‘My world is shattering’: Foreign students stranded by coronavirus

When the pandemic shuttered colleges, many international students had no idea where to live or whether they would ever be able to return to class.

When universities abruptly shut down last month because of the coronavirus pandemic, many students returned to their parents’ homes, distraught over having to give up their social lives and vital on-campus networking opportunities. Graduating seniors lost the chance to cross anything but a virtual commencement stage.

But the campus closures have created much greater calamity in the lives of the more than a million international students who left their home countries to study in the United States. Many had been living in college dorms and were left to try to find new housing, far from home in a country under lockdown.

The empty Yale University campus last month. Credit... Sasha Rudensky for The New York Times

A substantial number of international students are also watching their financial lives fall apart: Visa restrictions prevent them from working off campuses, which are now closed. And while some come from families wealthy enough to pay for their housing or whisk them home, many others had already been struggling to cobble together tuition fees that tend to be much higher than those paid by Americans.

As their bank accounts dwindle, some international students say they have had to turn to food banks for help. Others are couch surfing in the family homes of their friends but do not know how long they will be welcome. Those who rushed to fly home before international borders closed are not sure they will be able to come back.

“My world is shattering,” said Elina Mariutsa, a Russian student studying international affairs and political science at Northeastern University whose parents sold an apartment and borrowed money from friends to pay for her previous semesters of college.

She is all but certain that, with the Russian ruble’s recent rapid devaluation amid the current global economic collapse, her family will be unable to pay the $27,000 bill for her final semester of college — let alone help her with living expenses now.

“I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to graduate. Right now we definitely can’t pay for the last semester, and it’s literally just four courses left,” she said.

Universities, which often receive a substantial share of their budgets from foreign students, said they moved quickly to help international students by opening a limited number of dorms when possible, flying students home in some cases and lobbying the federal government for support. New York University, which has more foreign students than any college in the country, created emergency grants available to international students.

“It’s hard and it’s constantly evolving,” said Jigisha B. Patel, the chief adviser for international students at Northeastern. “Everybody has really moved toward doing everything they can during this time.”

Anna Scarlato, a University of Chicago student from Italy, is staying in California for now. Credit... Anna Scarlato

The federal government has stepped in to help college students who have been affected by the coronavirus pandemic, but in keeping with its America-first agenda, the Trump administration announced on Wednesday that international and undocumented students would be excluded from the roughly $6 billion in federal aid targeted to help students pay for expenses like food and housing.

Many students said the help provided by their universities was not nearly enough.

“It was a very hectic moment because I had no idea where to go,” said Anna Scarlato, an Italian student who learned in March that she would be kicked out of her dorm at the University of Chicago within days.

With nowhere else to go, Ms. Scarlato moved to her boyfriend’s dorm at a different school, but the next day they learned that campus housing was closing there, too.

Ms. Scarlato agreed to sublet a room in a Chicago apartment, but then learned that her parents, who were under lockdown as a result of the pandemic in Italy, would be unable to get to a bank to transfer her any money for rent.

At the last minute, her boyfriend’s mother bought Ms. Scarlato a ticket to go home with him to Orange County, Calif. “I have no idea where I’m going to be in the next two weeks or a month or two months,” she said. “It feels like I’m being a parasite in some way.”

Sam Brakarsh, a junior at Yale studying social psychology and global health. Credit... Sam Brakarsh

When classes were canceled at Yale University, Sam Brakarsh, a student from Zimbabwe, feared carrying the virus back to his aging parents or getting stranded by flight restrictions. The internet in his parents’ home works for only three hours a day.

Instead, he decided to bunk temporarily with a classmate from Amherst, Mass., who was moving home with his parents and younger brother.

Now, hoping to avoid overstaying his welcome and the fact that his student health insurance only works near campus, Mr. Brakarsh is planning to move next into an extra bedroom in the home of a professor.

But “nothing is definitive,” he said.

Some students have been reluctant to share the extent of their troubles with their families who were already struggling to pay for their schooling.

Stephany da Silva Triska said her mother in Brazil stopped eating out in restaurants, did not replace her old car, and cut back on vacations so her daughter could study politics at California State University, Long Beach.

In turn, Ms. Triska worked hard to justify her mother’s sacrifice. She was chosen by professors as an outstanding senior in her major and won a prestigious international policy fellowship.

