A Village COVID-19 Built

By Rain Fernandez

"It takes a village"—a common phrase in reference to raising children and words that I believe also applies to our post-pandemic and hope-driven new normal. I started a new job two months before the work from home directives. I attended the new employee orientation and started to network with my peers. My work calendar slowly filled up with meeting requests, training, and possible committee involvements. My personal one optimistically tracked relationship milestones, celebrations, and bucket list adventures. Portland, Oregon would be the last hurrah as the news of hospitalizations, supply shortages, and travel cancellations abound.

I was initially sent to work from home with a hand-me-down laptop from 2011 that IT managed to upgrade from Windows 7 to 10. I soon discovered the mic was not reliable, and I needed a headset if I were to engage in online meetings. Once there were multiple meeting platforms used, the webcam started to glitch and rarely functioned. I sought to keep connections while establishing boundaries on my set work hours. E-mails and chat requests were now coming in at all hours. I wondered if other people felt the need to connect more as most of us stayed home. I longed for my standing desk and two monitors that I just finished setting up in my work office.

Summer came and went. I was working from home with minimal outside interaction. I downloaded a hiking app and searched for some beginner hikes. I checked the comments and reviews and immediately crossed off any trails that were too busy. I stepped foot in the Tahoe water for the first time. Some form of dread mixed with missing out on things that I feel I should have done by now continued to surface. What happens if I become sick with COVID-19?

Two days after the new year, I would find out the answer. I lost my sense of smell first. I already knew what it was because my then partner tested positive the day prior. What do I do now? Fatigue, hopelessness, confusion, feelings of betrayal, grief, then mostly anger set in. I have been so careful and have purposely limited contact and somehow still managed to be infected. Shame. Guilt. Fear of passing it to someone else who might not have the capacity to survive. Will I survive?

The existential dread sparked a bucket list or more of a to-do list of things that I still wanted to accomplish. What I did not expect was to find a community as I needed to rebuild my own village. First on the list was to leave a legacy through storytelling. My story was mine to tell, and I wanted to find a way to share my first hand account in my voice. I connected with The Filipino American Woman Project and, as fate would have it, they had an almost immediate guest recording availability. I could barely talk without catching my breath and was still in recovery when I did the interview. A whole online community opened up to me as I received feedback from loved ones and strangers alike. I reconnected with friends I have not spoken with in years. I felt like I belonged despite all the distance between us.

After 18 days of barely wanting to leave my bed or attempting to step foot on the balcony, I was cleared to go outside. By then I had a full blown existential crisis and had given my two weeks notice. My legacy was not going to be my amazing spreadsheets alone! I sought a more local community. A friend recommended I join a mutual aid group on social media and this turned into the key to finding socially distanced opportunities to engage in. As a 'survivor' I felt a little safer going out and exploring because now I am more afraid of not making a difference versus whatever else the pandemic had in store.

I initially met with people outdoors, which coincided with CDC guidelines and state directives. I stood in solidarity with our educators at the state capitol in urging our legislators to find new revenue sources for education and stop reductions. I attended an Indigenous-led river cleanup. I started the Support Washoe social media campaign and sought out local businesses who do not have as much internet presence. I spoke up and shared my story at a “Protect Our Women" march. But where I truly found 'home' was standing in solidarity with our unhoused neighbors. A cold day a month after I was cleared to be outside, I found myself frantically searching for every winter weather piece of clothing in the donations I picked up days prior. My car was packed with a double stroller and some items I thought might be useful. My village has expanded to people who might never tell me their real names or their struggles but nonetheless deserved inclusion and assistance.

In that still, winter, February morning as I stood around feeling helpless, I found hope in the community. Masks made it hard to recognize people, and I already knew I did not know anyone there. Somehow I felt safe, empowered, and all at once scared to have woken up to this reality. I connected with other advocates and organizations on social media and opened myself to being educated on the issues—most of which I truly believe should not be partisan. I will digress on the note that I am far from political but some have considered me to be “pretty rad." I still scratch my head at the thought of not allowing people to starve and freeze in the cold as a radical idea. We are only as strong as we care for our most vulnerable. My fellowship at Mental Health America's aptly named Village taught me about 'housing first’ and reinforced the idea of meeting people where they are in life. People do not need to meet certain criterias to deserve having their basic needs met.

I searched for other areas I could be of service in. As many have realized, the pandemic highlighted already broken systems and at the same time provided opportunities for change and growth. My rallying response became "if you have time to complain, you have time to be part of the solution" as I challenge naysayers and glass-half-empty people to focus on what they could be doing to alleviate issues. I committed to delivering food boxes to families who do not have access to transportation and/or do not have the time to pick-up themselves. I have yet to meet some of them as I usually do contactless drop-offs.

I also found community in local car events. Sunday cars and coffee became a weekly tradition and self-care rolled into one. I met someone who quickly became one of my best friends as we both encouraged our networks to participate in community aid however they can. As the world opens back up and capacity guidelines are removed, I find myself even more grateful for all the opportunities to build, cultivate, and expand my village.

Photo/Oscar Gonzalez.

Rain Fernandez is an accountant by day and community builder also by day. Her passion is connecting people with resources that they need to make their everyday lives more manageable. She facilitates person-to-person donation through Reno/Sparks Mutual Aid and NV Karma Pantry. She loves all things local and practices "mindful spending and community building" whenever possible. She welcomes collaborations and can be reached through her website raincares.com.

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Kathleen KuoJuly 12, 2021HComment