125 What Living Through Someone’s Future Curriculum Was Like

It’s crazy to think that I lived through a deadly pandemic, much like the historical ones I’ve learnt about in class. Saying “it’s been half a decade since the pandemic” feels impossible, because the years since have felt so short. What’s even more unbelievable is that I had to sit down for hours trying to recall my entire experience, when I swore this would be a story to tell my grandkids. So let us go back in time to the infamous era, when I was fifteen years old in grade 10.

I lived in the Mississauga suburbs, 10 km from Pearson International Airport, bordering Toronto—an epicenter of activity. It was winter 2019, when I was scrolling on my phone and learned of a new virus spreading in China. It was a random outbreak for all I cared. I remember a tweet where the user joked his new favourite prank was to cough excessively in public, while talking loudly about his “trip to Wuhan”. It took me a second to connect this to the Chinese city, and effectively made me think of COVID as the “Wuhan virus”. I never investigated the content I consumed, but looking back, this misnomer raised many prejudices against Chinese people. I recall crazy theories of people saying this may be a biological weapon gone out of control. As winter progressed, there was occasional news but it mostly took the backseat until March.   

It was finally established that this was a “coronavirus”, and it was spreading quickly. At this time, I thought it was like Ebola—happening across the world, not interfering with my life. However, the Friday before March break, schools suggested we empty our lockers “just in case” they needed to extend the break. Classes cheered, treating it like an unexpected snow day. On March 11, COVID was declared a pandemic. Suddenly, I noticed people at the grocery store wearing masks. Should we be doing that too? Initially, the government advised not to wear masks because they “wouldn’t make a difference”. Days later, they renounced that statement, and panic set in. Was there even a correct way to stay safe?   

My mom frantically sewed cloth masks with scrap fabric, in preparation for her first pandemic grocery run. My parents decided that the less often we went out, the better, meaning buying groceries in bulk. Everyone else had the same idea, because our grocery stores were being ransacked and picked clean. Specifically, water and toilet paper flew off the shelves, fueling the very accurate memes of the time.   

The government extended March break, establishing a lockdown to dissipate the virus, closing “non-essential” places, and restricting travel. Safety guidelines were still unclear and we were just told to stay inside. My parents took that to heart; I wasn’t even allowed to step onto the front porch without a mask. Thankfully, the six-feet-apart rule provided some relief. However, my family worried about shutdowns affecting my dad’s business. He couldn’t work for weeks, and his job couldn’t be done virtually. 

Two weeks of lockdown turned into a month, and cases were only climbing. The news was constantly running, with nothing positive to say about the circumstances. People were still travelling, refusing to social distance, putting our efforts in vain. Realizing that lockdown was only going to prolong, there was a cultural shift. COVID was still relatively detached from our personal lives, so we decided to relax and wait it out by occupying ourselves. I remember picking up random hobbies, like gaming, jogging, and baking. Online school took a backseat, since our grades were frozen, making it completely optional. There were lots of memes about losing your mind in isolation, making the situation feel like a joke rather than the overwhelming nightmare faced by frontline workers and patients.   

In Fall 2020, Ontario introduced “hybrid learning,” where classes were divided, alternating between in-person and virtual attendance. Semesters were split into “quad-mesters” each with only two classes running. This fast-paced learning was difficult after months of ignoring school. Exams were waived, making me feel like I was learning nothing. Everything felt impersonal: desks were spaced out, shields put between us, and social interaction was discouraged. Hybrid learning didn’t last long before schools shifted fully online again. 

In late 2020, my dad came in contact with a confirmed COVID case and he isolated in the basement awaiting test results. Despite our skepticism, his test came back positive. As the rest of us got tested, we tried isolating within our shared spaces. We were very concerned because my seven-year-old brother had asthma which he would frequently get hospitalized for, and we didn’t have enough space to properly isolate. Thankfully, none of us caught it, and my dad was asymptomatic. We were incredibly lucky to have the best-case scenario. 

A year into the pandemic, I got tired and frustrated by the repetitive mandates and news. The uncertainty was draining, with constant false hope. A vaccine was my only hope for normalcy. When rollout began, I signed up immediately. By summer, restrictions eased, allowing small gatherings with family and friends. 

Schools reopened with full class sizes, with the option to attend online or in-person. My parents chose for me to stay online for the first “quadmester” of senior year, just in case things worsened. I was missing out on my most important year of school, while all my friends were together. Naturally, teachers focused on engaging the in-person students more. I felt disconnected from the overall learning experience and support system. I was lonely, anxious, and my grades took a hit.   

In 2022, pandemic started to fizzle out as vaccinations became widespread. The new variants were more transmissible but less deadly, and rapid test kits became accessible and less intimidating. The fear surrounding COVID was fading and society was eager to move on. Thankfully, I returned to school and experienced prom, graduation, and starting university without a second thought about the pandemic. 

On post-pandemic changes, I noticed the decline of public etiquette and respect for shared spaces. COVID made us think of ourselves as isolated bubbles, disregarding any interactions. Meanwhile, online communities flourished as our main source of connection. Now, everyone follows fast-paced online trends, basing values and interests on what they see online. Hyper-consumerism has also surged, since contactless payments and delivery services detached us from conscious spending. 

Much of the pandemic was characterized by looking for someone to blame. People following government advisories (like masking and distancing) blamed those who abstained. This developed into a political divide, as some opposition supporters deliberately resisted current official mandates to make a statement. East Asians faced a rise in hate crimes, as people blamed them for “starting” the pandemic. Personally, I was frustrated with those who refused vaccination. I wanted the pandemic to end, and herd immunity was our best shot. I think that the pandemic exacerbated divisions and selfishness amongst ourselves.   

As much as I wish to forget the pandemic, its long-term social effects are undeniable. It fundamentally changed how we navigate society and has left us more divided than ever. These issues have embedded themselves in our institutions beyond just pandemics, and failing to memorialize our trauma will risk us repeating the same mistakes.