A ceremony to recognize her achievements has been canceled and her fellowship is on hold. But she has bigger problems, including whether she will be able to finish college at all. Her mother’s interior design business, which funded the portion of her education that was not covered by scholarships, has dried up.

Ms. Triska, who lives in an apartment she pays for with her student job, still owes $600 toward the tuition fee for her final semester of college.

“Every time I log into my student account, I see the $600 balance. I don’t even know who I should go to, if they would be open to negotiating the remaining balance,” Ms. Triska said.

Students who rushed to airports to beat looming border closures and wait out the pandemic at home also fear they will face legal hurdles when they try to return to the United States to complete their schooling.

Mercy Idindili, a sophomore at Yale studying statistics, said she returned to Tanzania after feeling pressured to do so in a series of emails from college administrators that made clear the institution was going to make “very few exceptions” for international students who wanted to stay in the United States.

At first, Ms. Idindili made plans to stay with a friend in Georgia, but when other international students warned her that the arrangement could become uncomfortable if it went on for too long, Ms. Idindili decided to go home at the last minute.

Before leaving on a ticket paid for by the school, she made sure to warn her professors that she was going to be seven hours ahead and that her internet access would be inconsistent because of frequent blackouts.

“Honestly, that whole week was very hard,” she said, “I did cry a lot because I was so confused and so disappointed by everything.”

Stephany da Silva Triska from Brazil doesn’t have the $600 she needs to pay to graduate from California State University, Long Beach. Credit... Stephany da Silva Triska

At first, she had been waking up at 3 a.m. to attend virtual lectures in a linear algebra class that was giving her trouble. Her professor has since begun recording the lectures for her, which is helping her keep up.

But Ms. Idindili’s visa to re-enter the United States expires in July, and American consulates abroad are all closed indefinitely. The State Department has also suspended visa processing until further notice.

“I’m just really scared of what happens if Tanzania doesn’t solve this problem soon enough, and the U.S. consulate chooses to remain closed for a long time and I’m not able to renew my visa and go back to school,” she said.

The legal status of all international students has become less certain because of the coronavirus pandemic. Normally, their visas require them to take classes in person, rather than online. The Department of Homeland Security temporarily relaxed that rule in light of the crisis, but the exception could be reversed at any time.

Some students said they cannot wait for a more permanent solution to their visa problems. Emma Tran, who studies studio art and psychology at California State University, Long Beach, burst into tears explaining she only has enough money in her bank account to cover another month and a half of living expenses, and will likely have to return home to Vietnam.

Ms. Tran lost both of her campus jobs because of the coronavirus pandemic. Her parents’ income from an apartment they own, half of which they typically rent out to tourists, has also dropped precipitously.

Trying to stretch funds, Ms. Tran at first went to a food pantry on campus, but her parents discouraged her from taking donated goods that others might need more than she did. Since then, she has resorted to eating rice for more of her meals and either skipping or limiting the amount of meat she consumes to save money.

“My mom said if this thing doesn’t get controlled in two or three months, I will have to go back home,” she said, “It’s really sad.”

Ms. Mariutsa, the Russian student at Northeastern University, had been overseas last month for an internship in Geneva when she learned of the crisis.

She woke up one morning to a news alert announcing that the American border would close that evening and dozens of missed calls from friends and family who were worried about her.

Also in her inbox was an email from Northeastern telling her to pack her things and return to the United States immediately. Airports in Geneva close early, and the last flight was scheduled to take off only about four hours later.

“It was probably the most stressful day of my life,” she said.

In the end, she decided to stay in Switzerland after her boss discouraged her from flying to New York; it was a coronavirus hot spot where she would have nowhere to stay.

Now, she is living without health insurance or income. When the money she saved from a previous internship runs out, she plans to move in with colleagues who offered up their couches.

On Friday, she learned that she had been chosen by Northeastern as one of the 100 most influential seniors in her graduating class this year.

“When I was a freshman, I felt like that would be the biggest accomplishment ever because international students don’t usually get those awards, because of the language and cultural differences. It’s really hard to shine in the United States,” she said.

“But now,” she explained, “I don’t even know if I’m going to be graduating. It just feels like, does it even matter anymore?”

(Source: NYT)

Coronavirus: New Zealand claims no community cases as lockdown eases

New Zealand says it has stopped community transmission of Covid-19, effectively eliminating the virus.

