U.S. solely for that purpose, and I got my biometrics done in May or June. Then the waiting began again.

I didn’t receive my student visa until November 28th, well into the school year. I had been one of only five students attending classes remotely from abroad since September. On November 29th, I finally boarded a flight to Canada — by myself. But even then, I wasn’t able to join the school right away.  

 Before I could step onto campus, I had to complete a two-week quarantine alone in an unfamiliar hotel. I arrived at Lakefield just one week before the December break. That first year at boarding school wasn’t what I had pictured. The COVID protocols were strict — constant testing, physical distancing, and very limited social interaction. Still, I was genuinely thankful to finally be there. Even with the restrictions, it felt like a step forward from my school experience in Mexico. I decided to stay in Canada and finish high school there.

During the summer of 2020, before I moved, there was a different kind of challenge: emotional tension between my parents. They are divorced, and lockdown meant I had to choose who to spend time with. 

It often felt like I was being forced to choose sides, and that brought a lot of guilt and emotional pressure — especially when either parent made it seem like I was picking one over the other. It was a heavy burden to carry in the middle of an already uncertain and stressful time. Looking back, I realize just how lucky I was throughout the pandemic. My family remained safe and healthy, and we had the stability, resources, and support that many others didn’t. 

In the grand scheme of things, my biggest problem was not knowing when I would be able to move countries for school — not exactly a world-shattering crisis. However, at the time, it felt like everything. As a teenager, it was my world, and it was completely up in the air. 

That is where the theme of vulnerability fits in. The pandemic taught me what it meant to feel powerless — to have your plans paused indefinitely, to not know when or if things would get back on track. I felt vulnerable about my future and emotionally torn — caught between countries, between parents, between childhood and adulthood. 

COVID didn’t just reveal how vulnerable the world is — it forced me to face my own vulnerability. I had always been someone who felt in control, someone who expected things to go according to plan. But suddenly, everything was out of my hands. That sense of being stuck in time left an ongoing influence on me — one I’m still trying to fully understand. 

When I look back, what I feel most is gratitude. I know many people went through horrible things — losing loved ones, facing financial struggles, and fighting with their mental health. Compared to that, my own challenges felt minor. But they were real to me. I learned how to be patient, how to rely on myself, and how to find meaning in small moments — whether it was the relief of receiving my visa approval, the comfort of a safe flight, or the quiet peace of watching a movie alone in quarantine. 

My COVID experience may not have been the most dramatic or painful, but it shaped me. It mattered — because it was mine. It’s part of my story now — a reminder of how life can flip overnight, how being stuck can sometimes lead to growth, and how even waiting can teach you something.