With new cases in single figures for several days - one on Sunday - Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern said the virus was "currently" eliminated.

But officials have warned against complacency, saying it does not mean a total end to new coronavirus cases.

The news came hours before New Zealand moved out of its toughest level of social restrictions.

From Tuesday, some non-essential business, healthcare and education activity will be able to resume.

Most people will still be required to remain at home at all times and avoid all social interactions.

"We are opening up the economy, but we're not opening up people's social lives," Ms Ardern said at the daily government briefing.

New Zealand brought in very tough restrictions on travel and activity early on in the pandemic. AFP

New Zealand has reported fewer than 1,500 confirmed or probable cases of coronavirus and 19 deaths.

New Zealand's Director-General of Health, Ashley Bloomfield, said the low number of new cases in recent days "does give us confidence that we have achieved our goal of elimination".

He warned that "elimination" did not mean there would be no new cases "but it does mean we know where our cases are coming from".

Ms Ardern said there was "no widespread undetected community transmission in New Zealand", adding: "We have won that battle."

But she said the country "must remain vigilant if we are to keep it that way".

How did New Zealand respond to the virus?

The country brought in some of the toughest restrictions in the world on travel and activity early on in the pandemic, when it only had a few dozen cases.

It closed its borders, started enforcing quarantine of all arrivals in the country, brought in a stringent lockdown and mounted an extensive testing and contact tracing operation.

Beaches, waterfronts and playgrounds were shut on 26 March, as were offices and schools. Bars and restaurants were also closed, including for takeaway and delivery.

Ms Ardern said modelling indicated New Zealand could have had more than 1,000 cases a day if it had not brought in the lockdown so early.

She said the country could never know how bad it would have been but that "through our cumulative actions we have avoided the worst".

New Zealand's remote location and easily sealable borders played in its favour when the virus broke out, experts say.

But the government has also been praised for the clarity of its messaging throughout the crisis.

At midnight local time (12:00 GMT on Monday), New Zealand moved from Level Four lockdown to Level Three. That means most businesses will be able to reopen - including restaurants for takeaways - but not those involving face-to-face contact.

New Zealanders are being told to stick to their "bubble" - a small group of close friends or family - and to stay 2m (6ft) away from people.

Mass gatherings are still banned, shopping centres remain closed and most children will remain away from school. New Zealand's border will remain closed.

What's happening in Australia?

In Australia, the rise in infections has also slowed considerably in recent weeks. There were just 16 new cases recorded on Sunday.

Much like in New Zealand, its government has been praised for its response to the crisis and opinion polls show that trust in the country's leadership has risen.

Restrictions are easing in some areas, with some states planning to relax social distancing rules to permit larger outdoor gatherings this week.

In Queensland from Saturday, people will be free to go shopping for clothes, have a picnic in the park or go for a swim at the beach as long as it is within a 40-minute drive from home.

Western Australia is also joining South Australia in expanding the national two-person limit on gatherings to 10 people.

However, most Australians are still required to stay at home unless they have essential work, shopping or exercise reasons to go out.

More than a million Australians also downloaded a coronavirus contact tracing app within hours of it being released by the government.

Users of the app will be notified if they have had more than 15 minutes of close contact with another user who tests positive for Covid-19.

There are reports that Australia and New Zealand are considering opening up travel between them but no decision has been made.

(Source: BBC)

Experience: I live in a zoo

Every morning I wake up at 7am when our gibbon, Jimmy, starts singing. But under lockdown, it’s always quiet

live in the keepers’ lodge in London zoo. It’s a big shared house on site where eight zookeepers run a rota to care for the animals and man phones overnight. My mum loves telling people I live in Regent’s Park. I grew up in an animal-loving household. At one point there was me, Mum and Dad, two cats, two dogs, two rabbits, a hamster, a tortoise and a cockatoo, so it is normal for me to be surrounded by animals.

After studying marine biology at university, I worked for the RSPCA, taking in injured seals and ducklings near the Norfolk coast. But I had always had my sights set on London zoo. For two weeks, I went there every day, handing out my CV to anyone in a suit until I got an interview. I started work as a zookeeper in November 2001.

Eleven years later, I applied for it to become my home, too – a select group of experienced keepers are allowed to live on site in the lodge. It’s an experience like no other, and one every zookeeper wants. There’s a competitive interview process which includes vetting, problem-solving, and an assessment of your housemate credentials. It took me three attempts, but I eventually made the cut.

‘These days, I truly consider it home’: Lucy Hawley by London Zoo’s penguin pool. Photograph: Courtesy of ZSL

The responsibility was scary when I first moved in. Tiny noises startled me. I didn’t sleep for a month, even with security on site. 

These days, though, I consider it home. Every morning I wake up at seven when our gibbon, Jimmy, starts singing loudly. I take a coffee into the garden and chat to the harrier hawks and the ibis in the aviary behind the house. We’ve hand-reared baby animals in our lodge. We took turns to feed our sloth, Edward, through the night when his mother couldn’t, and built him a jungle gym from broom handles. Beanie, a newborn giant anteater, lived with us, too.

The best time is sunset, when the gates have closed. I’ll take a walk around and hear Bhanu, our male lion, roar and the ringtail lemurs crawl out and relax; it sounds as if they’re chuckling.

A keeper will say they don’t have favourite animals, but it’s a lie. Mine are small monkeys called emperor tamarins. I helped a pair breed a family of 10 by playing Barry White when I worked in the rainforest house.

I’m on overnight duty three times each fortnight, which can involve sleepless nights: answering building alarms, administering medicine to animals or taking calls from the public. Sometimes they’ve found injured animals, which we refer on to the RSPCA. Occasionally someone says an animal has escaped but I’ve never known it happen. Once, the police called for advice when a bag of snakes was dumped outside a tube station.

In normal times, I’m allowed to have friends over – as long as they don’t wander off – and we’re close to central London so I can go to the pub when I’m off-duty. My wife of two years lives down the road. When I’m not on duty, I’ll go to her or she’ll be here with me. When we got married, we took our guests around the zoo before opening time.

Coronavirus has changed everything. On 21 March, the zoo closed to the public for the first time since the second world war, so it’s always quiet now. Some keepers moved into our overnight visitor experience lodges and about 50 staff are still working shifts. I miss answering visitors’ questions and showing off our animals. The pygmy goats miss being petted and are getting extra massages from staff. We’ve hidden food for the meerkats to find, and puzzles for the squirrel monkeys. The big cats are less fussed and enjoy the spring sunshine.

We wear personal protective equipment to prepare food and activities. Colds have passed between humans and primates; we’re unsure if coronavirus can, but it’s important to be safe.

The animals are being well looked after but this is still a worrying time. The zoo is a charity, so entry tickets fund our conservation work, which filters through to scientists in the field. That’s all dried up now.

Living and working here is an unusual existence but, at 42, it can’t get any better for me. I have animals in my back garden that are threatened or extinct in the wild. Even though we’re in lockdown, if I feel low I can stretch my legs and have a chat with a lion or an okapi. It’s a dream job. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

(Source: The Guardian)

Coronavirus: Italian village lets residents with autism and ADHD go to beaches

Staying indoors for a long time could be traumatic for people with conditions, authorities say

An Italian village has allowed people with autism and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) to go to the beach during the coronavirus lockdown.

The measure aims to help those who might particularly struggle with the order to stay indoors in Salve, southern Italy.

“Having to stay at home and only go outside for strictly necessary reasons is difficult for everyone, but especially for people with certain conditions,” the Comune di Salve said.

“For them, staying shut away in the house for a long time risks being a properly traumatic experience which could give rise to self-harming behaviours.”

People with these conditions can now go to a number of beaches in Puglia on the Ionian sea which are shut off to other members of the public during the nationwide lockdown over Covid-19.

Authorities have told people in Italy to stay at home unless it is essential – for example, to go to work or get groceries – in a bid to tackle the spread of the virus.

Those with autism and intellectual disabilities are able to go outside for health reasons as long as they stay near their house, according to the national rules.

However, Salve has decided to let people with these conditions move outside this area so they can go to the sea, as long as they are accompanied by a relative or helper.

The mayor, who has an autistic son himself, said “life has drastically changed” for families with autistic members in the lockdown, according to an Italian news agency.

“Now, at least my son can play in the place he loves, between the sand and the sea,” Francesco Villanova told ANSA.

Italy has been in lockdown for over a month as it battles the pandemic, with all public gatherings banned and restrictions placed on movement.

Nearly 190,000 people have been infected with the virus in the country to date.

The death toll for coronavirus patients stood at around 25,500 on Friday, according to official figures.

(Source: Independent)

What Spot?

Like many things I love, What Spot? entered my life through happenstance: my son just happened to pick it out of the pile of books in his preschool classroom; my son just happened to have the one teacher who sent books home each week; he just happened to secure a last-minute spot at this preschool.

If it were not for this seemingly fateful chain of events, I do not think I would have ever come across this charming tale of wonder and fear and empathy. All of these emotions feel re-created on the book’s cover, which magnifies and directs your attention to the period of the question mark, which appears target-like, a red dot encircled by other circles. Written by Crosby Bonsall for the “I Can Read!” series, which Harper Collins launched in 1957 with the publication of the now-classic Little Bear, by Elsa Holmelund Minarik, What Spot? is now out of print.

Rather than trust that my son would be able to choose the same book each week, I bought a used copy. It arrived well-loved, with damaged pages, signs of its former life. I delighted in seeing my son pretend to read the book aloud on his own, so simple was its two-syllable, incredulous refrain, punctuated by a question mark that seems conjoined to an invisible exclamation point.

Two days before we entered the stay-at-home phase of our lives, my son went on a field trip to see a production of The Princess and the Pea. His teacher sent us a PDF that explained to children how to prevent coming into contact with the coronavirus. She told us she read the poster to the children to reassure them. She also reassured us, saying that she would have the children wipe down their theater seats and wash their hands.

Time was once less abstract, more palpable. I once could ask how school was. I could say tell me about the play. I could let my children know what they would need for school the next day. I could pack lunches and backpacks. I could check my work email after sending them off. I could have a day, a day that was measured and complete, one that I did, indeed, measure out with coffee spoons.

Now, my children and I dream the dizzy dreams that manifest in between reality and a life once lived.

They do not want to do their school work. I give them other activities instead. Okay, I say, forget it. You don’t want to write about that fairy princess book, then write about what you want to write about. My daughter begins to pen a fantasy in which she rescues newborn kittens and nurses them in the wee hours of the night. I say, That’s beautiful. I say, That’s great. My god, I don’t care, just keep writing. I say this while I myself have ceased writing.

My son can now read What Spot? on his own. He’s in first grade, but, like studies have shown, being avidly and abundantly read to during his infancy and early development have accelerated his reading, which is now on a third-grade level. That said, he doesn’t like to read, doesn’t want to read, preferring instead to be read to. He loves being read to, and I, his dear mother, love to snuggle, smell his little-boy head, and read to him. Sometimes, he’s inspired to read certain parts, certain pages, certain voices, and I pause and allow him, savoring his little-boy voice, his small struggles against the shore of vowels and consonants. It is a voice inside a seashell; I know this, this ephemeral nature of children and their coos and their calls. The voices can cease to call. I savor the calling.

My family and I once marked time by the passing of it; we now mark time simply through the unknowing and unowning of it. My son comments on his weather journal—we’ve had so few sunny days. We’ve had so few days, I think, sun or no.

But we have had days. My friends text me, as if to reinforce it: How are you 4.5 weeks in? Four and a half weeks in, and I haven’t done much of anything.

What Spot?, published in 1963, features a lonely walrus adrift on an icy island. He watches the sea and the ships that drift by, happy and content, day after day, until, one day, he sees a black spot in the snow. Needing reassurance that he is not the sole witness to something that may or may not exist, he implores a puffin, whom he befriends, to see it, too.

I once measured my days through providence. One summer, when life made little to no sense, I was devoted to a certain astrologer, whose horoscopes were so aligned with my circumstances, so empathetic to my struggles, so in tune with my discord, they made me believe, however briefly, that my fate was somehow tied to the stars. Despite being schooled to believe otherwise, I could believe that my life, and thereby my fate, were linked to celestial bodies, ancient and everlasting.

I know now, though, that fate is privilege. When my sister’s cancer was discovered, the once-indiscernible spot had already spread, flared, took over—a target without a target. The doctors tell her what they alone can see, what she herself cannot see. Validation, in this case, is anything but reassuring.

Nevertheless, the walrus wants to know what the spot is that lies in the snow, the spot that he alone can see, even if what lies beneath is dangerous or maleficent. Unlike tales of exposure prompted by a fervent curiosity that leads to the unleashing of evils or maladies, it is not curiosity that drives the walrus: he’s worried that not only is the spot “a thing,” but that the spot is the nose of creature who is buried in the snow.

ILLUSTRATION FROM WHAT SPOT?

Since we’ve entered the new life, the one without temporal beams, we’ve witnessed the red spots mushroom, blooming poppies, scarlet sequins blistering the earth map we once treaded.

They didn’t believe her, my son said when I asked him about the play. The princess had indeed felt the pea, but no one believed her.

Eventually, the walrus is able to convince the puffin to look harder, even if where to look is merely the ether of a nebulous “there”; however, the Puffin can’t be convinced that the Spot is “a thing”—he’s adamant that “it’s nothing, nothing at all.”

It could have been nothing, nothing at all, but the uncovering revealed spots in the breast, the lymph nodes, the adrenal glands, the liver.

The walrus wants to unearth the creature, whose black nose—that little, barely discernable spot—he thinks, is showing through the snow. The puffin won’t help. The black spot, after a bit of digging, is a black stick. The Walrus thinks it might be a sea snake or “a great big bird.” After more digging, two eye-like circles appear; the walrus becomes more convinced that he must help this creature out of the snow, and, as it begins snowing hard, he works faster and more furiously, determined to help this creature and keep it from being buried forever, even though that creature might harm others. The walrus wants to save a life, even if he doesn’t know his own fate—he wants to change the course of fate for this unknown creature.

In 1963, when What Spot? was published, the United States began administering the oral polio vaccine, which apparently could be taken with a sugar cube.

My daughter’s fears are mostly invisible, things that she sees in her head. Like the puffin, I spend a great deal of time and effort to reassure her that it’s nothing, nothing at all. But I know her terror is “a thing,” and what she fears may or may never be uncovered.

Of course, I would love to tell her that I, too, see the spot, to validate her sense of the world, but perhaps I don’t want her to have a sense of the world that includes terror.

The puffin, however adamant that the “thing” is “nothing at all,” finds himself in a terrifying bind when, unearthed, the “thing” puts his life in danger. All of a sudden, the “thing” is something. A child will easily recognize the “thing” to be an ordinary, harmless, red toy wagon, but for the puffin, who still insists that the wagon is “nothing, nothing at all,” the toy wagon becomes a thing that could kill him. The wind blows hard and rolls the wagon and the puffin haphazardly over the ice and perilously close to the consuming sea.

My son doesn’t get why the other creatures who spy the puffin and hear his cry for help, rather than aid the Puffin, just nonchalantly say, “Don’t worry. It’s nothing, nothing at all.” The other ice creatures go on with their ice-creature lives: a polar bear enjoys a bath in the sea; a seal plays with a snowflake; a dog rolls snowballs; a reindeer dances; a whale rests on a wave—all of them oblivious to disaster, all of them noticing yet denying the danger, downplaying the fear.

Eventually, the puffin and the wagon fall into the hole from whence the wagon came and become entombed completely in snow excepting the black spot of the puffin’s nose. The polar bear asks what the walrus is looking at. It is the same old story, but now, now we know that the walrus knows.

He knows now that the nothing is something. He tells the polar bear that the spot is not a spot, but rather “a puffin I know.”

They didn’t believe her, my son said. But she felt it.

The walrus quickly unearths the puffin and the wagon. They throw the wagon into the sea. When we get to that part of the story, my son says, “Oh, Greta Thunberg wouldn’t like that—she’d tell them ‘you ought to be ashamed!’” I laugh, as he intended for me to: the funny notion of imagining the book in this new now.

ILLUSTRATION FROM WHAT SPOT?

The end of the world is what my daughter worries about. She doesn’t like time passing. Her fear of time is her fear of mortality.

I no longer rely on horoscopes to tell me what it is I should be paying attention to or what I should do to protect myself against ill fortune; I no longer use it to receive validation that these bright spots in the firmament might mean anything other than their own bright glinting.

To feel something rather than nothing: maybe that’s what I mean by fate.

My sister asks if she’s going to die; my daughter says that she doesn’t want me to grow old and die. To both of them, I reassure that death is nothing, nothing at all, that we’re okay, that’s everything’s going to be okay.

They didn’t believe her, my son said. But she felt it. She felt something rather than nothing.

I look at the bright spots of red, the measles rash taking over each screen I see, a blood peony bursting over the city in which my sister lives; I think, it’s a puffin I know. Each spot is a puffin I know.

(Source: The Pars Review)